That was the year I was introduced to Chinese Turkey (and Flamenco)

I'm a big fan of cultural commonalities. People will always complain about the state of the government and a kid will enjoy running through the park at the pigeons (or insert native bird here) in any country. Having lived here even for only a few weeks, I've really come to appreciate anything that more than one culture can agree on as a universal for humanity. So what does any family of four do on a Sunday when the markets are too busy? Order take out.

Nothing is lost in translation between American and Spanish Chinese food, or rather everything is lost in translation between authentic Chinese food and take out. I had American-Chinese spring rolls, mongolian beef, almond chicken, sweet and sour pork, and fried rice. And as I always do in the U.S., I felt similarly disgusting afterward. This was, however, the first time I did not follow my MSG laced meal with a fortune cookie. It probably would've been a terrible Spanish proverb about globalization and conformity anyways.

Saturday in the early afternoon we headed over to el Palacio Royal. Every single room I walked into left me breathless. And I became more breathless (?) as I continued the tour. King Felipe had a thing for clocks and one of them was the most amazing life-size statue of Chronos, god of time, balancing a time piece on his shoulders. Apparently he had mandated that the palace be constructed four times bigger than it's present size; it only made it to 241 rooms--what a shame.

I put my Spanish fluidity to the test and called a very small and very Spanish tablao bar that same night to book us reservations to see a flamenco performance. Not only was this less touristy but we avoided the nasty 30 euro cover charge that the larger venues tag on. We managed to get the last few tables and found ourselves in an extremely intimate atmosphere surrounded by only locals. The performance itself was, as the Spanish say, FENOMENAL. Wow. It was so graceful and hard and dirty and rhythmic. I can't even pick out the right adjectives. Stompy seems an appropriate one too. Fue espactaculoso.

I don't think I've ever had more productive weekends than I have in Spain. Even after a night at the flamenco bar, I pledged to wake up early and meet my friend at El Rastro, Europe's largest flea market. After noon it's almost impossible to navigate with the multitude of people that flow into the streets near La Latina every Sunday. I wound up with some awesome souvenirs at some awesome prices. I even bargained a bit with a women who was shocked to say the least that I knew Spanish and that I knew that this particular purse was not worth 14 Euros.

This week is the beginning of Carnaval. I have no idea what to expect in Madrid. I've been told that cross-dressing is encouraged and clothing is optional.

Holy Toledo!

Friday I spent the entire day in La Ciudad Imperial: Toledo, the former capital of Madrid. The entire city is explorable in about one hour (which made "getting lost" an easy fix) but nonetheless full of unique and historical sightings each step of the way. Toledo feels like a walkable museum of castles, paintings, synagogues, and gothic architecture. And every corner I went around I was confronted by another hommage to Don Quijote, an artisan store with an impressive collection of spanish swords for sale, and a bakery specializing in mazapan--an extremely sweet and super caloric dessert made of almond paste, sugar, and egg (a little different from the marzipan in the U.S.). El Catedral de Toledo epitomized the fascinating mix of cultures that the former capital is known for. The inside of the cathedral boasts the stained-glass windows and ceilings-up-to-heaven typical of a Christian place of worship but the foundation itself was constructed with muslim-style archs called "arcos de herradura". Even the synagogues in the city were so heavily influenced by the muslims that I would've thought we had wondered into a mosque had it not been for the Hebrew written on the walls.

I also finished my first entire week at my internship. Hooray! After updating the records of anyone who came into the center in 2007, I spent the majority of the week working individually with more of the refugees. I accompanied a woman from Guinea Equatorial to help her change daycare facilities and afterward we visited her lawyer. Comisión Española de Ayuda al Refugiado (CEAR) is a Spanish non-profit lawfirm, offers incredible pro bono legal counselling for anyone seeking asylum in the country. All of the refugees at El Centro meet with a lawyer about once a month. I also helped my favorite Palestinian guy change doctors (apparently the one he had signed up for is super intimidating and not very friendly with foreigners). I know it's still new and exciting, but I'm absolutely loving the job and I'm convinced that it's the best internship in the entire program. I don't even mind getting up at 7:00 in the morning and commuting an hour to Vallecas. But as great as El Centro is, I'm greatful that Monday's a holiday :)

Culturama

I just finished dinner with my host brother, Gonzalo. We had Roscón de Reyes for dessert, the cake they serve at the Epiphany (Three Kings Day). I told them we have a similar cake in the U.S. during the holidays simply called fruit cake and nobody really likes it. He asked why it's a tradition then and I didn't have an answer. He's a pretty awesome kid only because he reminds me of my brother and we watch Futurama every day at lunch.

