Let me exSPAIN

Game over.

2010-01-04T00:20:00.002+01:00

I apologize for the delay in posting my farewell entry. Though it was written on the 23rd, I've had sporadic internet since leaving Barcelona. (After The Onix's infamous Telefonica connection, who would have thought anything could have been less predictable?)

Anyway, this is it for now. Thanks for following my adventures this semester. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I did.

Buen año nuevo!

----------------------------

I'm mid transit, but I'm still in minor disbelief that the semester is over. Minus the excessive baggage, it just feels like I'm going away for the weekend. Of course I'll be back in Barcelona on Monday! The end comes at a good time though, I think. I'm still in love with Barca, but I've hit that point where I'm about ready to head home.

I spent the last few days playing an excessive number of "remember when?" games, and sitting here in the airport by myself, I'm having some serious nostalgia moments.

I'm going to miss just wandering around Barcelona, finding little side streets and engrossing myself in the local culture. I'll miss being able to play the dumb American when I need to, but also being able to surprise people with my ability to speak and understand Spanish when they least expect it.

On the other hand, though I'm not ready to start eating dinner at 6 pm again (that's practically lunch time!), large cups of coffee, fountain soda and free refills are all looking pretty good. And while being a girl in Spain has its undeniable advantages, I think I have enough "Hola Guapa" to last me a lifetime.

When one of my friend's mom's was visiting, she asked each of us to list the three things we liked most and the three things we liked least about studying abroad. At the time I struggled a little bit with the answer and even now, I'm not entirely sure I could answer it. So I'll take a different tact.

The other night at dinner, my friend Zach asked each of us (for the purposes of the Agenda Cultural) to offer one piece of advice and one warning to the CASBians of next semester. I was sitting and blindly eating tapas, and so the first tidbit of advice I could think of was: eat everything and ask what it is later. I think that idea applies to most of my semester in a broader sense.

So I started taking a class, having absolutely no idea what was going on and no idea when the final exam would be. I still don't. But I learned more in that class than any of my others, and actually really enjoyed it. So I hopped on a plane to a foreign city with people I barely knew. Or got off at the complete wrong subway stop, got incredibly lost and found myself in some strange parts of Barcelona. Or walked into a first grade classroom having absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do with a room full of Catalan six-year-olds.

My warning was that things will go wrong. There was the time I sat through three classes in Catalan, went through two frustrating weeks of trying to matriculate and spent a couple train rides back to Barcelona trying not to completely lose it. Or the endless occasions on which I simply could not express what I needed to. Or the cell phones, computers, subways, lofty plans, internet connections and recipes that just did not work.

But I rolled with the punches, chalked most of it up to Spanish insanity and had more adventures than I can count at this point. It was an unbelievable semester. But I'll close this before I get too unnecessarily sentimental.

And so I return to the United States with a suitcase full of very dirty laundry, a vocabulary of Spanglishatalan, an acquired taste for wine, a penchant for cooking all things in olive oil and a very deep love for Barcelona.

Goodbye Barcelona

2009-12-23T06:36:00.001+01:00

Gràcies per tot. It's been quite a semester.

Bedtime stories

2009-12-18T00:50:00.002+01:00

Less than a week to go — it's so hard to believe. Tomorrow is our farewell dinner, which seemed so distant when I saw it in my planner.

Yesterday I had my last official day at Mar Bella. The kids have actually made a ton of progress in their English this semester. In October, I was doing interview questions with the advanced sixth graders, and now even the fifth graders can tell me where they live and what their hobbies are.

Spanish kids get two weeks of vacation for the holidays and the pre-vacation jitters have definitely settled in. The school is covered in decorations — every inch of the hallways is covered in paper Christmas trees and paper mache ornaments. I love how unapologetically Christmasy Spain is. Don't get me wrong — I am the most obnoxious Hanukkah promoter (I write this as my baguette menorah burns on the kitchen table), but there's something very magical about the unhampered Christmas spirit. The entire city looks BEAUTIFUL (pics coming soon).

After leaving the school yesterday, I walked home (normally I take the bus). I was actually enjoying the fact that I needed a coat and gloves. I happened upon a Dunkin' Coffee and I decided that it was the perfect antidote for studying for finals. The woman looked at me like I was nuts when I ordered an iced coffee, but it was so perfect.

Today was my last trip on the ferrocarril out to UAB. It was an anti-climactic ending (classes continue through next week, we're just not going), but I had a personal celebratory lunch in the cafeteria and waved goodbye to the campus as the train pulled away. Tomorrow morning is my social theory final (yes parents, I am about to go to bed) and then I am all done! (Minus the papers I'm emailing in in January.) I'm excited to have the last few days to run around Barcelona, revisit my favorite places and cross off the few remaining items on my to-do list.

Cute story of the day before I get into bed: This afternoon as I was returning to Onix, three girls stopped me in the hallway. They asked if I spoke English (they were Spanish) and when I said yes, they asked if they could "make an interview." (It was an assignment for their English class.) I said of course and invited them into my room. Using a tape recorder, they asked my name, where I'm from, etc. It was a funny change of events because I'm so used to walking around the city and being the inquirer. They asked my opinion of the mediterranean diet (positive) and what things I missed from my country. Put on the spot, I said the first two things that popped into my head: large cups of coffee and functioning dryers (we've been using a clothesline all semester).

So that's where you'll find me pretty soon: drinking copious amounts of iced coffee and doing my laundry.

This makes me feel a lot more prepared.

2009-12-15T19:17:00.002+01:00

The other day, one of the other students in Contemporary Political Institutions sent a message to the entire class.

Hola Compañeros!!!!!

Me llamo Esti y soy alumna de segundo. Estoy matriculada a la asignatura de Polítiques con John, pero por motivos de horario no he podido asistir a ninguna de sus clases. Si alguna fuera tan amable de decirme como va este año la asignatura, si hay que entregar el trabajo, como será el examen, si teneis apuntes o el examen es en base a las lecturas.... yo a cambio os puedo pasar cosillas que necesiteis.

Gracias!!!!!!!!!

Roughly translated, his message reads:

Hello classmates!!!!!

My name is Esti and I'm a second-yeat student. I'm enrolled in the section of "Politics" with John, but for scheduling reasons I haven't been able to attend any of the classes. If anyone would be so kind as to tell me how things are going in the class this year, if you have had to hand in any work, what the exam is going to be like, if you take notes or if the exam is going to be based on readings…. I can return the favor with things you need.

Thanks!!!!!!!!!

This would so not fly at Brown.

Well that was embarrassing...

2009-12-14T22:30:00.002+01:00

Even in Spain, American Christmas music seems to take over every public venue — cafés, supermarkets, the accordion players on the Metro. As a result, my Catalan first graders, who barely know how to introduce themselves in English, know all the words to "We Wish You a Merry Christmas." This morning as we were making Christmas-tree-shaped cards, the class started an impromptu sing-along. After their mini performance, they asked if I would sing it (accompanied by one of the more fluent girls, Laia).

But as we left the chorus and progressed into the actual words of the song, I drew a total blank, while she kept going. I just smiled and laughed — I decided it was easier than explaining that I'm a Jewish girl from Long Island.

Happy Hanukkah!

2009-12-12T17:45:00.004+01:00

Last night marked the final installment of Emmy-and-Katie-play-Jewish-mothers. In honor of the first night of Hanukkah, we spent the day cooking and preparing our best attempts at a legitimate holiday meal. Though pictures of our kitchens never made it to the blog (maybe it'll happen before I move out), you need to be forewarned that we have no oven, minimal counter space and a tiny stove with two burners. So we knew it was going to be an adventure. Luckily we live down the hall, which made for some interesting runs back-and-forth, cutting boards and sizzling pans in hand.

It only took 6 hours, 4 trips to the supermarket, 8 pots and pans, about 15 plates and 1 kitchen injury, but we did it! Our feast included: latkes, sweet potato latkes, homemade apple sauce, turkey meatballs, challah rolls, broccoli and cauliflower, a vegetable frittata, salad and apple fritters (thank you to our favorite dessert chef). We played dreidel and showed the Rugrat's Hanukkah special (educating the gentiles).

Though we couldn't easily find a menorah, we pulled out our best creativity skills and constructed our own using a baguette and birthday candles. When in Spain…

Even Old New York was once New Amsterdam

2009-12-10T23:30:00.003+01:00

The only problem with retrospective blog posting is that the amusing stories get forgotten. Never fear — more moments from Istanbul!

The first night at our hostel, we made friends with one of the Turkish guys working there while waiting for the promised belly dancing show (it didn't happen). He asked where we were from and when two of us responded New York, he said, "Oh! I'm going to Harlem soon." We asked why. He answered, "Because sometimes I feel black."

We made friends with another Turk while on our boat ride from Asia back to Europe. When we introduced ourselves and I said my name was Emmy, he asked, "Like the Emmy Award?" Glad to know my spelling reference is international.

Courtesy of Time Out Istanbul, we found ourselves at a very legit and very authentically Turkish restaurant filled with locals. The waiter came over (quickly realized we were foreigners) and simply asked, "liver, lamb or chicken?" After we each answered, he pointed back at each of us, repeated the orders back, and when he figured out that he had gotten it right, he yelled "Yes!" (in a style reminiscent of Borat). He came back for drink orders and again, we got the "Yes!" Suddenly plates were delivered to the table — vegetables, leaves, sauces, pita bread. And then long skewers filled with meat were plopped in front of each of us and we got to work! We managed to make it through the meal without too much messiness.

Because we're so used to eating dinner at 10 pm (and had to adjust), we wound up with some free time. So we found a movie theater showing films in English and sat down to for the apocalyptic 2012. Midway through the movie, the lights suddenly came on. We thought it was a technical error — turns out it was just the intermission. It gave us a good opportunity to discuss what we'd seen so far.

Turkish delight on a moonlit night

2009-12-09T18:19:00.007+01:00

Ok, so we did spend the entire trip singing this song. But we did stil manage to see and experience all of Istanbul.

We arrived on Friday night and after a techno-filled 80 mph shuttle van ride, arrived at our hostel. We stayed in Sultanhamet, arguably the most touristy part of the city. Istanbul is enormous and home to almost 3,000 mosques, though the most famous are clustered in one area.

We checked out the area briefly, but went to bed pretty

early in order to prepare ourselves for our sightseeing blitz.

We started Saturday at the Blue Mosque (also known as the

Sultanhamet Mosque). Depending on the time of day, it really does look blue. Its other noteworthy feature is that it has six minarets, as opposed to the typical two or four. Compared to the cities I've been visiting in Western Europe all semester, with their Gothic churches and Roman architecture, this looked other

worldly. The mosque is enormous, but was built in only seven years.

(Comparatively, Barcelona hasn't even finished its famous

cathedral.)

After the Blue Mosque, we walked across the street to an even larger structure: The Ayasofya. Originally the Hagia Sophia church of Constantinople, it became the Ayasofya Mosque after the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Now it's just a museum, but signs of both religions are very present throughout the entire building.

Strange note: Istanbul is filled with an extraordinary number of stray cats and we saw an unbelievable number of them inside both

landmarks. Tourists were happy to take their picture though.

We concluded the epic morning with a visit to the cisterns.

Once upon a time, the underground water supply was used by the entire city. When it's functionality became obsolete, someone had the brilliant idea to turn it into a basilica. Talk about creepy.

After a stop for some döner and baklava, we headed for the harbor.

On the way, we made a pit stop at the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, which is filled with (like the name implies) spices. Each stall also features its own unique variety of Turkish delight.

My only reference for the treat is its appearance in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, so we had to try some. It tastes vaguely like a marshmallow, though the chewiness quotient depends on the flavor. The verdict is that I'm ambiguous. We did, however, encounter innumerable types of nuts and dried fruit, so I was pretty happy.

Snacks in hand, we took the ferry to Asia. There really isn't much on the Asian side of the city (if anything, it's a lot less touristy), but we wanted to at least say that we set foot on two continents in one day. We explored the area surrounding one of the ferry stops, and then started to make our way to the other harbor. We asked for directions in a bookstore and they advised us to take either a bus or a dolmus, a group taxi. I had read about the dolmus and so knew they were totally safe (and probably a better idea than normal cabs, which require a little haggling). The bus didn't seem to be coming any time soon, and the taxis were going directly from one harbor to the other, so the four of us piled in (claiming the back row).

It wasn't entirely clear how one was supposed to pay, or WHAT one was supposed to pay, so the other passengers helped us out. It also wasn't exactly clear when one was supposed to exit the taxi. The driver would open the sliding door, people would hop out, and that was that. We figured we'd know when to get out. Not so much. After driving around for a minute with the door open and us still in the taxi, the driver yelled "GET OUT." So we did. Onto an island in the middle of traffic. The other dolmus drivers seemed pretty amused by us.

We made it back to Europe safe and sound.

On Sunday, the weather was a little bit of a deterrent, but we were still able to visit the enormous Topkapi Palace. On our way, we stopped for simit — a food item sold on the streets for a dollar that looks and tastes an awful lot like a sesame bagel. On the palace grounds are multiple prayer areas, ramps so the sultan can be carried and an entire building for swords and jewels. The old royal garments were also displayed and we were in shock over how large they were. I guess the ramps and the delicious Ottoman cuisine might be explanations.

