Even Old New York was once New Amsterdam

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

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.

My, how the time flies

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.

Bonjour mon ami!

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!

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.

Dali-ing around the coast

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

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.

Lisbon!

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

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 -

My Girona

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.

Going Goth

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.

Bilb-wow (Ok, that was too easy)

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.

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

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

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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

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

The last week: Reader's Digest version

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.

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.

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...