Important Observations after Three Weeks in Salamanca

Observation 1: It appears that bueno doesn't just mean "good." I haven't actually confirmed this, but I think it can mean anything you want it to mean, depending on how and when you say it.
"Bueno," says my host dad after his wife ladles soup into his bowl at lunch, as if to say, "Wooo soup!"
"Bueno," says my professor with a tiny hint of a smile when a student has given a ridiculously incorrect answer, as if to say, "Hahahahahahahaaaaa...............no."
"Bueno!" says my host mom when a celebrity in a skanky dress prances across the TV screen, as if to say, "Good grief, put some clothes on."
"Bueno," says the man behind the counter at every cafe I've been to, as if to say, "Good morning, but I don't have the time or energy to actually say buenos dias."
"Bueno," says I whenever the hell I feel like it, as if to say, "I'm not an expert on Spanish but I know this one word called bueno."

Observation 2: The market for ham shops in Salamanca is saturated. Or it should be. Yes yes, I know pig meat is the "fruit of Spain," or whatever, but there is literally one ham shop for every 20 citizens here. That's, like, two pig legs per person. Per day. It's loco.

Pig legs. Look at them. LOOK AT THEM. 

Observation 3: "Bailar es Viajar." To dance is to travel. So said my Colombian salsa instructor, Julian, Thursday night to his students, who were from Spain, the United States, Portugal and France. And we all had a blast learning that Cuban dance in Salamanca.

That's my instructor in the yellow t-shirt! This was the night we stumbled upon El Savor, the coolest little live music joint in Salamanca.

Observation 4: The trees here are so weird. I think it's something in the water. After four months here, will I look like a Dr. Seuss creation too?

Actually, this one is gorgeous. It looks like an Impressionist painting.

Observation 5: It's common knowledge that assuming makes an ass out of you and me. The Spaniards take this a step further. Assuming that all roads are marked as such and that the alley you're walking through is too narrow for a car could honest-to-goodness get you killed.

The number of times I've thought to myself, "This is a nice sidewalk, look at the car back there on the road, why is it driving onto the sidewalk, this isn't a road, it's coming CLOSER, it's going to HIT ME, what is it DOING, I need to get out of the WAY, I almost just DIED": 4048237 and counting. This game never gets old.

Street or pedestrian walkway?  I don't think anyone knows.

Even the plazas aren't safe from stray cars.

Observation 6: This look is apparently weird in Europe. No idea why...according to my Spanish friend Santiago, only the extranjeros, or foreigners, wear socks with sandals. "Is this a popular look in the United States?" he asked, once he stopped laughing at me. Nope...I just went on a hike and left my tennis shoes in Chattanooga.

And I thought I looked so good :(

Observation 7: I just can't get enough of these hobbit doorknobs. They're everywhere. It's an epidemic.

My front door is cooler than your front door, you human.

Observation 8: My economics professor looks like a wise, ancient tortoise. He always wears a plaid button-down shirt and thick pullover sweater. Sometimes the sweater is green. Like a tortoise shell. These are the times when I don't really pay attention to 20th century Spanish economics because I have tortoises on my mind.

Observation 9: I'm so pathetic, I'm going to be blowing my entire travel budget on hot chocolate. I found out about the cocoa vending machine hidden in a corner in San Isidro (where I have my classes) on Tuesday. 40 euro cents for a cup. This is going to be very, very bad.

It's no Godiva recipe, but how else am I supposed to get through my 9 a.m. history class?

Observation 10: Seeing your world from a different perspective can leave you breathless. Megan and I have an intercambio partner named Santiago (the one who laughed at my socks and sandals), and the three of us have the best Splanglish conversations ever spoken, because he's trying to improve his English and we're trying to improve our Spanish. Thursday night, we met at O'Hara's Irish Pub for some Heineken and were joking around and telling silly stories, when all of a sudden Santi remarked that from what he's seen, Americans love their country in the end, no matter how much they complain about the government. In Spain, he continued, the people complain about the government AND the country. "There is not much love for Spain here," he said. "Yes, yes, patriotism, that's it. I am - how do you say? Jealous."

Wow.

Suddenly I felt pretty patriotic myself.

Observation 11: I guess I've never before appreciated that "catholic" means universal, but tonight it hit me. I was attending Mass at Sancti Spiritus, an ancient church a block from my apartment. Apart from the altar boy and one baby, I was the youngest person in the congregation by at least 30 years. The women all wore fur coats; I was wearing flannel and my scuffed-up boots. The church was dark and foreboding, and the priest was elderly and monotonous. The parochial customs were slightly different than I'm used to, and the absence of missals meant that I couldn't participate in the (Spanish) responses. It should have been a miserable experience.