Speaking of cuisine, we became very well acquainted with baklava while on our trip. In particular, with one particular shop (we managed to visit multiple branches). The shopkeeper was so impressed by our group dynamic (one boy to three girls) that he insisted on taking a picture with the three of us. We suspect it may be up on their wall pretty soon. Jeremy got a lot of street cred for traveling with us — he got called a Sultan and was asked by a restaurant proprietor if he could have one of us. The catcalls — though more verbal than Barcelona's "hola guapa" — didn't really feel all that threatening. They really were just amusing. Restaurant managers will say anything to try and get you to sit down. Though the non-creative opt for the "Yes please, yes please," notable solicitations we got included: "You're so beautiful you can't be real," "You're so beautiful but you would look even nicer at my table," and a rousing rendition of "Don't you wish your boyfriend was hot like me?"

We encountered the greatest amount of haggling and catcalling during our all-day visit to the Grand Bazaar on Monday. Home to over 4,000 stalls (plus countless street stalls outside), it makes for one of the more intense shopping experiences I've ever had. We bargained with the best of them. One merchant even thought I was Turkish, but figured out that was not the case when I didn't respond to his comments. (We had already concluded I was the most Turkish looking of the group, but that's really not saying much.) Scarves, pottery, earrings, tea glasses, leather coats and fez in hand, we emerged hours later (an exit caused largely by the collective lack of funds).

We left Istanbul at the alarming hour of 3 am on Tuesday (6:30 am flight, but infrequently running shuttles). However, we were flying real airlines (a nice change from Vueling and Ryannair), so there was a lot of coffee to help us make it through. The trip was unbelievable, but now I have to return to the grind. Two weeks and counting, and a whole semester's worth of course work to reteach myself before then. Yikes!

—

Also, if you made it this far (I admittedly just wrote a brief novel) and still want more to read, check this out. 120: You are beautiful. I cannot wait for January.

NONCLERICAL CLANDESTINE COMRADES

2009-12-02T22:19:00.002+01:00

Barcelona's been getting in the holiday spirit for weeks — the streets are filled with decorations and Onix is tastefully lit — but tonight we took it one step further. After some intense Google research (thank you Boogspace.com) and mild harassment of the CASBers, our very own secular secret Santa has been launched. Stay tuned as the mystery unfolds...

My, how the time flies

2009-12-02T19:20:00.003+01:00

It's really hard to believe, but today marks the T-3 weeks countdown. It's not as though I feel like we got here yesterday, but it still feels strange to be nearing the end. It's also weird because suddenly, we have serious homework. Most of our classes boil down to one final — mine count for 40, 50, 80 and 100 percent of my grades — and so crunch time is no joke. On the other hand, now is the time when I feel like I should be taking in as much Barcelona as possible. To reconcile these two conflicting needs, I've been trying to find cafes with Internet and other creative solutions. What's nice is that even though doom is looming, I have five full days after my finals end and before I have to leave. I already have a list going of all the things I want to try and cram in. (Suggestions are welcome!)

But first I have my final travel hurrah — also my longest, farthest and most exotic trip. Both Sunday and Tuesday are holidays, so Monday is counted as the puente, or bridge, so we have a full five days to travel. I'm heading east to Istanbul, where I'll get to be on two continents at once (not to mention four countries in five days (we have connecting flights, I'll argue that counts)). In the attempts of making a political statement of some sort, the Barcelona Public Library filed the "Turquia" travel books in the Asia section PLUS I get my first passport stamp of the semester. I think I can say with some authority that this trip will be quite different than any of my others this semester.

ALSO...

2009-12-01T18:11:00.001+01:00

...how can it POSSIBLY be December already?

Let our people go!

2009-12-01T17:54:00.004+01:00

UAB is consistently covered in posters and spray painting, usually protesting anything and everything. As standing up for your rights tends to go hand in hand with the local anarchist spirit, most of the signs are in Catalan, limiting my understanding of what exactly is being objected to. One thing we see all the time though are signs arguing against "Bolonya." (Which translates to mean the Italian city of Bologna.)

After doing some research into what this meant (Paige blogged about it a while ago), we unearthed a massive European educational controversy. The Bologna Model refers to the method of schooling most similar to what we're accustomed to: standardized material with frequent assessments. In some of my classes here, the only work I have the entire semester is the final exam. (You're allowed to retake it if you fail, in most cases. Under Bologna this would not be true.) Though Bologna is not an EU initiative, most EU countries are signed on (including Spain), and the idea is that credits will transfer more smoothly from country to country (and just generally make more sense when people cross borders).

At the schools we're attending, only some classes have started to Bologna-ize. (A few of my friends have the lucky opportunity to take midterms and do homework assignments.) As you might imagine, the Spanish students are furious. The sidewalks of UAB are covered in graffiti and it's not unusual to hear someone yell something about "Bolonya" at a random moment.

Today in my Contemporary Political Institutions class (this is where I get most educated about Spanish educational practices), the professor opened class by acknowledging Thursday's potential strike. The students are unhappy with the changes occurring around them, so of course they strike! He said he was planning to still hold class, but would put it to a vote, so that way the few students who showed up wouldn't be punished. (Thank you!) Obviously the class voted to cancel class. But not just so they can take the afternoon off — they all started yelling about marching and protesting and making sure the Spanish government (who run UAB) knows how they feel.

I'm not entirely sure I agree with my classmates, but God bless them for trying...

Bonjour mon ami!

2009-11-30T22:23:00.004+01:00

This year, I got to celebrate Thanksgiving overlooking the Seine with a side of French bread. Not too shabby.

I met my cousins in Paris on Thursday and enjoyed a delicious (and very legitimate, thanks to my aunt's cranberry imports and fantastic cooking) dinner. Everyone around us may have been speaking French and the only parades we saw were museum workers on strike (seriously), but we still enjoyed all the American classics.

We spent Friday at Versailles, exploring the decadent bedrooms, the unbelievable Hall of Mirrors and the sprawling gardens. Everything just felt so French. (Yet another language barrier could have been a part of that. However, my conversational Catalan was actually helpful. I'm debating if I should list it as a "Skill" on my resume.)

On Saturday we made our way through the gigantic Musee D'Orsay, focusing on the Impressionist wings (my favorite part). It would have been impossible to see everything — the converted train station is filled with five floors worth of art. We were lucky that we could even go into the museum — one of the other major attractions (Centre Pompidou) was striking, and rumor has it that all the other museums will be too.

We braved the elements and hit the pavement to stroll the Parisian streets (and admire all of the beautiful stores). The window displays even look prettier in France.

It was a brief trip, but I had a great time — and considering I wasn't stateside, it was really nice to be with family for Turkey Day.

I made it back to Barcelona just in time for "El Clasico" — the epic fútbol match-up between FC Barcelona and Real Madrid. We started scoping out a place to watch at 6 or so (game time was 7) and found every bar, restaurant and cafe in the city to be PACKED. Apparently no one watches from home. We managed to squeeze our way into the pizza place across the street and watched Barca eke out a 1-0 win (despite a ton of violence from both sides).

Today at Mar Bella, almost every single one of my kids had on a Barcelona jersey — just in case there was any question about whose side they were on.

Happy Turkey Day!

2009-11-26T12:29:00.001+01:00

It was strange yesterday when I was giving a presentation to the kids at Mar Bella, asked if they knew what holiday tomorrow was, and looked out onto a crowd of blank stares. I suddenly realized that Thanksgiving really was today and that I had seen no turkeys on display or commercials for the parade. I'm lucky that I still get to celebrate the day with family — I'm in the airport now, about to jet off to Paris — but it's definitely srtange to be outside the states today, and to not be having the same Thanksgiving dinner I've had for years.

On the plus side: traveling here has been incredibly easy.

This week in food

2009-11-25T19:44:00.003+01:00

On Monday, I got to participate in a taller de cocina — a cooking class — which was delicious, enlightening and full of adventures. In groups, we helped to prepare each course. Feeling eager to participate, I volunteered to help with the crema catalana, which despite being dessert, was the first thing we worked on. My task was to separate eight eggs. Psh, easy...

ORR not. The first one was a total failure. I had to have Paige vouch for the fact that she has seen me make egg-white omelets innumerable times. Making fun of me, Ignacio, our chef instructor, tried to teach me a weird trick that involved putting my fingers into the egg. Needless to say, when professional chefs make something look easy — it's not.

Other notable moments included a huge soup spill on the counter, and Ignacio's subsequent recovery of the soup using a giant knife.

Our finished dinner included: pan con tomate, gazpacho garnished with a homemade pesto, tortilla española, chicken paella, and the crema catalana. Right before dessert was served, I got to take a blow torch to half of the cremas in order to caramelize the sugar. I want one for my birthday.

---

In other food news, today at Mar Bella I gave the Catalan children a presentation about Thanksgiving. Other than little clips from movies, none of them (5th and 6th graders) knew anything about the holiday. Explaining the Pilgrims to a group of kids who (a) know nothing about American history and (b) speak limited English is ... challenging. We trudged through and made it to the pictures of food. At the end of the presentation, one of my sixth graders came up to me and tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm hungry, and it's your fault." At least food is a language we all speak...

Dali-ing around the coast

2009-11-23T22:11:00.007+01:00

Salvador Dali was — without a doubt — out of his mind. If your Dali background is as minimal as mine was prior to this weekend, I highly recommend the Wikipedia article.

Our trip this weekend — the final one in the Spanish art series — followed la ruta de Dali. Basically we drove up the coast (heading back to the Costa Brava) to explore what is known as Dali's triangle.

First stop on Saturday was his house, Port Lligat, in Cadaques. Nestled in a beautiful Mediterranean cove, the house is filled with ... eccentricities. Stuffed animals abound, as to strange fetishy toys. The mannequins are disturbing (and still in perfect pose). The majority of the objects were either gifts or Dali hand-made originals — and all of it's weird.

After spending the afternoon in the beautiful (albeit very seasonal) town of Cadaques, we drove to Figueres, home of the Dali Teatre-Museum. Meant to be theatrical, dramatic and interactive, the museum was built by Dali himself. With no logical organization, the building contains rooms shaped like faces, an alarming number of phallic objects and among other interesting works, a nude that looks like Abraham Lincoln from the right angle. The building is decorated in giant eggs and houses Dali's crypt. We paid our respects.

On Sunday, we left the surreal and took in the medieval. When Dali was young, he fell in love with an older, married woman — Gala. Ultimately the two married, though their relationship seems a little suspect. He worshipped her and painted her over and over (calling her his muse), but the two had separate beds and she had a string of younger gigolos. At some point toward the end of her life, she made it known that she wanted a medieval castle of her very own. So Dali bought her one and made it very clear that it was her castle. She would live there and he would only visit if invited, which apparently only happened twice. After Gala died (and was buried in the basement), Dali moved into the castle at Púbol full time and carried out the rest of his life (and work) from there.

Call it genius, call it insanity. Either way, it was extremely entertaining.

A morning of culture

2009-11-20T15:46:00.006+01:00

This morning, Paige and I took our ArtTickets (get into Barcelona's seven best museums for €22) and went to the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona (CCCB). The museum — an incredibly cool space — is comprised of a couple rotating exhibitions, rather than any sort of permanent collection.

First up were the winners of the 2009 World Press Photo contests. The photos were captioned in Spanish and Catalan, but the museum offered huge binders filled with English explanations. Paige and I accidentally started at the end of the exhibit (it went in a circle), so we read our books from left to right.

The other exhibit we had been excited about seeing for a while: Cerdà and the Barcelona of the Future. This year, Barcelona is celebrating the "Any Cerdà" — the 150th anniversary of Ildefons Cerdà's master plan to build L'Eixample, the part of the city we live in.

Once upon a time, Barcelona was a tiny egg-shaped city encased by walls (murallas). The city reached a point where it simply could not fit within its boundaries anymore (1859) and held a contest to design the expansion (which is what L'Eixample literally means). Cerdà came up with a plan to turn the agricultural plots surrounding Barcelona into perfectly gridded city streets.

150 years later, L'Eixample, with its square blocks and bevelled corners (vocabulary word of the day), is every bit as Cerdà intended.

The city government (el Ayuntamiento) is sponsoring exhibits all over Barcelona this year, so hopefully I'll get to see some more.

Now we're off to the Costa Brava to follow La Ruta de Dali. We're going to see Dali's museum and house and learn all about exactly how insane he was. (So far we've discovered he had a sexual fascination with lobsters, or something along those lines.) It's the first time in a while the whole Consortium is doing something together, so it should be really fun.

News Digest

2009-11-18T00:43:00.005+01:00

This weekend, Chaz came to visit Barcelona. He was here on vacation pretty recently though, so Paige dubbed him a "bad visitor" — he'd seen pretty much all of the sights already. But that gave me a chance to show off all the hidden gems of Barca that I've found: the unbelievably menu del día, the fun walking routes, other top eating destinations. We went to the MACBA and saw a couple cool exhibits (including one of a collage artist who used to live in Locust Valley!).

We also went to the Fonts de Montjuic — a magical fountain show that plays muisc in synch with a fantastical light show. I've heard rumors that the Bellagio's show in Las Vegas was inspired by the one on Montjuic. The music changes with every show (four a night) — we got to see classical opera and 2000s era American pop music. Apparently there's a rocking Disney-themed performance, but I have yet to see it.

Yesterday I spent the morning at Mar Bella, as per usual. With the sixth graders, I've been doing interviews to help them practice asking and answering questions. They've gotten bored asked where I live and how old I am; yesterday we moved onto how much I weigh, whether or not I'm married, and if I can drive a helicopter.

In other news, it's still about 70 degrees in Barcelona, and it shows no signs of becoming winter. Ever. On the plus side, using a resource found by one of my friends, now I can figure out how to appropriately dress for this mild climate.

For the win.

2009-11-17T17:42:00.002+01:00

Just located: Beautiful bookstore, adorable cafe, free wireless. Take that College Hill Cafe.

