The resolution of the UAB debacle. Sort of.

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.

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!

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

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?

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

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

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)

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:

Los Pirineos

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

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

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

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

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

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!

See you on Sunday night, Internet!

Celebrating "independence" and coastal beaches

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

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

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

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"

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.

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?

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!

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