But still, I was awed.

Because I suddenly realized what a blessing it was that the Mass is the same all over the world.

Because I could understand the readings and the homily for the most part, but I would have been lost during the rest of it if I hadn't been able to follow along in English in my head. Because the Mass is universal! The Mass is universal.

And because being thousands of miles from home feels a little less scary when you know that the strangers around you believe in the same God that you do and celebrate the same Mass that you've celebrated your whole life. It's a crazy feeling, and goodness knows crazy feelings are going to make this semester beautiful.

Sancti Spiritus, which I pass every day on my way to classes!

Aaaand the inside.

The crazy circle church, San Marco's, that Daniela and I went to our first Sunday in Salamanca.

Aaaand the inside.

Either Spain's weird or I'm weird or we're all weird.

I've been in Salamanca for a whole week now, and the big things, little things and weird things that set it apart from the United States (or at least the South) are already becoming apparent. I was prepared for the electricity conservation, short showers, big lunches and expensive restaurant water before I came, but other Spanish, ah, "quirks," caught me off guard. For example:

• Like the honey badger, Spaniards don't care. They just don't give a shit. No one here says "I'm sorry" or "Please" or "Excuse me" or "Thank you!" This is soooooooo bizarre to me. In Chattanooga and Columbia, you apologize when you nearly bump into someone. You say "hello" or at least nod at the person passing you on the sidewalk. You thank your waiter when he refills your bread basket. You hold the door for the person behind you, and sometimes for the five people behind you. You might even make light conversation with the person in line behind you at the store. Not so here, mis amigos. It's not than Spaniards are mean or mannerless - in fact, I've been blown away by some of the friendliness and humor I've experienced already. They just don't waste their breath with unnecessary words.

• Spaniards look really good. All the time. People in Salamanca go to morning classes or meet friends for coffee wearing what I would wear to church or to dinner at a restaurant. No T-shirt/norts/hoodie combos here! And everyone wears black A LOT. Just in case there's an emergency funeral or game of flashlight tag to attend, I guess. This is particularly weird compared to South Carolina, where I'm used to wearing pastels, shorts and white clothes any day it's over 70 degrees - which can happen any month of the year.

Sadly, I can't walk around Salamanca looking like this. Not okay.

But these dresses are okay.

No. This whole photo is just so American. Unacceptable.

YES. Suave. Note the fedora.

This shirt is passable, meaning I wore it Sunday and didn't get thrown out of the country.

• The guidebooks lied. Spaniards don't follow the Mediterranean diet. Hahaha. Oh, no. Let me tell you what they eat here in Salamanca. They eat bread, followed by several dozen varieties of red meat, likely fried, accompanied by more bread, which is also usually fried. They chase this down with some sort of cheesy bread or pasta with an eggy/potato-y dish on the side (bonus points if no ketchup is offered). Then more meat. At this point, as you struggle to not die, the Spaniards around you smile innocently and ask if you would like a small piece of fruit as dessert. You do, of course, because this is your last chance to eat produce until the next meal's dessert. After this, you are sometimes given a SECOND dessert of chocolates. They make you try one of each kind. So you do, because one does not simply turn down free European chocolate. And then you get really, really sad because you know that you don't have the magic Spanish genes that will allow you to eat like this twice a day and never have a BMI of over 20. You try to explain this to your host mom and she just chuckles menacingly, like "Eat all of this or I'll force-feed it to you, my skinny American hija."

An average breakfast for one in Salamanca (I'm only half-joking).

My first vegetables in days!

• There is no concept of personal space. Now, I am a fairly touchy person. I have a hug quota that has to be filled each week for me to stay sane. I will pick fuzz off of the back of your shirt. Can we fit all twelve of us on the couch? You betcha. But Spain is a completely different story. What the great citizens of Salamanca lack in verbal pleasantries, they make up for by being in your face, touching you, all the time. Professors, store employees and people in the street stand six inches from you, putting their hands on your arms and making direct eye contact as they speak. Many people greet each other with a kiss, or beso, on each cheek. My host mom did this the very first time we met. So did an old man in the Plaza who stopped by our bench and talked about his life for fifteen minutes. And nobody has a problem squeezing past you in a store, even if it means practically knocking you over in the process (after which, of course, they don't apologize). And people don't swerve to walk in a large arc around you. Today, I took a long walk along the river on a practically empty two-lane bike path. Every single runner passed me with less than six inches to spare between us. What the heck? But I'm getting used to it. I no longer think I'm about to get mugged every time someone brushes past me on the street (but I keep my hand on my purse just in case, MOM.)