Duly noted.

2009-11-12T18:49:00.001+01:00

Today in International Relations, we had to hand in a group project. We'd put ourselves into cohorts of four or five — our group was comprised entirely of CASBers — and written 10-page research papers. Ours came together over the last 48 hours and wound up, in our opinions, looking beautiful. We went to hand in our glossy document — and noticed we were the only ones not to have bound our reports into spectacular little books.

Not surprising — Spanish kids are shockingly and unbelievably meticulous about their note taking. Using unlined paper, at least three different color pens, and a highlighter or two, they write down everything and the end product is a borderline work of art. The notes are then stored in these intricate binder/folders until the next day.

All semester, I've been eying the kids' notes, plotting how I could ask to copy them. Every day I said to myself, "Ok Emmy. Today you ask. Today you ask." I had narrowed it down to a couple kids in my Contemporary Political Institutions class, and watched them all take their notes daily, but never managed to get up the nerve.

But today, today! I did it. Today I brought my flash drive over to the girl who takes notes on her computer (a rarity here), and said, "Hola — I'm the American student, and sometimes I don't understand everything the professor says. Do you think I could see your notes?" And without even hesitating, she took my bright green USB, plugged it into her computer, and handed it right back. All semester I had been getting freaked out about THIS?

Computer back in my possession? Check. Legitimate Spanish notes? Check. Great weekend plans? (ChazinSweden is visiting!) Check!

This would never happen in the SciLi.

2009-11-10T20:47:00.002+01:00

As Paige accounted on her blog, Residencia Onix suffered a severe Internet outage this evening. We chose to relocate to the public library. A few minutes ago, rock/techno music began playing at FULL volume. (The librarian is loving it.) Apparently, this is their way of letting us know that the building will be closing in 10 minutes.

Lisbon!

2009-11-10T14:18:00.004+01:00

Barcelona considers the 1992 Olympics to be the turning point for the city, Bilbao attributes its Renaissance to the 1999 construction of the Guggenheim, and Lisbon points to its 1755 earthquake as the start of its "modernization." It's no surprise then, that the city feels infinitely older than Barca — the narrow, cobblestoned streets snake their way up the city's hills, and if you don't feel like walking, there's always the rickety old trams.

We only had 36 hours or so in Portugal's capital city, but we really did get to see everything.

After arriving on Friday evening, not long after we left Barcelona (strangely, the two countries are in different time zones), we set out to find food (Portuguese favorites include meat, cod and potatoes) and check out the nightlife. Unlike Barcelona, Lisbon seems to have very few tourists — particularly not English speaking ones — so we felt like we were getting a much more authentic and local feel. The bars of Lisbon are all concentrated in Bairro Alto, one of the city's many neighborhoods. Lisboans fill the streets and mingle — all drinks are served in plastic cups, and you're encouraged to wander. We managed to find a beautiful little bar with pretty paintings all over the walls, where Portuguese guitar music was being played. We could understand some Portuguese in writing, but spoken — forget about it. The accent is completely different than Spanish, with some Arabic undertones. We were warned not to speak Spanish while in Lisbon. Apparently, they find it offensive, and prefer trying to decipher our English.

On Saturday we took the historic tram #28 up the hills of Graça to the feira ladro (flea market, literally translated to mean "thieves' market." For probably 15 blocks, every inch of ground space was covered, with everything from scarves and jewelery to phone chargers and broken Barbie dolls.

We explored the market for a while, before setting off to find the Castelo São Jorge. For a castle, it was shockingly hard to find. We walked up and down hills and stairs before finally encountering the 11th-century structure. The castle itself was pretty standard as far as Moorish fortresses go, but the views were absolutely incredible.

On Sunday we took tram #15 to Belém, an outer district of the city. This tram was a little more modern and looked like a bus. It was a little less obvious as to how to pay, and so we unintentionally rode the tram for free (this is not the first time something along these lines has happened to me).

Our first stop was Cafe Pastéis de Belém, a bakery famous since it opened in 1837. The Portuguese have as many pastelerias as Spain has tapas bars, and they take great pride in their unique creations. Prior to this trip, my only exposure to anything Portuguese had been Silver Star, the bakery in Providence, so this was a learning experience. Plus, since we really couldn't communicate all that easily, we did a lot of pointing and blind tasting. I think we did ok.

In Belém, we checked out the famous monastery (Mosteiro dos Jerónimos), the modern culture center/museum (where we saw sculptures made entirely of plastic silverware) and the Monument to the Discoverers. A couple of our friends from the Bay Area had compared Lisbon to San Francisco — there's a bridge almost identical to the Golden Gate, the streets are hilly and filled with trams, and like San Fran, the weather is a bit misty and unpredictable. Sunday was sunny with a side of occasional drizzle. We didn't let that hamper our exploration too much though.

Exploring the other side of the peninsula

2009-11-06T16:09:00.003+01:00

In just a few minutes, I'm heading to the airport with Katie and Abby to check out Lisbon for the weekend. I have no idea what to expect, but we're the third CASB contingent to head west in three weeks, and we've heard rave reviews. Plus we get to try out yet another Spanish-ish sounding language...

Until Monday -

Just got a text message from Microgestio that my computer "está reparado."

2009-11-06T12:16:00.001+01:00

technology WIN.

Feeling smart, but representing the dumb

2009-11-03T19:46:00.003+01:00

In my contemporary political institutions class (the one where I am the token americana), I spend a lot of time confused. I get about 85% of the concepts, about 75% of the vocab, and am really good at reading over peoples´shoulders, so usually I can pull it together (sort of) - it just takes a lot of work.

Today I found myself getting somewhat of a free pass - we were learning about regimenes presidenciales with the US as the key example. WIN! Here´s why studying to an absurd degree for the "American Presidency" last spring paid off! It secretly felt great to watch the Spanish kids struggling with names and concepts for once while I happily took notes and nodded along with the facts.

The class is taught from a different angle than the American politics and history classes I´ve taken all my life - the professor is British and the kids are Spanish, so you gotta figure the slant goes the other way - but the facts obviously don´t change. What´s always enlightening for me though is the question and answer period, when I get to see the political culture I view as the norm questioned.

The Kyoto Treaty was brought up to illustrate separation of powers (signing v ratifying treaties), and the class dissolved into whispers over the absurdity of this. I´ve already witnessed the same group rail on the United States´ handling of conservation and global warming. George Bush and the "War and Terror" were regarded with raised eyebrows and accusatory comments. Just this morning in my IR class, the somewhat volatile lecture hall (there are public fights daily) went nuts over the war in Iraq and American justifications. In all four of my classes (despite the fact that some of them seem to bear on completely unrelated topics), we´ve had long discussions about health care and the US´s failings.

I know I´m lucky to be studying abroad now, as opposed to two years ago - (One of our directors, Teresa, told me that toward the end of the Bush presidency, it got really bad for study abroad kids) - and the truth is that overall, the Spaniards feel pretty positively toward us.

I wouldn´t say Spanish people necessarily have the highest view of their own political system - I got lectured by a cab driver once about how awful the government is - but on the issues that matter to the kids in my class, they seem to be doing a better job.

My Girona

2009-11-02T18:00:00.004+01:00

This weekend, I headed up the coast to explore the town of Girona with Katie, her mom and her mom´s roommate from Brown, Kerri. (They coincidentally lived in my old room once upon a time - what up Caswell 205.)

Girona is celebrating the Festival de Sant Narcis for the next two weeks, honoring the city´s patron saint (who is apparently the Saint of Flies). In honor of the festival, the streets were lined with art vendors and outdoor entertainment. Because they seem to be compulsory in every Catalan festival, Girona had their very own castellers. We watched the 30-person tower be built from the cathedral´s tall steps - it was a bit alarming to be on eye level with the five-year-old shimmying up the human tower. The most intense part came when the 5-person tower they built afterwards literally ran up the 90 or so steps to the top of the cathedral. When I finally regain access to my computer, I have some pretty intense videos of the event.

I always joke that on family vacations, the Lisses do two things: find the Jewish quarter and find the best bakery. I think I did the fam proud in Girona. The city is home to one of the best preserved Jewish quarters in Spain, so we explored the area and its pretty museum. Not-so-surprisingly, every synagogue or cultural center closed in 1492. In honor of the festival, the city´s bakeries and cheese shops took to the streets, offering free samples from their stalls (yum). Sunday was also Dia de Todos los Santos in Spain, which is traditionally celebrated by eating panellets.

We also got to see the parade of the gigantes, which was something I was sad to have missed during Mercè. Troupes from throughout the region bring their 15-foot paper mache people (which real people fit inside) and parade through the streets, playing music and dancing. The giants are unbelievably detailed and the participants ranged from infants to 80-something year olds. Every Catalan town has their own group, and they take great pride in being the most spectacular.

It sounds absurdly cliche, but these kind of events make me so glad I came abroad to a place with such a unique culture, and a culture they´re so proud of. I fully plan to hang a Catalan flag in my dorm room this spring - even though the language may frustrate me, I love the traditions.

Trick or Treat!

2009-10-30T18:42:00.002+01:00

Even though I didn't dress up, I did get to celebrate Halloween today. Because the holiday is associated with the English language, all of the English classes at Mar Bella go all out — and I was invited to attend. All week, the third through sixth grade classes had been learning songs in English, which they performed for the younger kids. The words were mildly inaudible, but the masks were adorable. The older kids then went trick or treating to all the younger classrooms and sang the "Trick or Treat" song, which I had taught them on Wednesday. Per the teachers' suggestion, we changed "If you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underwear" to "I'll put red ants in your hair." I'm not sure how much better that is, but ok!

Most of the kids go home between 1 and 3 to eat lunch, and so I am usually not at Mar Bella during those hours. Today I got to stay and eat with the teachers though, and I have to say, their cafeteria lunch trumps anything I ever saw at FA. We had lovely fresh grilled fish, a wide assortment of vegetables and potatoes, and there were at least three other things I was just to overwhelmed to try.

After lunch was the day's actual main event: the Castanyada.

The Castanyada is a Catalan holiday, celebrated on the same day as Halloween, and centered around castanyers, or chestnuts. I'm still a little fuzzy on the symbolic reasons as to why chestnuts are eaten, but the holiday is extremely festive, and involves a lot of singing and dancing.

The sixth graders dressed up as the gypsies who sell chestnuts on the streets. (I pulled out my best face painting skills to make wrinkles and mustaches.) The preschoolers performed a dance in the gym and were then given folded pieces of newspaper, containing roasted chestnuts. One of the teachers overheard me saying I had never had a chestnut before, and taught me how to properly crack and eat one. Good thing — all of the little kids then decided my nails were perfect for peeling open their treats.

After the youngest and oldest kids had their song and dance time, the entire school congregated on the playground for more dancing and chestnut eating. The first grade class — who have fully attached themselves to me — pulled me into their circle and we all danced to the Catalan castanyer songs. It was unbelievably fun, and the kids got so into it. At the end they got a little Peter Pan-esque on me — three of the first graders refused to let go of my leg and begged me to come home and be their mothers. I promised I would be back on Monday.

How many CASB students does it take to work a printer?

2009-10-29T09:54:00.004+01:00

Answer: Unclear - we haven´t fully gotten there yet.

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I´ve determined that a large amount of the reading I have not done while here is simply because I cannot figure out how to print the documents.

Early on, we all encountered some minor traumas trying to print at UPF or UAB. First we were told we needed to apply for printing cards. Then we had to put money on them. Then we had to find the computers that permit printing. Moral of the story: I have yet to encounter a CASB kid who has successfully printed anything at any of the universities.

The solution to the problem - within the CASB office are four computers hooked up to two printers. So every Monday and Wednesday, during the ten minute pausa in the middle of Guerra Civil, we all race to the office. We discovered early on that we needed to bring our own printer paper. After having my mom bring me a pack from home, we also discovered that they use a different size here. (This resulted in Paige and I Wikiped-ing "paper size" for a good 10 minutes while we tried to reformat the printer.)

So now we have the right paper size. The dilemna is that we STILL cannot figure out which printers are linked to which computers, and how to get our boarding passes and hostel confirmations onto the right queues. (Conveniently the printers have the same name.) Generally, we all just put paper in, hit print, and wait for the chaos to ensue.

This morning, I ambitiously set off for CASB on my way to UAB, hoping to print the readings for Contemporary Political Institutions. Armed with a packet of paper, 45 minutes, and serious determination. Finally I got the computer/printer hook going and I started manually doing double-sided printing (the pages were flying everywhere). A couple pages in, the ink ran out. So I switched computers and switched printers. And then the paper jammed. And then the ink on that printer malfunctioned. And then I had to go to UAB.

I´m going to read the first 9 pages very thoroughly, because that may be as far as I get.

"Comida, Artes, Salidas en Barcelona"

2009-10-29T09:45:00.002+01:00

As one of my Spanish extracurriculars, I´ve been working on CASB´s "Agenda Cultural" with some of my fellow Consortium-ers. All of the students in the program are encouraged to go out and find cool cultural events in Barcelona and its environs, and if they are willing to write a little blurb about what they´ve seen and done, they can be reimbursed for their adventures. A group of us have been compiling the write ups and today, the first edition of Comida, Artes, Salidas en Barcelona will be unveiled. (Tonight we have a tapas session to all get together and talk about how things are going, since it´s just about the halfway point. (eek!))

As a sneak preview though, check out the blog we made to accompany the newsletter. The actual publication will only be printed a couple times, but we´re going to try to update the site as regularly as possible.