Man everyone and their mothers were at the movies Friday night. It's apparently the thing to do at 7:00, followed by a typical late round of tapas. Only afterwards at about 1 am can you go out to the club or bar. Also apparently there is assigned seating in movie theatres (much to our suprise and every single person in our row's disdain). Love in the Time of Cholera was good. I probably should've done my research going into it but I could've sworn it was a Spanish movie. Once I got used to the dubbing, it wasn't half bad.

I went to two fabulous things this weekend: El Templo de Debod and my first experience at El Prado. The Temple of Debod is an authentic 4th-century-BC Egyptian Temple sitting in the middle of a park in Madrid. In 1968, the temple was moved block by block to Madrid to save it from rising waters from Lake Nasser in Egypt. The blocks still had actual hieroglyphics on them. This morning was El Prado, one of Madrid's "Holy Trinity" of museums (the other two being the Thyssen-Bornemisza and the Reina Sofia). It's a little overwhelming inside (a word I couldn't figure out how to say when attempting to describe my experience to my host mother); there are over a hundred rooms, three floors, and a newly-constructed wing across the way that houses even more exhibits and paintings. We got through maybe half a floor before we decided to call it a day; after all, BU is paying for every single museum trip so why not go back five or six times?

It completely re-kindled my love of painting--both the act and the end result. One of the most magnificent works I've ever seen was "El entierro de san Sebastian." It was beyond inspiring (I was a little overcome with emotion when I saw it and felt a little guilty for not feeling the same way about the fifty depictions of the cruxifiction of Christ hanging around me). I also really enjoyed the statues of the seven muses: literature, mathematics, astronomy, NASCAR, etc. I've always had an affinity for Roman mythology and the artists that dabble in both that and Christianity.

We didn't even get to the Goya section of the museum which is the one reason to go to El Prado in the first place. The guy is pretty demented/talented. I did a Goya-inspired painting in high school and it really made me feel depressed just looking at it. I'm almost tempted to by some supplies here and paint something. I did that after seeing the Van Gogh exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum (which by the way I haven't been back to since they renovated it. I've heard the Asian Art section is even better!)

Rebecca and I (as in mi amiga mejor Rebecca who is studying in London) are already planning our spring break plans in eastern Europe: Sarajevo, Croatia... cheap but still beautiful. I'm definitely excited to see something contrasted to this metropolitan lifestyle. And I also love Rebecca with an undying passion.

Chocolate and Spanish almost too thick to handle

Fridays are especially wonderful when you don't have class and you don't have work. I got to do a little shopping today, an extremely dangerous activity for two reasons: Firstly, I still automatically think in dollars and thus the rebajas (bargains) seem so great; a jacket for 39 Euros? Aweomse! Wait...that's $60. Damn. Secondly, everything is so fashionable in Madrid that I couldn't help but fall in love with each pair of shoes and every purse I saw. Thankfully I got out of the stores with only one purchase.

Yesterday marked my second day at my internship and another challenging task. A new refugee from Palestine came into the center speaking only Arabic and MINIMAL English. My job was to sit next to him and translate the terms and conditions of staying in the refugee center and how the center programs and daily life operate as one of the directors explained it to him in Spanish. Sometimes I have a very tough time understanding the "Spain Spanish" here just because it's a little mumblely and they use the theta in place of "z", "ci", and "ce". Surprisingly I actually did a pretty good job of translating. I think it was this moment that I actually realized that I'm bilingual. I'd always answered "¿hablas español?" with "un poquito..." but I think I can confidently say "sí" now. Though I'm no where near perfect nor where I'd like to be, I feel a lot better about my linguistic skills. I'm not sure if I would ever want to do translating work as a career but this experience definitely amplified my appreciation of being fluent in two languages. I'm so thankful that Ruben and the other people at el centro have entrusted me with this kind of responsibility so quickly.

Last night we went out for churros and chocolate caliente. This was real, pure, thick chocolate--like 7 godiva chocolate bars melted in a cup. It was borderline too rich even for my chocolate addiction. It might be something I could only handle once a month. Tonight, we're off to see our first flamenco show. ¡Olé!

I really don't think I've been this happy or comfortable living so far away from home in my life...even in Boston. My host family keeps getting better and better, I'm already comfortable with exploring the city, and the Spanish in general give off such a welcoming vibe like they're always so pleased to see you.

Regardless, I still miss everyone in the worst way. I wish you all could come to visit!

¿dónde estamos?