See? Plenty of space.

But the view was worth it.

• All of the Spanish babies ride around in mobile sleeping bags. This is my favorite thing about Spaniards so far. It's currently pretty cold here, and if you need to get somewhere, you're most likely going to walk. You obviously don't want your small child to get frostbite, but mere pants and shoes are for peasant children. What to do? Why, stick your whole kid in a tiny sleeping bag before putting him in the stroller, of course! It's adorable. I die. The United States needs to jump on this bandwagon ASAP.

Like this, but mostly black. None of this bright-colored rubbish. And the babies here are way cuter, sorry kid.
http://www.thriftyandchicmom.com/2010/12/snug-bug-bag-stroller-blanket-giveaway-ends-112/

Things my host family has yelled about during meals

·         Fútbol

·         Real Madrid

·         Barcelona

·         Messi, who according to my host brother is the most talented player he's even seen play the game

·         Penelope Cruz

·         Penelope Cruz’s sister, who is a ballerina and apparently is much more beautiful than Penelope but is, sadly, underrated

·         The Spanish economy

·         The lack of specialized doctors compared to family practitioners in Spain

·         Salamanca's women's basketball team, which is apparently very good and attracts American players

·          Fútbol

·         Basketball

·         Conflicting advice about everything, from how to stay safe while going out ("¡No entra en un carro con una persona que no conozca si te ofresca un aventón a la casa!") to the cheapest ways to get places ("El autobus a Valladolid, entonces un vuelo a Barcelona." "¡No, mama! El autobus a Madrid, entonces el tren a Barcelona.")

·         The decline of new vocations to the Church in Spain, in Europe and across the world

·         El Camino de Santiago (they were super impressed I knew what this was, but then remembered I was Catholic.)

·         Bread

·         Food in general

·         Unemployment rates

·          Fútbol

·         Hugo Chavez

·         Fidel Castro

·         General Franco

·         Carnival celebrations in Brazil

·          Fútbol

·         Plane ticket prices

·        Fútbol players

Just a sample. Mealtimes, though sometimes ridiculously long, are just as ridiculously great. I've learned more from my 70-something-year-old host mom, Angela, her husband, Augustin, and their adult sons, Cristobal and Juanjo, about Spain than from any of my classes so far. And even though it seems like everyone is arguing all the time, it's really just how they have normal conversations. Loudly. With passion. And hand motions. And constantly interrupting each other. It's the most entertaining way I've ever learned Spanish.

The TV is almost always on in the background while we eat, giving us plenty to discuss: fútbol, politics, how the weathergirl's makeup looks like something from Carnival, and, from what I could gather, a motorcycle gang known as "Los Penguinos." Last night, the American film Shooter was on, and when Mark Wahlberg's character shot his first target, Angela muttered, "¡Adios!" I don't know why this was so funny, but Daniela and I absolutely died laughing.

And on that note...adios! Bedtime for me.

Things got a little medieval for a while there.

We arrived in Toledo about two hours after leaving Madrid, and I immediately fell in love. Our local guide told us that Corpus Christi is a huuuuuuge deal here, and not surprisingly, Corpus Christi, Tex. is one of Toledo's sister cities.

Our tour guide with a crazy-complicated map of Toledo.

The cathedral in Toledo is enormous. We didn't get to go inside because we were there on the Epiphany, and there were masses all day long, but our guide told us that it is the second-wealthiest cathedral in the world - behind only St. Peter's Basilica.

The Catedral Primado Santa Maria de Toledo

The residence and offices of the archbishop, connected to the cathedral by a walkway over our heads.

Toledo is breathtaking. This view made me think of Rivendell in Lord of the Rings. #nerdmoment

Almost the entire ISA Salamanca group en uno foto!

Straight chillin with our homie Don Quixote

Carcamusas, a traditional Toledo meal consisting of pork, beef, and potatoes. Our waiter warned us it would be spicy, but apparently everything is spicy to Spaniards. If you thought Spanish food was like Mexican food, nope.