You know, I'm just Sarah Palin

2009-10-28T20:35:00.002+01:00

Today I had my second day at Mar Bella. This time I was working with a fifth grade class, who were giving presentations about the different animal groups. I watched to try and get a sense of where they were skill-wise. It was funny - seemingly hard words like "oviparous" they had no trouble pronouncing because the Catalan cognate sounds so similar. On the other hand, the ea sound in "breathe" or "dead" is nearly impossible for them.

After class I was talking to Ángels and the vice principal. In Catalan, the vice principal asked me what I was studying. I answered (in Spanish), political science. "Emmy for President!" she said, adding (in Catalan), "You would be better than that dumb woman from Alaska."

I'm glad some concepts translate.

Marvelous Monday Morning at Mar Bella

2009-10-26T14:25:00.003+01:00

Today I (finally) started working in Col-legio Mar Bella (also known as Mar Bella Elementary School). After a brief transportation snafu (I didn´t really know what bus stop to get off at and overshot - good thing I walk fast), I arrived at 9, just as all the kids and their parents were lining up outside the school gates. Some things are exactly the same - all the little kids had Hello Kitty, Disney and FC Barcelona backpacks, the sixth graders had those annyoing wheely backpacks, with which they were running over everyone´s feet.

I walked inside and found Ángels and Ángels, the two English instructors at the school. They introduced me to a couple key people, including the vice principal. She asked me questions in Catalan, I responded in Castellano, and was told I could only speak English while in the classroom. Oy vey.

First I worked with a class of first graders. Within the last few years, Halloween has become an actual holiday in Spain (for totally commercial reasons), but prior to that, it´s always been celebrated in English classes. The class was learning different vocabulary, like "witch" and "spider," and making little booklets to help them along. I sat down with a boy named Guillem, who showed me his coloring and started spèaking in Catalan. "Guillem," a nearby little girl said (also in Catalan), "Ángels SAID she only speaks English." (Obviously they believed that and I was pretty good at pretending I had no idea what was going on.) "I know that," Guillem responded, "but I´m going to teach her."

My favorite part about six year olds though: every little girl came and hugged my legs at the end of the hour.

Next I headed to a very rambunctious third grade class, where we practiced the song they´ll be singing at the Halloween party on Friday. They were getting antsy though - at 11 am they have "breakfast" (sandwiches brought from home) and play extremely physical fútbol on the playground.

Between classes, I had a chance to sit down with the two Ángels and talk about future classes. I´m really glad this program actually allows me to help coordinate what I do. When I worked in a bilingual classroom in Providence, I showed up, stood there and did what I was told. I felt like I was helping - but only to a degree. Here, I get to actually influence what we do during the hours I´m in the classroom.

To finish off my morning I went to a classroom of sixth graders. They were shyer about speaking at first, but by the end, had warmed up to me. All they wanted to know (once they found out where I´m from) is whether I had ever seen any famous people. I named a couple of my more obscure celeb sightings, but what they really wanted to know is whether I have ever seen the Jonas Brothers.

It was actually a challenge to NOT speak any Spanish, especially with everyone around me rattling away in a combination of Catalan and Castellano. I had to think really hard about what to say before I started speaking in English. One of the Ángels said she felt more self-conscious speaking English to the class with me there, and I understand the feeling. Right now I´m in the UPF library about to walk into my social theory class, where I am mildly terrified of raising my hand because I don´t even know what´s going to come out. But if I can teach a bunch of elementary school kids how to speak English, maybe Guillem and his friends can teach me to speak Catalan too. Maybe.

PS(A)

2009-10-26T01:06:00.002+01:00

This week I am only five hours ahead of the east coast. Daylight savings - go figure.

Food for Thought

2009-10-26T00:48:00.002+01:00

Last night, after returning from our day of Spanish touring, about 10 of us decided to embark on an even more Spanish quest: a dinner of homemade tapas. It´s remarkable what you can create with a baby-sized kitcken, a Mercadona spree and eager CASB chefs. We had tortilla española (a french fry omelette, basically), chicken croquettes, pa amb tomaquet (Catalan speciality; calling it bruschetta would be an insult), pimientos de padron (pan-fried green peppers), sauteed mushrooms and patatas bravas (potatoes + spicy sauce = yum). It took a lot of olive oil - and a lot of love - and was delicious.

Today though, we were on a different bent. All week, Paige and I have been bemoaning the lack of free refills (and fountain soda for that matter) in Spain. We wanted a diner. What we really wanted was Meeting Street, but we were willing to settle.

This week marked the second dip of the choque cultural chart. The initial plummet came from a frustration with Spanish disorganization and the difficulties of navigating a foreign system. I think I´m totally past that - and actually starting to get to the point, remarkably, where I can understand Spanish without trying too hard. This piece of the evolucion emocional came more from the missing-home angle.

And so four of us caved, and went to the Hard Rock Cafe for dinner. Ok, we were touristy, and we overpaid for our burgers, but they were delicious, and we just smiled at the waitress as she judgingly asked if we wanted another refill. Yes please.

Going Goth

2009-10-25T18:41:00.004+01:00

Throughout the semester, we continue to have group activities, etc. all centered around one theme - Spanish art. The first installment of the proseminario was Roman art - hence the trip to the Pyrenees. Over the course of the last week, we explored chapter 2: Gothic Art.

On Wednesday we checked out the Museu Maritim, where we looked at boats from centuries past. Especially of note were the maps - it was funny to look at these beautiful, ancient maps and see a country other than the US occupying the central focus.

On Friday we took another walking tour of the city, sticking to the oldest part of Barcelona, which is known as the barrio gotico (Gothic neighborhood). I apologize for the lack of visuals, and recommend Wikipedia-ing "Santa Maria del Mar" or "El Seu."

Saturday we boarded another CASBús for a day trip around the area. First stop was the Monasterio de Santa Creus in Tarragona, a beautifully maintained building with pretty grounds and gardens.

Then we headed to Montblanc, another nearby city which has still maintained its outer walls, centuries later. After some brief exploring, we sat down for a serious lunch, which turned out to be the main activity of the day (unsurprisingly). We had given our orders on the bus ride at 9 am, so we´d been thinking about food the whole time anyway. It did not disappoint.

After lunch we explored more of the town before reboarding the bus and headed back to Barcelona.

I was going to make pictures in Paint to accompany my travel tales, but perhaps I´ll just hold off for now on the accompanying images.

Color by Numbers

2009-10-22T18:33:00.002+02:00

I was waiting to write about a number of things because I wanted the accompanying images, but with my computer's unexpected "vacation" upon us, a little imagination is required...

1. Last Friday, we finally met with the teachers who we'll be working with in the Barcelona elementary schools. (Remember that? Yeah, we almost forgot about it too.) I have been assigned to a school called Mar Bella, which is in the Poble Nou district — a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood near the Olympic Village. (According to the director of the school's English program, the parents are working class but the kids grow up to be professionals.) While in the classrooms, we have to pretend we speak absolutely no Spanish — it's our job to get the kids to speak in English and really practice. I'll be working with first, third and sixth graders. My first day is Monday — my schedule made it hard to find times to go, but luckily Juanjo's "Guerra Civil" class is optional on Mondays (seriously), so I'll be kicking it with the kiddies instead.

2. On Tuesday night, I went to my first fútbol game. FC Barcelona — more religion than team — was playing a team we had never heard of (Russia's Rubin Kazan), but it was a championship game and there were decent seats available, so we went for it. We dressed up, painted our faces, and cheered loudly with the best of the Catalan fans. Barça lost (2-1) and there were some shocking cultural differences, but it was awesome.

3. At long last, I am an official UAB student. Given that I have been here for two months, that statement may seem confusing. Well, in fact, I am only matriculated as of this week. It seems no one was in that big of a rush. The good news? I now have access to the course websites and can pretend to an even greater degree that I know what's happening. The bad news? All those readings we thought didn't exist? We found them.

4. I personally thought that the rain in Spain only fell on the plain, but for the last few days, Barcelona has really been evoking Providence. Here's hoping it's only temporary. That being said, it's definitely fall now. The summer dresses are going under the bed and the sweaters are making their first appearances.

We're approaching the halfway point of CASB, which I cannot believe. October can't possibly be almost over, can it?

This WOULD happen to me.

2009-10-21T20:38:00.002+02:00

Anyone who knows me well is aware of my computer and its... trials, so it was only a matter of time before something traumatic happened here. This morning, the feisty little guy would not turn on, and so I let him take a time out for the day.

After much trial and error (thank you ChazinSweden), it was determined that there was a problem I could not fix myself. The closest Apple store to me is in Munich, which really made me miss the dysfunctional haven that is Providence Place. I was able to locate an Authorized Apple Service Provider though, and for the next 10 days, that´s where my baby will be vacationing.

NOTE: For everyone who has always questioned why my computer is such a disaster scene - NEW REVELATION - it´s not my fault.

Bilb-wow (Ok, that was too easy)

2009-10-19T20:44:00.007+02:00

This weekend, Dana and I made like native Spaniards and took a whirlwind weekend trip to the Basque Country city of Bilbao.

Leaving once again on a 7 am flight (I'm getting good at the 4:30 am wake-up), we arrived in Bilbao less than an hour later, a little cold (ah, the northern coast) and very confused (the airport mysteriously lacks an arrivals hall).

We made it downtown quickly, and I was shocked by what we found. I'd heard that Bilbao, prior to the building of the Guggenheim, was gritty and industrial — the Pittsburgh of Spain (or as I choose to think of it, the Providence). What we found was a beautifully charming city, filled with old buildings, cafes and wide avenues (and a shockingly efficient public

transportation system).

After taking a needed nap in our pensión, we set off in search of el Mercado de la Ribera, the largest covered market in Europe. Though the fruits and vegetables area (my favorite) was a little sparse, there were full floors devoted each to meats and fish. (Dad — this was your kind of market)

We spent most of the day just exploring the casco viejo — the old city — and its seven original streets. We also checked out the Museu de Bellas Artes (Fine Arts Museum).

Going from one anarchist state to another, I was expected Spanish to be the secondary language. But unlike Catalan, which I can pretend to understand, Basque (or Euskal, to natives) is in a league of its own. (Seriously, it has no known origin)

Though I heard few people actually speaking it, all signs favored the local dialect (with Spanish and English beneath it, thankfully).

As an example, thank you is translated as eskerrik asko. ok....

We spent the evening embracing the local culture: pintxos.

Like the rest of Spain, the Basque Country takes their food seriously (to the point of obsession). Up north though, they have their own spin on tapas — pintxos — which consist of anything and everything stabbed with a toothpick and stuck to a piece of bread. The typical weekend activity is to hop from one bar to another, have a glass of wine and a pintxo or two at each one. Highlights from our tour of the old city's Plaza Nueva included ensalada de mariscos (seafood salad), alcachofa (artichoke), pimiento con bacalo (red pepper stuffed with cod), various fresh grilled vegetables and cheeses, some sort of meat crepe, and a few things I couldn't quite identify. It's in these settings that I am extremely happy to be (more or less) a fearless eater. (I didn't take this photo, but it gives a pretty good demonstration of the deliciousness that is a pintxos bar.)

On Sunday, we took in the Big Kahuna, Bilbao's claim to fame, The Guggenheim. I've seen tons of pictures, but I don't think I was prepared for just how crazy of a building Frank Gehry's masterpiece is.

My favorite part may have been the 70-foot puppy made entirely of flowers, who greeted you as you entered.

I was shocked that the museum contained Impressionist masters — I was expecting only the truly bizarre. Then we got to the first floor, where we found video art and an enormous room filled with steel mazes. So I cannot profess to have understood even close to everything, but it was by far the coolest building I have ever been inside.

After spending a good chunk of the day at the museum, we found ourselves wandering and discovered that the entire city of Bilbao shuts down on Sundays. We had checked out of our hostel, it was cold, and we weren't leaving till 10:30 pm. What to do? Go to the movies! We saw Lo Que Funciona (Whatever Works), a Woody Allen movie about a New Yorker played by Larry David dubbed in Spanish. I was more impressed with the Spanish audiences' ability to grasp the humor than my ability to translate the language.

We managed to entertain ourselves until 10:30 pm, when we boarded our overnight bus back to Barcelona. It wasn't as restless as I was expecting, though I'd be lying if I said I wasn't getting very sleepy right about now.

Daily Dose of Drama

2009-10-15T20:28:00.002+02:00

It's been a while since I wrote about any sort of transportation-related debacle, and I have in fact gotten pretty good at maneuvering my way through Barcelona's three interconnected subway lines. This story is not intended to showcase my own difficulties, but rather to illustrate Spain at its best.

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Using our best spur-of-the-moment planning skills, my friend Dana and I decided to go to Bilbao for the weekend. We're going to navigate our way through yet another anarchist state and gain the ability to pretentiously say we've been to the Guggenheim.

A component of our perfectly orchestrated plan is an overnight bus back to Barcelona on Sunday night. Using the company's website, we picked out the bus that fit exactly what we wanted and tried to buy tickets. It was sold out. We found another that would world equally as well; it had one seat left. Obviously that doesn't work either. Starting over, we told the website search engine we needed a bus reservation for two people. The bus we wanted popped back up — and now it had five seats available. We refreshed and there were seven. We were confused.

We have the fortunate luck of living across the street from Estación Nord, the main bus terminal, so we ran over there. It was about 9 pm, so only two windows were open and there was a line spilling into the hallway. Dana got on line while I checked out the ticket machine. Much to my surprise, there were now 20 seats available on the bus, and the machine was all set to sell me a ticket. Pleased with how flawlessly I'd executed the situation, I stuck my credit card in. Unreadable. Minor glitch, but this is a problem I've had in Spain, so I wasn't surprised. I had enough cash on me so I put a 20 euro bill in. Here's where my issues began. The machine didn't register having received the money, nor would it return my money. For a few minutes, Dana and I just stood there and pushed buttons, not entirely sure what to do next.