One of my shortcomings in life is the ability to find my way around. Anywhere. Period. And it doesn't matter if I've been in that area before. In fact, sometimes that just makes it worse. Like I'll find myself on a street in Boston and say to myself "Ah, this looks familiar" when really the Starbucks I had been using for a landmark is three blocks south. I also got lost in CAS once but let's not talk about that.

Obviously this is one of the dangers I can expect in relocating to a completely new city (let alone a city with signs in a foreign language and impossible street names like Alfonso Guzman el Bueno XII). But eventually I find my why around by asking where the nearest Metro station is to situate myself or carrying around a post-it with block-by-block directions. So you can only imagine my horror when during the first day at my internship when I was presented with my first task: accompanying a non-Spanish speaking refugee from the Congo to declare his right to asylum, register for a social security number, and obtain a health card at three different ministries around the city. Yikes.

Let me preface my tale of my first day on the job by describing where I work. The Center of Refuge for Refugees (in its literal translation) is where refugees seeking asylum in Spain go to start the assimilation process. Besides helping them with the registration process and eventually becoming a member of Spanish soceity, the center is an actual housing facility where up to 50 refugees live. They're provided three hot meals, a stipend for clothes, a Metro pass, Spanish lessons, psychological treatment, among other things. They can stay in the center for up to six months after which they have to reapply to remain in the country (and live the center). It all sounds incredibly fascinating and after my interview on Monday, I couldn't wait to start. My supervisor, Ruben, was even interested in the work I had done with micro-crediting in Peru and asked me to do a research project later about ways of establishing an organization similar for the center. Superfabuloso. But my continual nodding and enthusiasm during the interview might have given Ruben the wrong impression i.e. that I'm capable of understanding directions and that I speak Spanish.

First of all, I'm not sure if it's because I appear to be super confident or intelligent (I'm hoping I do) but I have absolutely no idea why someone would ever put that much responsibility on a girl from the U.S. during her first day on the job. This guy's (the refugee) well-being (maybe his life even) depended on getting these forms filed and signed. I was extremely nervous and that always makes my directional skills that much worse. So this blonde girl and this man from the Congo are walking down the street, asking random people if they have any idea where the Instituto de Seguridades Sociales is and trying to find varios Metro stops. I accidently took us to the medical center first and the man at the desk looked at me like I had three heads; apparently I needed to get him a social security number first before they would even look at his application. Oops. Also, there was one word everyone kept asking me about and I had absolutely NO idea what it was. I played the innocently dumb and non-bilingual American card and asked them to repeat everything at least three times. Three hours later, I returned to the center with all his necessary forms and fingers crossed that I hadn't forgotten something. Upon my arrival, Ruben commented how quickly I had finished my errands. Huh....really? Well, why thank you. It was nothing, I suppose.

During my hour-long Metro ride back to school, I realized how excited I still was to be working there. Despite a hectic and information-packed first day, I actually learned and retained a lot. Though being thrown to the wolves is not my favorite way to go about it, I felt pretty confident and adult-like after my internship.

P.S. Thank god for iPods. I don't know how I would commute without one. Today's album: Juanes, "La vida es un ratico." Te ams, Michaela!

Bonito doesn't even begin to describe it

This morning we took a breathtaking tour of El Retiro, Madrid’s older and more gorgeous answer to Central Park. The royal family put a lake in the middle of the park so that plays could be performed on water. It’s a shame I hate running so much because this is the place to do it. It might just inspire me enough to start jogging—or yogging as they say. I promise to post pictures more regularly. We also took a tour of the oldest parts of Madrid. What amazes me is that each and every building I’ve seen has the most intricate and stunning architecture I have ever seen. Looking over at one of the most impressive buildings I’d seen thus far, I asked someone if that was the Palacio Real (Royal Palace). Apparently it was the post office.

Tomorrow is my interview and I can’t say that I’m not nervous. I know I’ll be fine but just the thought of an interview makes me a little jittery inside (especially in a foreign language). Right now I’m preparing questions I might have for my supervisor about the organization. Classes also start tomorrow. It sounds like I can change my schedule as much as I want this week until I find a schedule I like. I’m looking forward to learning more about Spanish politics and being able to contribute to discussions around the lunch table. Elections are this March in Spain and unsurprisingly many people in Europe are following the primaries in the states. My host mom is an Obama fan :)