We checked into our hotel outside the city after lunch, where I FINALLY met my gorgeous, brilliant, sweet roommate, Daniela! She had had two flights delayed and had to find her own way to Toledo to meet the group. After a long siesta and showers, we and some other students took taxis back into Toledo to see the city by night. We got super crazy with our tapas, Cinco Estrellas (gross) and nutella crepes, let me tell you. And we only got a LITTLE lost!

Again, the lights. Are. Everywhere.

Just a little Brad Pitt to get you through the rest of my blog post. They love the man here, but all I can think of is this.

Monday morning, we drove an hour or so to Avila, a charming little town (I can't believe I just used that phrase; clearly I'm going to be a cliche travel writer when I grow up) that was somehow even more medieval than Toledo.

It had spiky tower wall things, for Pete's sake.

The restaurant where we ate lunch looked like what I imagine Medieval Times to look like, but the illusion would have been more complete without the Spanish pop music blasting out of the speakers. No photo, sorry guyz.

La Plaza in Avila

The other side of the Plaza

The one thing I knew about Avila, of course, was that St. Teresa de Avila was, in all probability, from there (I was right. I'm right a lot.). There was a very cool little area near the Plaza paying homage to her.

Me being awkward one last time in Avila.

From Avila we drove directly to SALAMANCA! The excitement in the bus was crazy. Everyone was getting really nervous, but it was a relief knowing we'd finally get to meet our host families and stop living out of our suitcases.

My first view of Salamanca!

My second view of Salamanca!

AND NOW I'M HERE AND LIFE IS SWELL. More later, I've gotta go buy stamps and practice not getting lost in the city...hasta luego!

Several things happened in Madrid.

I left Chattanooga Thursday, and Monday afternoon I finally got to my homestay in Salamanca! What happened in between, you ask? Pues, mucho...

Before I left home, mi gato (Oreo) apparently has some spark of humanity in her, because she didn't want me to go. Juuuuuuust kidding...she just likes sitting in things she's not supposed to sit in.

Thursday morning, my family took me to the Chattanooga airport, where I tried my best to look like a baller before I headed out on my first flight to Charlotte.

The view on the way to Charlotte.

From Charlotte, I flew to Philadelphia, which has a lovely airport, I guess.

In my experience, it is always sunny in Philadelphia. I shouldn't be allowed to make jokes, I'm sorry.

I found two other ISA Salamanca students, Billie and Angie, in the terminal, but we didn't get to sit together on the way to Madrid. My seatmate was a nice man from Andalusia who tried to speak to me in Spanish. We didn't get very far. At this point I suddenly realized I was leaving the country by myself for four months, and my shaking hands and feeling of acute nausea kind of turned me into an anti-social asshole. I put my headphones in, listened to the Lumineers and pretended to sleep.

Six and a half hours later, around 7 a.m. Spain time, we arrived in Madrid! Getting through customs was a snap, but then the other ISA students and I had to wait until 10 a.m. for two of our ISA directors, Rodrigo and Beatriz, to pick us up. We took a bus to our hotel, NH Nacional, which was very modern and centrally located across the street from some botanical gardens and, oh yeah, el Museo del Prado. No big deal.

And this thing.

Most of the other Salamanca and Grenada students arrived that day (Friday), and we got to know each other a little bit. We're from all over the U.S. - Colorado, Texas, Illinois, Minnesota, Iowa, Florida, New Jersey, Kentucky...Que diverso!

But more importantly, I ate a calamari sandwich for dinner that night. It needed ketchup, but I don't think Spain believes in drowning things in ketchup like I do. What the heck is wrong with Europe? #Murica.

Saturday, a local tour guide showed us the highlights in el Museo del Prado and the Reina Sofia, which was just around the corner and houses more modern art like Picasso's Guernica.

La Reina Sofia

Amigas nuevas!

That evening, some of us took a stroll downtown to explore some stores and get some tapas. We noticed that the center of the street was blocked off and that people, mostly parents with small children, were staking out places to sit. We guessed that there would be a parade...

...and we were right. We caught the very beginning of the Cabalgata de Reyes (a parade celebrating the Epiphany). And then we had to squeeze through this crowd to return to our hotel. The three kings were with us that day, because, despite this being one of the European situations our parents warned us about, and none of us got pickpocketed!

Es muy curioso porque the Spanish are very conscious of their energy and water usage, but they go nuts with the electricity during la Navidad and Los Reyes Magos.

Madrid was okaaaaay, but a little too big for my taste. We took a tour bus out of the city Sunday morning and were soon on our way to Toledo!