I walked to the front of the line. One clerk waved me away; the other told me he couldn't help me. Dana got back on line, figuring she could buy tickets and ask for help in a more orderly way, while I stood guard over the machine and tried to stick various pieces of paper into the money slot.

Two security guards walked past and I stopped them, now slightly agitated and yelling in Spanish. One took my key from me and starting poking the money slot; the other walked over to the desk, came back, and informed me that the clerk knew nothing and did not have a key to the machine. Unable to offer me any other answers, they walked away.

While they had been attempting to help me, a middle-aged Spanish woman looking to buy tickets of her own had come over to ask them a question. After the security guards left me, she walked over and asked what had happened (I was now violently pushed the "return money" button). Outraged, she grabbed my arm and told me to come with her as she stormed to the front of the line and began yelling at the clerk on my behalf. Not surprisingly, he didn't respond this time either. She brought me back to my machine, told me stay put, and set off on a mission. (At this point, Dana is still on line and has only been cut by three or so people with emergency ticket needs)

My new friend came back with another bus company representative in tow. While my machine and I stood there, she began yelling at him for me. Finally, he turned to me and told me to follow him to another counter. He handed my a form to report my incident and said if I came back the next day, I could try and reclaim my money. Dana, tickets in hand, came over to help me as we tried to explain what had happened in comprehensible Spanish. Here's a translation of what we came up with:

"I put 20 euro in the machine and it took it. It wouldn't tell me it had it, nor would it return it. As a result, I don't have money or a ticket."

Dana wanted me to add, "ALSA has robbed me," but I refrained.

This morning, promptly at 9 am, I returned as I was told to. I went up to the counter with my copy of the form and presented it to another clerk, who I had to explain my saga to. "The machine has your money?" he asked me. "Si" "Well then why did you fill out a form?" "Because I want my money back." (long pause) "And they told me to yesterday." He looked at me for a minute. "But why did you fill out a form? Now we have to involve another department." I wasn't really sure what to say to that, plus he walked away with my form in hand. Picking up the copy I had left in the office yesterday, he proceeded to the shredder and inserted both. I never really had much proof of the whole incident and now he was destroying the closest thing I had. Ok...

He walked back over, opened the cash register, handed me a 20 and closed the window. And my friends, that is how we do business en España.

Ciao, Bella! (or how we ate our way through Italy)

2009-10-13T13:45:00.006+02:00

This weekend's fabulous trip had three main components that I think summarize it best: art, Jesus and food.

------

We landed in Pisa early Friday morning, having departed the

Residencia before 5 a.m. We took the train into the city, made our way to the Tower, and took the requisite photos in which we tried to make it fall down.

The climb seemed a little treacherous, so we opted to explore the enormous cathedral instead. Though it is in fact a real city, there wasn't much else going on in Pisa, so we took the train to Florence.

After checking into our hostel, we had the full three-course lunch we have become accustomed to at a local restaurant. We quickly discovered that we might have some language issues, but managed to get by with butchered Spanish, and a little Catalan for good measure. (When that failed, I did a lot of pointing and gesturing) Our very friendly waitress introduced us to what quickly became a group favorite — ribollita — which is a Florentine bread and cabbage soup (infinitely better than that description makes it sounds).

We spent the rest of Friday exploring Florence and getting our bearings, before falling asleep at 10:15 p.m.

We got up early on Saturday and got in line to see the Uffizi Gallery, which was enormous — a lot of Renaissance and a lot of religion. In the afternoon we went to the Accademia to see Michaelangelo's David. He, too, was enormous.

Feeling museum-ed out, we partook in another important piece of Italian culture: gelato.

On Sunday we took the bus to the incredibly beautiful town of Siena. Our first stop was Nannini, a famous old bakery, to sample panaforte — a Sienese speciality, which tastes like a more interesting fruit cake. Not my favorite baked good ever, but it was a cultural experience.

After the bakery we headed to Il Campo, the shell-shaped center of the city and home to the Palazzo Pubblico.

We spent a long time exploring the Palazzo, which is covered in murals and frescoes — literally, every spare inch of wall has something painted on it. The most noteworthy of the paintings, which Paige had actually studied and told us about ahead of time, is in the Room of Nine, where the Sienese government used to receive citizens. The full-wall painting depicts good government and how it affects the town, and the converse effects of a bad, tyrannical government.

We explored Siena for the whole afternoon before heading back to Florence for dinner and more walking. The Italians eat their meals late, but not quite like the Spanish schedule we're on. The advantage of being the last people to finish dinner though: desserts complements of the house. After we left the restaurant we could hear American classic rock music resonating from the area surrounding the Palazzo Vecchio. We happened upon Ken Mercer and his nightly outdoor concert, so we sat and listened for a while.

On Monday morning we got up and climbed the cupola of the Duomo — all 463 steps of it (Paige counted just to be sure). The view of all the red roof tops was incredible.

After navigating and bargaining our way through the markets of San Lorenz, we headed back to the Pisa airport to return to Barcelona.

All in all, it was a fabulous trip. And now, a special shout out to my Let's Go! Europe book — I may look like a tool every time I pull you out in public (and cause embarrassment to my travel companions), but you have never let me down.

Good lord it's early

2009-10-09T04:48:00.001+02:00

7 am flight bound for Florence ... see you on Monday!

The last week: Reader's Digest version

2009-10-05T17:41:00.008+02:00

STOCKHOLM

I returned late Sunday night from my sojourn to the land of ABBA, Pippi Longstocking and H&M, leaving behind the rain and impending darkness, and re-embracing sunshine and catcalling.

Stockholm could not have been any more different from Barcelona. The people are quiet and polite; gender equality is prized quite highly; dinner time is at 6 pm; the society is trustworthy and trusting of humanity (unattended belongings are left alone, shockingly); and despite all my whining about Catalan, I really could not understand what was happening in Sweden. Also, there is a lot of blonde hair.

I landed on Friday afternoon and took the speedy and environmentally-friendly (apparently their claim to fame) Arlanda Express train to the center of the city. I was surprised by how rural the area outside Stockholm was. Chaz lives in a suburb of the city called Sundbyberg (don't ask me to pronounce it).

We spent most of the weekend walking around the city, which is unbelievably beautiful. Actually a collection of islands, Stockholm looks exactly as I would have pictured it — beautifully preserved old buildings lining boat-filled harbors, with charming bridges and cafes all around.

To brave the cold, we stopped frequently to fika, which means "coffee and something more." The something more can be anything from sexual tension to a full blown meal, though we opted for the local treat, kanelbullar, which taste like the love child of a cinnamon bun and babka. Sunday was coincidentally National Kanelbullar Day, so we celebrated extra hard with possibly the largest pastries I have ever seen.

On Sunday we also ventured to the highest point in the city to take in the spectacular views. It wasn't that clear out, but it was still pretty impressive. See video footage here (scroll all the way to the bottom).

MOMMY!

In a step up from the typical Parent's Weekend, my mom is visiting Barcelona this week. Though I have actually had to go to class during the day, we've gotten in some serious walking and tapas adventures as I show off my new city. Who knows, maybe we'll get a guest appearance on the blog...

UAB, you complete me.

So two tumultuous weeks later, I have a functioning class schedule. Shocking, I know, but true. Here's the final verdict:

La Guerra Civil y Memoria Historica. Taught by Juanjo and filled with only CASB students, the class is prone to extreme digression, also known as "The World According to Juanjo." We are slowly starting to understand the causes of the civil war though, even if it requires a little Wikipedia on the side.
Teoria Social. My only UPF class and my first entré into any kind of social theory. On the first day, the professor said, "I'm warning you now — the readings are going to be hard..." he paused, "because they are in English." Discussing them in Spanish alongside my Catalan classmates really throws what I thought was my English fluency for a loop. The material is interesting and the professor is comprehensible, so I don't think I could ask for anything more.
Relaciones Internacionales. The exact same class as the one that shares its title at Brown, only this way, I get the European's perspective. The professor loves exchange students, PowerPoints and current events. All in all, a win.
Instituciones Políticas Contemporáneas. My final exam may be taken via email in February, but otherwise, this is the perfect fourth class. Fits my comparative politics requirement, it's in Spanish, the professor is comprehensible, and the other students not at all scary (because they're freshmen). I'm definitely the only international student in the class though, which is somewhat of a novelty. The other day, the professor was recounting various democratic revolutions throughout history and told the story of the United States', though it was with a very different point of view than the version I've been taught my whole life. At the end, he said (in Spanish), "So that's the American revolution, though we have an americana here and she might tell you otherwise." The entire class dissolved into whispers and starting looking around. "¿Americana? ¿Donde?" The girl next to me figured it out quickly. "¿Tu? You are the American?"

Yes, yes I am.

Up next.

We have Monday off from school (Columbus Day perhaps?) and never have Friday classes, so Matt, Paige and I are skipping over to Florence for the weekend. It's a really hard life.

Oh what a week it has been.

2009-10-01T20:59:00.004+02:00

So I have probably blogged more times this week than the rest of the semester thus far, and I have taken you on my full emotional roller coaster ride. But as this morning's graph and cautious optimism demonstrates, we are on the upswing.

UAB Day #2 was marked by a series of highs and lows:

High: Returned to Relaciones Internacionales. This time it was the professor, who was infinitely nicer than the TA. At the end of class, he asked all of the international students to raise their hands, and he asked us all where we were from. He then instructed the rest of the class to be kind to us, help us navigate the university, and if we get stuck, photocopy their notes for us. He also decided it was totally fine for us to peace out in December and just take our own version of the final. WIN. And bonus time: we have short papers every few weeks and it's our option — we can hand them in in Catalan, Spanish, OR.... English!

Low: My friends at Brown will say this one is my fault. I tend to extend my shopping period for longer than necessary because I just keep deciding to try out new classes "for fun." (Note: It's not usually that fun). This one was Analisis de conflictas internacionales y culturales. Supposedly in Spanish, but the Powerpoint was in Catalan. The teacher was apparently speaking castellano, but I'm not convinced. At one point — unable to follow along — I wrote "SHE MAY AS WELL BE SPEAKING CATALAN. WTF." in my notebook (in all cap letters), which elicited laughter from the German girls on my right (who concurred). So that class was a fail.

High: Returned to the Spanish-speaking section of Contemporary Political Institutions. The girl on my left commented on how it was cool that we had the same pen; I proceeded to read her notes over her shoulder for the duration of class. It's less that I have issues understanding, and more that spelling is a struggle.

Low: At the end of class, I went up to the professor and tried to explain (en español) that I'm only here until December, and would very much appreciate being able to take the final then. A native Brit, he switched to English upon hearing my accent. "I don't know," he said. "I need to think about it." Ok great. Let me know. Anytime.

So I survived a week of shopping. We'll take it from here. Tomorrow morning I'm leaving on a jet plane to visit Chaz in Sweden (actually the title of his blog, but Chaz is in Sweden, and I am going to visit him). I'm so excited to see a new part of Europe — even if it meant I had to go under my bed and find my quasi-winter clothing today. Now I'll concentrate all my thoughts on Swedish meatballs and Ikea and disregard UAB until next week. Sounds like a good plan to me.

Choque Cultural

2009-10-01T09:16:00.005+02:00

When we first arrived in Barcelona, each of us were given CASB agenda books, filled with calendars, important contact numbers and tips, and a strangely technical graph. The red squiggle line depicted the evolución emocional of "culture shock" — something we had been warned about during study abroad orientation at Brown. Paige and I found the chart so hilarious we copied it and taped it to our wall for easy reference.

As we spent our first few weeks traipsing around Barcelona, taking in the local culture, food, sights, etc., it was hard to imagine how we could ever hit the low point on the graph. What in Spain could possibly stress us out that much, or make us that homesick? We're practically on vacation!

Well, this week I have probably heard 15 different people reference their "choque." The dip has come. Spain's inefficiencies are nothing new to us — we've been laughing about them for weeks. But the frustrating nature of trying to organize a schedule when no one speaks your language — not even the one you supposedly are here to study — is a lot more stressful than I anticipated it could be. Here the attitude is, "Don't worry, it'll all work out," and I'm a trying, trying, TRYING to be open to whatever comes my way, but... it's a bit choqu-ing.

The good news is that after this, emotions evolve back upward. So my schedule is not exactly what I was hoping for? I'll adapt. So the students in my Spanish-taught lecture class are allowed to ask questions in Catalan? I'll calmly wait until the professor answers, and try and be ok with the fact that I will definitely not understand everything that happens around me.

I'm about to set out for Day 2 at UAB. I'm not expecting miracles, but maybe this episode will feature fewer ups and downs.

The resolution of the UAB debacle. Sort of.

2009-09-30T00:07:00.002+02:00

After waiting over an hour for the UAB secretariat, it became apparent that no one knew what language any of the classes were in. The organizational system at this university makes Brown look like the Army. And that's saying a lot. On the bright side, it was about 2:30 pm by this point, and it turns out that the communications department has a lovely cafeteria.

I went to "Instituciones Politiques Contemporanies," take two — and this time it was in Spanish. It turns out I missed the first class somehow, though don't ask me when it was held. After 90 minutes of rapid-fire Spanish lecturing, I went up to the professor and calmly explained that I was an international student who had been given very little information, and would greatly appreciate either a syllabus or his email address.