The beginnings with a great family and the end of a great season

After re-packing the ridiculous amount of clothes I have, I set off from the hotel and moved in with my host family today. I couldn’t be happier! Pepo and Ana, a couple who are in their mid or late forties, live in an apartment about fifteen minutes walking from school. They have two kids: Cristina, who is currently studying medicine for a semester in Italy, and Gonzalo, a sixteen year old boy with a striking resemblance to my brother (personality, not looks). There is also another student living in the house from a different program. I was worried at first only because I had requested to live by myself but Annie is extremely nice and helpful and we are only speaking Spanish to each other. Oh and they also have a dog, Caña. And she’s nothing like the roof dog we had in Ayacucho, thank god. We had a delicious and late lunch at 4:00 (typical on a Saturday in Madrid) consisting of soup, potatoes and garbanzo beans, and five kinds of meat. Having such a huge meal can only be followed by one thing: a siesta. Ah, to be Spanish…

I made it my personal quest to find a bar playing the Seahawks game that evening. Donned in my jersey, I walked the streets of El Sol (the center of the city) with Rebecca and Laura searching for Americans, a big screen with NFL Network, or both. We found an Irish Pub playing all the playoff games and to my chagrin (and Rebecca’s delight) the other Americans in there were from Wisconsin. To save myself the painful process of remembering the game, let’s just say I enjoyed my beer and we left after the 3rd quarter. Thanks for a good run anyways, ‘Hawks.

It's like Project Runway, only less bitchy

I feel slightly more adjusted after waking up this morning. We got to take the Metro this morning and it was nothing short of amazing. The system is incredible: incredibly efficient and boasting over ten lines. I’m sure New York’s is more extensive but you can’t beat the modern and very clean organization of a European underground. That’s one of the most striking things I’ve noticed about the city: everything is very structured and very progressive. From the airport terminal to the people downtown, everything is very stylistic. I’ve never felt more out of place wearing jeans and sneakers in my life. However, after having been to Peru, it is interesting to see how similarly I look to some of the madrileños around me (minus their extremely made-up appearances). The telling sign of an American is a Northface jacket with a pair of Uggs (of which I own neither, thank you).

We spent a few hours at El Instituto Internacional, the Boston University-owned building where I will take my classes. The classes sound intriguing (if all goes according to plan, I’ll be taking a literature class, a comparative anthropology course, and a historical synopsis of culture in Spain). Tomorrow I finalize my internship plans. I’ll be working at “The Center of Refuge for Refugees” as what seems like an all around office assistant. I asked for an internship that really focused on human contact and working with people. The alternative would be a micro-financing organization (cool, yes) but I would doing paperwork all day (not so great) and not practicing my Spanish at all (the reason I’m here). It sounds like I will not only be helping the refugees with all their paperwork and helping document their stories, but I will probably end up escorting them around the city to the various municipal offices. I’m more than excited.

My brain is 9 hours behind

I finally made it! Thank god too… it was probably the worst traveling experience of my life. I ended up spending the entirety of the 7th in Washington, which was a blessing. It was probably the most bittersweet birthday in recent memory. Granted I never really have the opportunity to celebrate fully with my friends, considering that the majority of them are back to school by then or about 3,000 miles away. But packing up four months of your life, saying goodbye to everyone you love, and shedding a few tears along the way on my 21st was not what I had envisioned. Side note: I did order a Corona at lunch, which was a nice supplement to my 21st-ness, even if only for a moment. I’m content.

So after my 5 hours of a sleepless red-eye to JFK, I arrive in 55 degree New York at 8 in the morning (EST) hardly excited to wait in the airport for 13 hours for my flight that evening out to Madrid. I tried sleeping but found that nearly impossible with the perpetual “Red-zone-is-for-loading-and-unloading-only” announcements. Around noon I ended up finding a group of students from Syracuse waiting for the same flight and we commiserated for awhile before I was able to get in an hour of sleep. An episode of the Office and three phone calls later, I checked in for my flight (5 hours before our scheduled take-off), met my friend Rebecca near the food court (I had gone to Peru this last summer with her), and found myself actually becoming excited for my trip abroad. After comparing our guidebooks and discussing the potential differences between Spain and Peru while eating the most overpriced sandwich I have ever had, we headed to our gate and boarded the 6 and a half hour ride across the Atlantic. This marked my second night of no sleep… so arriving to the hotel on Wednesday (was it really Wednesday???) I was nothing more than a dehydrated shell of a human being functioning on an inhumanly possible amount of sleep. After lunch, I bought my Spanish cell phone and experienced my first siesta and slept until dinner. And while a good amount of people headed out for the night, I checked into bed at around 10 that evening. All I could think about was the fact that it was 1:00 in the afternoon in my brain…

I’m sorry that one entry entirely devoted to sleep took up so much space but it’s only until now that I REALLY appreciate the value of a good night’s rest.