Nearly 10 hours after I departed Onix this morning, I returned to Barcelona proper. But you know what they say: tomorrow is another day. And believe me when I say I am not the only one experiencing class-related trauma.

The first day of school is always scary.

2009-09-29T13:46:00.004+02:00

Starting classes at CASB or UPF wasn't really that daunting. With the CASB class, I already knew Juanjo and all of the kids around me and at UPF, the campus is small, manageable and organized.

But today I embarked on my first UAB journey and opened a whole new can of worms.

I left this morning, literally, at the crack of dawn. (The sun was just beginning to light the streets as I made my way to the metro.) I was worried about being able to find my class after hearing horror stories from friends who yesterday, wandered for two hours and still could not find their classrooms. But I got off the metro and with shocking ease, located the building for Ciences de Comunicació (Communication Studies). The class I was looking for is one I thought would perfectly fill my comparative politics requirement. Though strangely housed in the faculty of journalism, the class in question was "Instituciones Politiques Contemporanies."

I found the classroom with relative ease and even had time for a café. Everything was going smoothly, even if I was seemingly the only American present and mildly terrified to speak to anyone. The professor strolled in a few minutes late, pulled up a word document, and started speaking. In catalan. This could be a problem.

I felt like Xavier in L'Auberge Espagnol, and for the next 90 minutes, frantically copied any charts the professor displayed and attempted to garner what the hell was going on. I kept a close eye on the students around me — whenever one of them wrote something down, I figured an important point had been made. At the end of the class, my notebook page was a jigsaw puzzle of English, Spanish, and poorly spelled Catalan.

I went up to the professor after class to ask if there was another section that was taught in Spanish (as I had been led to believe this one would be). When I introduced myself as an international student, he looked at me inquisitively and simply stated, "So you didn't understand any of that." (He was, however, pretty excited about the fact that I was from New York.) He said he there definitively was a castellaño section — he just didn't know what time it was at.

Figuring I would return to this conundrum later, I made a beeline for the Ciences de Politiques building for my next class: "Relaciones Internacionales." When the TA (who introduced the first class) pulled up a Powerpoint in Spanish, I could not have been more relieved. Until he clicked to slide two. Which in big bold letters, announced that exchange students could not take the class unless they were staying for the entire year — a statement counteracting an entire email exchange I had had with UAB about this specific class. Also: this could be a problem.

Now I'm back in the communications building. Here, if you want to speak to an administrative office, you take a number as if you were at a deli counter. So with my #166 ticket in hand (we just hit #130, so it may be a while), I am waiting.

Shana tova!

2009-09-29T00:01:00.005+02:00

Three posts in one day is a little insane, but this one is more explanation and less photos, and a strikingly different topic than the prior two.

---

Celebrating the high holidays in Spain has been an interesting experience. They are definitely not anti-Semetic here — in fact anyone I've talked about the holidays with has been intrigued and wanted to know more. Rather, it's just that the Spanish are unaware of and unaccustomed to Jewish people, which is a strange phenomenon coming from New York. For example: our group trip to the Pyrenees and its perfect correlation with Rosh Hashanah. It was not intended to be that way — the CASB trip directors just didn't know the holiday existed. So we celebrated the new year in our own special and unconventional way: we ate apples and honey on a bus, and threw cookie crumbs into a waterfall.

For Yom Kippur (Or should I say, "Iom Kipur,") we decided to go the more traditional route. (And following Mercè, all the more sin to atone for.) As we learned when visiting the old Jewish Quarter, there are four active synagogues in Barcelona today, and we attended services at the largest of them, Comunidad Israelita de Barcelona. We think it was a conservative temple, though it's not entirely clear. Regardless, it was cool to see the Spanish Jews in action. The synagogue held Ashkenazi and Sephardic services simultaneously, and in both, the men and women were separated.

We went to Kol Nidre last night and morning services today, and here's the key lesson I learned: bring Jews and the Spanish together and you have no chance of starting anywhere even close to on time. The service was largely in Hebrew, but it was amusing to see the prayers I'm familiar with punctuated by "a pie" (stand), "oficiante" (cantor) and a Spanish transliteration that replaced the nasal "ch" sound with a "j." It was also a much more formalized experience — no sermon, less hand-holding and participation, and more direct following of the prayer book. But the crowds were more than happy to gossip and catch up throughout the entire service.

Fasting was a challenge in a country where food is the second religion, but we made it until the end and had our very own breakfast. We replaced noodle pudding with tortilla española, but managed to find the one store in Barcelona that sells bagels. After all, what would Yom Kippur be without bagels, lox and schmear?

Sunday spectacles

2009-09-28T13:32:00.007+02:00

Bear with me as I slowly upload the literally hundreds of pictures I took during Mercè.

On Sunday we observed the sardana, a Catalonian folk dance performed in the square in front of the city's cathedral. For Mercè, there was some sort of contest going on — at least 20 different troops performed the highly regimented dance while costume-clad judges peered on with clipboards.

We then headed back to the Plaça de la Constitucion to see more castellers. This time we were able to push a little closer to the front and we stayed to see the extra-large constructions. Here's a sampling... and to note, the children on top could not be more than five or six years old. Again with the very trusting parenting over here...

To get down from the top, the kids shimmy down the backs of the rest of the tower. Eek!

What the correfoc?

2009-09-28T01:08:00.005+02:00

No possible explanation could have prepared me for the spectacle we observed on Saturday night.

We arrived at Via Laietanea — one of Barcelona's larger avenues — at about 6:00, just as the sidewalks were filling with families. The first event of the evening was the correfoc infantil, and most of the spectators were accompanied by small children. We weren't entirely sure what this meant — we just knew it involved children and fire. God bless the Spanish approach to parenting. As soon as the first shots of sparklers sounded through the air, parents rushed to bundle their kids in sweatshirts, scarves, hats, and in some cases, ski goggles.

At first all we could see were shooting sparks in the distance. We were quickly enveloped my a running mass of kids and adults waving sparklers and showering us with fire and sparks. The only possible way to understand what was happening is to see the pictures:

Children as young as five or six were running through the street, wielding their sparklers. For the spectators, the goal is to run through the sparks, jumping up and down in time with the beat of the marching bands. The hour-long parade is comprised of all of the different correfoc troops — each has its own outfit and pyrotechnic speciality. When we saw a protest against EU safety laws regarding fire earlier this month, it was all of these groups who marched in the manifestación. I'm not entirely surprised that the EU is questioning the safety of correfoc, though I did not see a single person, tree or sidewalk go up in flames.

At about 8:30, just as the sky was getting dark, the full-size correfoc began. This time, all bets were off as sparkler-shaking teens and adults pelted their sparks into the crowds and dragon figures shot fire from their mouths at the spectators.

There is no experience I can possibly even draw a parallel to — running through the flames of correfoc (yes, I participated) is an event that stands alone.

La Mercè

2009-09-26T17:10:00.009+02:00

The festivities are still continuing, but here's an account of what we've seen and done so far...

On Thursday - the actual day of Mercè - one of the biggest attractions to be seen are the castellers, which are literal human towers. In the Plaça de Jaume, trained troops stand 5-people tall and walk around to the delight of hoards of spectators. It took my best shoving skills to make it through even part of the crowd, which you can see in this picture:

Here's a picture of one of the towers. For purposes of perspective, the little kid on top of the tower is in line with the fifth or sixth window on the building.

After viewing the castellers, we checked out MACBA (the modern museum of art) and the Picasso Museum, since everything was free for the holiday.

On Thursday night, we headed down to the beach for the giant fireworks show. As I previously documented, the Spanish love their pyrotechnics — and this was no exception. Once again, the city squares were filled with live music late into the night, so we bounced from neighborhood

to neighborhood, checking out the local scene.

On Friday, a couple of us took time off from the craziness of Mercè and explored Sitges, a beautiful beach town 30 minutes south of Barcelona. The town of pristine sand, clear water and old castles is known to be an international gay destination, but in my opinion, it had nothing on Providence.

Today we explored the Mercè in our own backyard. We're fortunate enough to live just blocks away from the Parc de la Ciutadella, one of Barcelona's prettier parks. Today it was filled with children on go-karts, a band on a bicycle and an Asian food festival.

Now we're off to one of the crown jewels of the Mercè festival — the correfoc — which literally translates into "fire run." We're not entirely sure what to expect, but were told to wear jeans, long sleeve shirts and scarves. This should be quite the adventure.

As a side note, I have been perfecting the art of the tortilla española. I hope to be an expert by the time I return stateside, so I can bring my new culinary skill back to school with me...

Wednesday is the Weekend

2009-09-24T11:28:00.004+02:00

Yesterday after another civil war class, we decided to do a little city exploring. Largely because of what week it is, we made our way over to the old Jewish Quarter, called the Call (named after the street that runs through it).

I always joke that the two hotspots on any Liss family vacation are the best bakery in the city, and the spot where the Jewish people lived. So Dad, this explanation is for you:

There's not much left to see of the Jewish area of the old city — the Jews were expelled from Spain in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. But the one synagogue that has been uncovered is considered to be the oldest synagogue in Europe, and so we took a tour around its two rooms.

The Sinagoga Mayor dates back to the 13th-century, though there are some relics that indicate it may have been there even earlier.

Among the interesting items we saw was a letter from the King Jaume I to the synagogue in the 13th-century, giving them formal permission to expand. (The rule in the day was that a synagogue could not be taller than the smallest church.)

Today there are about 4,000 Jewish people in Barcelona and 4 active synagogues.

Just to keep up the theme, we followed our tour with a falafel lunch.

In the afternoon, I had my first university class — Teoria Social Avançada (Advanced Social Theory) at UPF. The course is all about social class, a topic which — according to Juanjo — Europeans are obsessed with and Americans never talk about. It seems like it will be a really interesting course and as a nice bonus, the professor has a very easy accent to understand.

Last night the festivities of Mercè started. The holiday — which technically is today, September 24th — is a celebration of Mercedes, patron saint of Barcelona. The streets are filled with free concerts, there are fireworks on the beach, parades, human tours, and the metro never closes. Signs have been up for all of September, and the city has been busy setting up churros stands and bounce houses all week. The real action started last night with giant kick-off concerts in all of the big Plaças around the city.

Today (we have no class in honor of the day) all of the city's museums are offering free entry, so we're off to check out some local art and culture.

A week with real classes (ish)

2009-09-22T19:05:00.002+02:00

Classes start this week, but only in certain locations and only for part of the week. If the disorganization baffles you, just remember that we're in Spain.

For the semester, I take three university classes and one class made up of only CASB students. For my university classes, I get to pick from the bulk of the offerings at UPF and UAB. A la Brown, we are allowed to shop our classes before deciding what we want. UPF started today, but I'm not taking any classes there on Tuesdays. UAB allows each department to pick its own start date. The courses I'm shopping are in Periodisme (Journalism) and Ciencias Politiques (that one I think you can figure out), both of which start after this Thursday's festival of Mercè. (More details on that soon)

I had my first CASB class yesterday though. I'm taking La Guerra Civil y Memoria Historica (The Civil War and Historical Memory), which is taught by Juanjo, our program director. As I mentioned once before, I know very little about the Spanish Civil War, and it's a topic that is somewhat all-consuming for the Spanish people, so I'm really excited to learn about it.

Yesterday I also had my first episode in actual Spanish cooking. Two of the dishes you see most often in Barcelona are tortilla española and pan con tomate. Tortilla is basically a potato omelette, and the typically Catalan pan is simply baguette rubbed with tomato. Both are incredibly easy to make, and extremely delicious.

There are no leftovers, but we do now have a three kilo bag of potatoes sitting on our kitchen counter. (At the little fruit stand by our building, it cost 65 cents for the giant sack. I figured why not.) I sent an email to all of the CASB kids advertising free potatoes, but no one has come to claim them yet...

We also had the exciting adventure of losing power last night. Instead of just leaving and going out to dinner, we went and bought candles and made an adventure out of it. Someone had the brilliant idea of making s'mores, but the man at Mercadona wasn't feeling my Spanish translation of "marshmallow," and I learned that trying to describe what a marshmallow is in Spanish is not that easy.

Since I had no class today, I went to a cafe this morning to finish off my final paper for the orientation classes, which is due tomorrow. Something I have now noticed throughout Barca is that all of the cafes and coffee shops play American pop music — the kind we would play at a party. It's a far cry from the indie alternative of Blue State and Coffee Exchange...

My favorite kind of proof that I actually live in a city:

2009-09-21T16:43:00.001+02:00

Los Pirineos

2009-09-20T19:21:00.011+02:00

We arrived in the Pyrenees on Friday night after a winding 5ish-hour drive up the mountains. We checked into our hotel and had dinner as a group in the restaurant there. (Upon inspection both before and after our meal we determined that there was not a whole lot else going on in the town of Boi.)

We woke up on Saturday morning to a view of the gorgeous mountains and charming village. Not a bad start to the day.

The group loaded back onto the bus and we drove to Taüll, a nearby town that is home to multiple original 11th-century churches. This is where much of the artwork we saw in MNAC came from.

While in the town we inspected the interior of the church, climbed a bell tower, and happened upon a shepherd and his

giant herd of sheep.

We departed Taüll by foot and embarked on what we

thought was going to be an easy stroll on sidewalks, but was in fact a hilly, rocky hike. discoverd

As we made our way through the mountain-side, we discovered delicious blackberry bushes along the side of the trail. The whole experience felt less Spain and more "Sound of Music."

We spent the afternoon in Pont de Suert, the most happening of the local towns.

With five hours to fill, we opted for the serious Spanish lunch — 4 courses, after all of which the waitress asked if we wanted more food. No, we most definitely did not.

We walked around and met back at the bus at the appointed time, but discovered that we couldn't leave because there was a mini protest (scheduled to last for exactly 45 minutes) blocking the only route out of the town. We were told we could sit on the bus or go participate and with that, a few of us took off running.

We were handed a flyer by one of the older women at the helm, but it was in Catalan, so she

explained in Spanish what was going on. The roads connecting the villages in the Pyrenees are horribly maintained and both the Spanish and Catalunian governments have promised to repair them, but nothing has happened. (The big signs in the photo translate from Catalan to say "Cars cannot go by highways of promise" and "Cars can go by highways of truth.")

The protesters were thrilled to learn we were Americans studying in Spain — and even more excited when we demonstrated our 15-word Catalan vocabulary. We stayed for the duration of the manifestación and even wound up on video camera.

We had dinner at the hotel again and spent the rest of the night there. This morning we packed up the bus and drove 3 hours down the curvy mountain roads. There was not a whole lot of warning as to the nature of the roads, and so I had a nice window seat in the very back of the bus, but disembarked the bus in Seu d'Urgell entirely in one piece.

We checked out the Seu (cathedral) and spent some time walking around the town before getting back on the bus and heading home to Barcelona, with a brief stop at the Castell de Cardona, a beautifully preserved castle atop a very high hill. (Props to the bus driver for maneuvering that one.)

Now we're back in Barca. Up for this week: the start of real classes (sort of). More on that as it happens...

Wine sips and weekend trips

2009-09-18T15:40:00.004+02:00

Yesterday marked the official end of the proseminario classes, and we finished the day with a cata de vinos, or wine tasting. Here's what I learned:

The more amber a wine is, the older it is
It is very difficult to discern which wine is more amber
The size of a cava's bubbles indicate its age
There are bread sticks on the table for a reason

Today we're off to the Pyrenees. We'll be staying in Boi, a town about 4 hours from Barcelona. Up in the mountains, we're going to check out the Roman churches, art and architecture, with a little free time thrown in to explore the towns. As per usual, we know very little about where exactly we're going, but it should be a fantastic weekend nonetheless.

L'shana tova to all. Since we won't be able to go to services, we're bringing apples and honey on this afternoon's bus ride. We managed to find small rolls vaguely resembling challah, so we're going to ring in the new year Spanish style.

Until Sunday...

Tales from la biblioteque

2009-09-16T17:36:00.006+02:00

This week marks the end of the orientation classes which unfortunately means tests and papers. I've been camped out in UPF's library this afternoon — which compared to the SciLi is incredibly silent — but am in need of a brief break. So here's what I have been doing:

Yesterday after Catalan class, we took a group trip to the Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya (MNAC). As I mentioned, we're going to the Pyrenees this weekend to check out the arte románico. The valleys surrounding the mountains contain original 11th century churches, though most of the artwork has been moved to MNAC and other locations for purposes of preservation. Hence our visit to the Roman art section of the museum yesterday.

After the tour ended, we had the option to stay and explore other parts of the museum. Taking advantage of the fact that our entrance fee had already been paid, Paige and I checked out a temporary exhibit featuring the Spanish Civil War (and World War II) photographs of Robert Capp and Gerda Taro. The pictures were unbelievable — but made me realize how remarkably little I know about what was such an influential time period on Spain today. Good thing I'm taking a class on the Civil War...

Today we had our final Catalan class, complete with a mini exam.

Jo em dic Emmy. Sóc de Nova York. Tinc 20 anys.

I don't think I will ever feel comfortable going up to a stranger and speaking to them in Catalan, but it is nice to be able to somewhat comprehend the signs I see on the Metro.

We also had our final culture and history class today, for which I need to do a three-page paper about... to be determined.

Tomorrow is the last Spanish class, the reason behind today's library session. We have a brief written test, an oral presentation and a three-page paper. Yikes!

Other important lessons I learned today: Spanish cafeterias are not so big on plastic silverware. I was yelled at when I asked if I could use their cutlery on my lunch from home, and so was forced to steal a spoon from the coffee area. Good thing I pre-chopped my salad.

Emmy Barcelona

2009-09-16T01:03:00.002+02:00

A couple summers ago, Katie met a guy from Barcelona while he was visiting New York. Since we got here, they've been trading messages, and planned to meet for a drink tonight (with about five of us in tow). I was expecting a total local dive bar, but instead Guillem led us to what he was hoping would be an authentic Spanish experience. We walked down a series of dark streets before happening upon a doorway, which opened onto a beautiful courtyard. Sitting down at a long table, we unknowingly ordered very expensive drinks, but when handed the bill were told that it included the entertainment... Shortly after that, the crowd all turned their chairs toward the center of the room to face three guitarists. It felt like we were in a scene from Vicky Cristina Barcelona — the authentic music; the dark, smoky restaurant; the very native sounding Spanish. The whole experience was slightly surreal in comparison to the mainstream tourist activities we've been doing (today's museum activities included). More to report on the activities of today, etc. but just felt like tonight's moment of the real Barcelona had to be recorded.

Should probably learn how to say "procrastinating" in Spanish

2009-09-15T00:27:00.005+02:00

Another evening at 12:30 ish — I should be doing my Spanish homework, and yet I wind up either uploading pictures or updating on my adventures (or both...).

This morning was yet another Catalan class. Only minor subway drama, and we would have been on time, but the morning cortado (shot of espresso, minimal hot milk) was compulsory. Today's lesson mimicked what actual university classes are like: regardless of what language a professor lectures in, students can ask questions in the language of their choosing. It seems to be a very democratic system, though it's very disorienting to ask questions and receive answers in different languages.

Class was followed by another installment of the proseminario. Today focused on arte románico — this weekend we head to the Pyrenees as a group, and so we're starting to prepare.

The afternoon was free and so I decided to try doing my work. Next door to the Residencia is a public library, so I thought I'd check it out. But to use WiFi you need a library card, and to get a library card you need your passport. Though I obviously could have retrieved my passport, I decided to wander around the city instead.

I found myself in the Boqueria somewhat by accident. The Boqueria is the largest of Barcelona's many markets and though I went pretty late in the day, it was still mayhem. For a person who loves food shopping, it can be quite overwhelming. There is excessive yelling (both of prices and of cat calls from the fruit sellers) and people move at a very rapid pace. I was starting to take pictures — as I often do in market settings — but was threatened by a woman selling candy, so I quickly put my camera away.

After meandering through the market for a while, I started back in the general direction of Onix. I was happily munching on my dried fruit and nuts when I heard startling thunder overhead. (I should have been expecting it — it had hailed during class that morning) It was only drizzling though, so I wasn't too worried. I was almost all the way home when the skies opened up — Providence flash-flood-style rain.

Good news though: Paige and I have rigged a bright pink clothesline across our room, so my wet clothes and I have since recovered. As for my Spanish paper...

Back in Barca

2009-09-13T23:11:00.005+02:00

Just returned from a beach-filled weekend in the gorgeous town of Tossa del Mar. I had a fantastic time, but it was great to pull into the bus station in Barcelona and feel like we were home.

We left early Friday morning and arrived on the Costa Brava just as the beach was filling up. The town is pretty touristy, but authentically Spanish. The 17 of us immediately trekked down to the water and formed a giant circle, more or less, around our backpacks and other assorted belongings. The town is built into the cliffs, so the beach is pebbly, not sandy, but the Mediterranean is beautiful and clear. An old Catalonian stronghold, Tossa has a medieval fortress poised between the beaches atop a hill and surrounded by an ancient city — Vila Vella.

Here's the view from the top:

The hotel we stayed in — Med Playa San Eloy — was not quite

in the center of town (which is why we were able to get fantastic rates). Positioned alongside the highway, the hotel looks like an enormous medieval fortress. It was a little village unto itself, providing us with a lot of entertainment. There were multiple pools, a mini gold course, an outdoor stage with Spanish renditions of "Grease" and hoards of unattended children. We split into rooms of six in what were almost like condos, complete with little outdoor seating areas, providing for excellent people-watching opportunities. (Plus, in Spain, staring is 100% socially acceptable.)

The weekend was filled with hours of sunny beach time, authentic paella and sangria, late-night skinny dipping in the Mediterranean and lots of CASB bonding. We spent the weekend joking about how we were on vacation from our vacation — which is partially true — though things are starting to become more and more familiar here in Barca. (Plus we have some serious homework this week. Yuck.) But for now — some well-needed sleep. More adventures and pictures from the weekend to come.

¡Buen fin de semana!

2009-09-11T09:15:00.000+02:00

See you on Sunday night, Internet!

Celebrating "independence" and coastal beaches

2009-09-10T16:56:00.006+02:00

At long last, we made it to UAB for Spanish class on our own with absolutely no drama. Ok, so we were 10 minutes late. But in Spain, that's like being early. While making our way through the bustling Plaça Catalunya Metro station, we saw a familiar sight. Please note the CASB students enraptured by the neon letters and baked goods.

The rest of the day has been one of planning. Tomorrow we have no school, thus marking our first real opportunity to travel. September 11 is the Diada Nacional de Catalunya, the day the region "celebrates" the fact that they LOST their independence. We're expecting less fiesta, and more raging fireworks and raucous protesting. There have been signs (like this one) displayed all over Barcelona for the past week or so.

Rather than stay and observe the dramatics, we (a rapidly growing group of about 25 of us) are fleeing the city for the beautiful sandy beaches of la Costa Brava for the weekend. We're staying in the quiet town of Tossa del Mar, about a 90-minute bus ride from Barca. (Conveniently, we live across the street from Estación Nord, the Port Authority, so to speak.)

Looking forward to a long weekend of sunshine, the Mediterranean sea, and (fingers crossed) some authentic paella.

Highlights of Week 2

2009-09-09T17:57:00.007+02:00

Midway through another week of orientation classes and all is going splendidly.

Yesterday we had another Catalan-filled morning. Now I can conjugate very simple words and tell time. But even when it comes to reading clocks, the Catalan have their own special way of doing things. 2:15 is not a quarter past two, but rather a quarter to three (2:45 would be three quarters to three).

Following class, we headed on a walking tour of Gracía, arguably one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city. Outside of the original Roman walls, Gracía is filled with slightly wider streets and pretty open squares. The plaças are home to much of the city’s nightlife, though I have to say there is a large contrast between how they look at 2 p.m. and 2 a.m.

Rather than return to the local-filled bars in Gracía last night, we opted to go the slightly more American route. Barcelona is filled with study abroad students and as a result, there are a series of club promoters appealing just to this large contingent of college-aged Americans. They send constant updates of where that night’s big party will be, and all you have to do is saunter up to the bouncer and say, “Somos amigos de Kyke.” The whole scene is kind of bizarre, and not something I plan to replicate all too frequently, but it was fun.

This morning contained another 5-hour marathon of history and culture — today’s lesson focused on the history of Catalonia, followed by a look at songs from the region. Paige was going to live blog the event, but lost stamina after the first entry.

Though it’s easy to think — at least for now — that we’re basically on vacation, I do have a fair amount of homework. But alas, don’t cry for me: I just wrote a Spanish composition while tanning poolside at the Residencia.

And as a side note, publication has begun at The Brown Daily Herald. Click here to read up on what I would be doing right now were I not lying on a plastic chaise lounge in Barcelona.

Subways, schools and Spanish spreads

2009-09-07T20:32:00.004+02:00

After Catalan class #2 this morning, I am confident I could introduce myself and announce where I'm from. I am also very skilled at repeating what my teacher says, in unison, with my class (though after having my very strong coffee).

Class was held at UB — Universitat de Barcelona — which is the third Spanish school in the Consortium. Fall students don't take regular classes there because they have finals in January.

We had to head over to the CASB center after class, so Matt and I embarked on what seemed like a foolproof Metro journey. Locating the line we needed, we saw a train pulling onto the platform and hopped aboard. Only seconds after the door closed did we realize it was going the wrong direction. (In our defense, the signs are VERY unclear in certain spots.) So we disembarked at the next stop and started to cross over to the other platform, only to hear the train pulling in. We started running for it, but I was a little behind. (Yes Dad, I was wearing sandals) Needless to say, the door closed with Matt on the train and me on the platform. But the moral of the story: we were still early. So at least this time we got that part right.

At the center, we had our first training for prácticas educativas, an optional program that allows us to work in Spanish schools, particularly with kids learning English. We had a long first session all about schools in Barcelona, which teach primarily in Catalan, but are faced with large immigrant populations that don't speak the language (let alone Spanish or English). The program is organized directly by the Consorci d'Educació de Barcelona, and we will get to meet with the teachers and help plan curricula.

I'm really excited for this program because it will be an interesting contrast to my experience last semester in Providence. (Background: Because of my Spanish class, I got involved with a very cool organization called VIPS that places college students in classrooms. I spent Tuesday mornings in a bilingual first grade class at Laurel Hill Elementary School.)

We were given a lunch break in the midst of our informational session, so four of us headed to a cafe down the block for a menu del día. The paper menu said a drink was included, but much to our surprise, two bottles of wine were plunked down on the table. Hello, lunchtime. The assumption is that you'll eat enough to soak it all up, I think... (And the bonus: it's part of the 10 euro price tag that includes three generous courses.) Though the Spanish claim they don't drink wine to get drunk, they do take their consumption quite seriously.

Mosaics and Manifestaciones: Pictures speak a lot louder than words

2009-09-05T21:16:00.010+02:00

Antoni Gaudi is the hero of Barcelona, and today we went to see his one of his great masterpieces: the Park Güell. Originally intended to be a modern housing development, it's now an incredible public park.

We meandered around the park and headed to the top to check out the incredible views of the city:

The real surprise came later on... Walking back from a mid-afternoon cafe con leche, we were planning to toodle around El Cortes Ingles for a while. The streets were all blocked off though, with signs for a manifestación, or protest. Obviously intrigued, we followed the masses with their big drums and loud whistles.

Turns out it was a protest sponsored by the unions who put on Spain's extraordinary fireworks and fire displays. In what was more parade than anything else, the organizations held up signs protesting new laws from the EU that would prohibit their pyrotechnic displays. (Background info here)

We followed the protest, furiously snapping photos, and trying to deduce what exactly all the fuss was about. After witnessing mediocre protests all summer in DC, I really have to hand it to the Spanish — they knew exactly what they're doing.

The next episode of "CASB aboard public transit"

2009-09-04T19:08:00.006+02:00

Today we had Spanish class at UAB — a 5-hour marathon with a coffee break in the middle. UAB is outside the city proper and getting there requires taking the Ferrocarril, Barca's LIRR equivalent. From the Residencia, we take the Metro to Plaça Catalunya. The Plaça is a Times Square-esque location — touristy and the convergence point for nearly all the transit systems. The 25 or so of us who left Onix at 8:30 managed to get on the correct trains today, but due to long waits and serious complications in purchasing tickets, waltzed into our respective clases de español a bit tardy. Once again though, we received the nonchalant "todo está bien."

This afternoon I had my first advising meeting for choosing classes. In typical Emmy fashion, I walked in with a list of 15 classes and walked out with at least 15 more. I have a couple weeks to figure it out though; plus, the Spanish have shopping period too. (Theirs is not institutionalized per se — it's more that classes start before registration, because each professor gets to choose their own start date. After all, why follow the university schedule?)

Other things I accomplished today include successfully flipping an omelette! (The key is the olive oil, which coats absolutely everything here) and navigating the metro by myself for the first time without getting lost.

Up next: we have our first weekend as "locals." Today also celebrates our one-week anniversary. So far I have to say it's a good fit.

And finally, a buena suerte shout-out to Paige, who through a fortuitous turn of events has found herself en route to play in the Spanish Women's Ultimate Frisbee Nationals in Madrid this weekend. The details can all be found on HER blog at pvhicks.wordpress.com.

Yes, we are the Americans.

2009-09-03T18:53:00.006+02:00

For now, it seems that we go very few places in groups smaller than 15. It reminds me of freshman orientation — no one knows where they're going or what they're supposed to be doing, so we all just follow each other. The only consequence of that is how identifiable as Americans we are. We debated getting the ever-present half mullet, but have concluded instead that once we start real classes and have schedules, perhaps we'll fit in a bit more.

Yesterday we had the first of our culture and history classes, taught by a UPF professor. We learned all about Spanish politics and government, which was really interesting, and something I admittedly knew very little about. The class lasted from 9:30 until 2, so it was a bit of a marathon. We got to take a half-hour break, and unlike earlier in the week, the campus center was filled with students. Spanish universities offer those who failed their finals in June a chance to come back early and take them again in September, no questions asked. Sitting in the sun at 11:30 am, they take cervezas with their books. I opted for the cafe con leche, and owe it big thanks for getting me through the whole lesson.

Today we started Catalan class. It's been a while since I got to learn the days of the week and practice introducing myself in a new language — it was actually pretty fun. It was incredible how much I was able to understand, though it may be a while before I can actually handle speaking.

After class, we were scheduled to go on a tour of the románico part of the city. As a group, the 45 of us were left with no detail as to where we were supposed to go. The director of the program sent an email out during the class, which we discovered thanks to the two people with email-receiving phones. (To his credit, he texted a couple of us and let us know that an email had been sent.)

We headed into the nearest metro stop — which happened to be the Penn Station of Barcelona, Estacion Sants. Impressed with ourselves for finding the correct subway line, about 15 of us hopped on-board — only to discover we were headed in the wrong direction. We got off at the next stop, just missing the train back to Sants, and so we waited for another. Unaccustomed to the late lunch of Spain, and still reeling from our long morning class, we made a collective beeline for the track-side vending machine. How many Americans does it take to work a Spanish vending machine? Definitely more than 15. We boarded our train slightly confused and hungry. (And we sent a text message back to the director, who in typical Spanish style said the delay was not a problema)

The tour took us down back alleyways and streets few of us had discovered before, in addition to revealing the old churches and other buildings. Once upon a time, Barcelona was a small walled city, but growing populations forced the murallas to come down. Remnants of the older parts still remain though.

After the tour, food was the first priority, and we experienced our first menu del dia. For only about 10 euros a person, we got drinks, salad and tapas, bread, entrees (fish for me) and dessert. The entire affair took the standard 2+ hours, but we were living in truly Spanish style. And though the waitstaff tried speaking to us in English, I think we're making progress.

School?

2009-09-01T21:07:00.004+02:00

I mean, I guess that is why we're here...

Yesterday, we started our day at UPF. Universitat Pompeu Fabra is one of the Spanish schools in the consortium, and the one closest to our Residencia. It's also the newest and smallest. Founded in 1990, it's run by the Catalan government — as opposed to the national Spanish government (all of the universities, like most of Europe, are public). As a result, UPF runs on an actual schedule and has some sense of organization, a contrast to the other two schools (which don't even have their class times posted online yet). This is a reflection of the difference between the Spanish and the Catalan stereotypes. Based on how structured UPF looked on day 1, I'm inclined to think Brown would fit in well with the rest of Spain...

The inside of one of the UPF buildings, formerly a military barrack:

At the university, we got acquainted with more details of the program, checked out the cafeteria, and did some other maintenance tasks. We even got email addresses! emmyliss01@campus.upf.edu, if you feel so inclined. We also started looking up university classes, a task even more daunting than the frustrating days of Banner. Perusing course catalogues you can't read — they're mostly in Catalan — is a bit overwhelming.

We also had the first of our seminars on Catalan art (the theme of our activities and extracurricular programs) at the CASB center. While over there, Paige and I won a printer in the lottery of items from CASB students past. However, the walk was a bit further than anticipated and the shopping bag had a few... issues. Stay tuned as to whether we can get this device working.

Today we trekked out to Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, which could not be any more different from UPF. Located a train ride outside the city, the university is a city unto itself, serving 80,000 or so students (at least that was what I discerned from the introduction). After an introduction and tour (by bus), we started Spanish class. Intended to prepare us for our actual university classes (which don't start until the end of September), the Spanish classes are designed to be intense. The orientation program is definitely a marathon, and we learned that water and snacks are necessary.

This afternoon I had my first trip to the beautiful Mediterranean beach of Barcelona — a less-than-20-minute walk from the dorm. Evidently, the UPF students bring towels to class and head down there as soon as lecture is over — something we may need to emulate...

ATTACK!

2009-09-01T19:55:00.002+02:00

Innocent children in Plaça Catalunya are attacked by creeper photographer and rogue pigeon.

Where are we exactly?

2009-08-30T20:41:00.007+02:00

In an effort to figure that out, we have begun exploring our surroundings. Last night, without much direction, a group of us set off to figure out what the nightlife is like in L'Eixample. We walked — for a long while — before sitting down at a cafe briefly. Walking in the direction of our Residencia, we stumbled upon a fish-themed bar (the bartender had a plastic fish attached to his hand and the bar was lined with shells), where we hung out for a while.

For some reason, the entire group had been following Paige and I, assuming we knew where we were going. In fact, we just walk really fast and so wound up at the front. Nevertheless, confident in our new sense of direction, we left the bar and immediately found c/ Sardenya, the street our building is on. We weren't entirely sure which way to turn, but both Paige and I had an "intuition" that left was the way to go. So left we went. And went. We were getting suspicious of our route when all of the sudden we looked up and found ourselves dwarfed by La Sagrada Familia.

In the dark, Gaudi's church looked even more imposing — and amazing. And we were truthfully quite surprised to have found it, making the moment all the more unbelievable. After staring at the structure in awe for a bit, we decided it was time to go home.

Today the whole group met up for an organized lunch. The midday meal is a marathon in Spain — especially on Sunday, when there is effectively nothing else to do but eat and nap. We sat down around 1:45 and didn't finish until 4. After appetizers we were all full, but the food just kept coming. Water was hard to come by — service is not Spain's specialty — but as we have now learned, wine is a non-stop all-day affair.

The view from the restaurant:

Unlike the locals, we did not follow lunch with a siesta (a 3-hour meal is actually exhausting), and instead took a walking tour of the old part of the city. We had our first real lesson in the design of Barcelona. More to come on that (we start a class on Tuesday all about the city as part of our orientation), but below are a couple pictures from the tour. Once I accumulate more, I'll start putting them up on Facebook too.

Barcelona has its own Arc de Triomf! (Home to the nearest Metro stop and park)

Plaça Reial, one of the many city centers, and a gateway to Las Ramblas, one of Barcelona's more bustling streets.

Moving in and becoming Movistars

2009-08-29T21:03:00.004+02:00

This morning we made the great trek from the hotel to our dorm. Ok, so trek might be an exaggeration — it was about five blocks. But my baggage is now adorned with bright yellow "HEAVY" stickers, so it took two trips and a lot of heaving.

We checked into our rooms, which look exactly like the website tour promised. (I'll post my own pictures once we're totally settled) Our rooms came well-equipped with everything from lamps and bulletin boards to pots and a bottle opener. In our very spacious double, Paige and I have our own bathroom and kitchen.

The Residencia is in l'Eixample (pronounced le-SHAMP-ull), a chic residential neighborhood of the city. Surrounding the building is the smaller neighborhood of Fort Pienc, which seems to be the pseudo Chinatown of the city. We visited a number of stores all conveniently named "Orient Bazaar" and bought essentials for the apartment. We also stopped by the supermercat, conveniently located next door to our building.

After a few hours of unpacking, six of us set off the find cell phones. Yesterday we had tried to do the same at a Vodafone store, but had a few issues to contend with. I had tried to acquire a SIM card for my phone, but was told that all of the SIM cards in the entire city were sold out, and they didn't know when any more would come in. The cell phones that Paige, Matt and Jeremy (Matt's roommate) had purchased, could not be activated. We headed to the nearest Vodafone store to sort out the predicament, but found it closed. We had already made it to Plaça Catalunya, one of the central squares of the city, so we decided to walk around and investigated the main branch of El Corte Ingles, Spain's catch-all department store. Luckily for us, the seventh floor turned out to be an electronics department complete with representatives from all the local phone companies.

Much to our surprise, we were informed that the entire Vodafone system had been hacked into, and was not working anywhere in the entire country — a fact the first Vodafone salesperson had neglected to mention. Nearly two hours later, we emerged with six functioning Movistar cell phones and new nine-digit Spanish numbers.

The entire operation exhausted us, and we were quite hungry. (We haven't adjusted to the truly unique meal schedule of the country) Around the corner from the Residencia, we found a small cafe with outdoor seating and had our first tapas experience of the semester. Sitting around the table, leisurely eating our food and enjoying the early evening breeze, we all decided this is a lifestyle we can definitely adjust to.

¡Hola Barcelona!

2009-08-28T18:05:00.002+02:00

I landed this morning in sunny Barcelona after a not-too-painful-but-fairly-cramped flight. I knew I was flying over with two of my friends from Brown — Matt and Paige — but we found five other CASB students waiting to board the plane, and spotted at least four or five others we suspected to be CASBers during the flight. (Basically we looked for bewildered college-aged Americans with manilla envelopes of information and excessive amounts of checked baggage)

The descent into Barcelona is spectacular — the plane flies right over the city and its waterfront before swooping into the airport just beyond the port. Below is a picture of what it looks like:

After passing through immigration and squeezing our belongings into the one van-sized taxi that would take the three of us, we arrived at the hotel where we will be spending our first night. (None of us are entirely clear on why we are not directly checking into our residencia, but as the locals would probably say, que sera)

Along with the boy assigned to be Matt's roommate, who had already arrived, we trekked out to explore our surroundings. In Barcelona, the language of choice is not Spanish, but Catalan — a related romance language that looks like a combination of French and Spanish, with a hint of Italian. A region with intense nationalism and pride, Catalonia — of which Barcelona is the capital — has embraced Spanish with some reluctance. All signs in the airport had Spanish and English translations, but most city buildings and signs were adorned with just Catalan. Matt already has some experience in the language, so we deferred to him for pronunciation lessons and minor translating. The rest of us will begin learning it as part of our orientation program on Monday.

After a long walk and a late breakfast of bocadillos (sandwiches on mini baguettes) and café, we retired to our rooms for early siestas in an attempt to be like the Spaniards, and also to start overcoming jet lag. The city was pretty quiet anyway — the entire country effectively goes on vacation for the entire month of August.

In a few hours, we have a welcome dinner where we will meet the rest of the kids on the program, hear a little more about what the next few days entail, and kick off a fantastic semester!

Ready, set...

2009-08-27T19:06:00.005+02:00

In just a few short hours, I will begin my semester-long journey to Barcelona, Spain. I've been planning for months and packing for days, but it is still hard to believe that it's finally here. Regardless, I can't wait!

As I navigate my way through Spain — and beyond — I will do my very best to keep a record of my time abroad here.

I will be studying in Barcelona through CASB, a partnership between seven American and three Spanish universities. Along with 50 or so other students, I will be living in a dorm and taking my classes (fully en español — eek!) at the local schools.

But for now, I'm off! While I'm away, the best way to stay in touch is via email —and stay tuned for updates here. Wish me luck!