They are who we thought they were!

I arrived in Paris greeted by every Parisian stereotype imaginable: French women with skinny jeans rode around on bicycles with baskets, little old ladies walked curly-haired white dogs up and down the sidewalks, and everyone had a baguette in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Not to mention that the general disdain for Americans, or at least the English language, was palpable. But French is an impossible language, especially for someone who has never been exposed. And even when I tried to communicate (“Café au lait, s'il vous plait?”) I was promptly answered in English with, “Anything else, ma’am?” and a look that said, “Don’t even try. You just look dumb.”

So surrounded by foils of Frenchmen, I decided to explore all the stereotypes of Paris as possible. Frankly, after visiting the classic monuments and discovering others that I didn’t know even existed, the French have every right to be snooty. Paris boasts the most extraordinary architecture (thanks in part to Napoleon who boasted an extraordinarily huge ego) and the city is brimming with artistry and culture in every facet. The Eiffel Tower, the Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame… everything is exactly as impressive (if not more) as how you’ve ever imagined it. And I’m not even going to start with the food since I could write an entire blog dedicated to every portion I ate. All I can say is I highly recommend the croissants, baguettes, cheese, wine, crepes, pastries, and onion soup.

The language barrier (though completely distinct and not nearly as challenging as the one in Croatia) did help me realize just how comfortable I am with Spanish. In one instance, as I was sitting in a café looking over the Paris guidebook and waiting for Emily to come out of her internship, a man leaned over from the table next to me and asked me something in French. Instinctively I replied, “No hablo frances,” only realizing after I had spoken that this man looked very Spanish. We ended up chatting for forty minutes and I discovered he was from Lima (and lived right by the university I attended) and now lives in Madrid. Small world.

Face painting in the park on Easter with Emily’s internship (an NGO dedicated to promoting children’s rights) expanded my French vocabulary significantly from just ordering off of a menu. It now includes a strong command of “Je ne parle pas français” and popular face painting choices like “l’unicorn” and “l’chat.” With my limited communication abilities, my miming skills reached a whole new level. In one instance, a little French girl sat down in front of me and excitedly said: “L’chien! L’chien!” I stared back at her, trying to get her to point out the animal on the paper with the design choices. Not knowing even how to say “What do you want?” I would tap the paper repeatedly saying, “Eh? Eh?” Obviously disgusted by my lack of French and what could have possibly been mistaken as slight mental retardation, the girl crossed her arms and said, “Woof, woof.” Ah HA! Merci! Woof woof it is.

I have to admit: the one time when I was convinced of something other than the French stereotype was going out with Emily’s co-workers. They were nothing short of incredibly hospitable and always made sure I felt comfortable and welcome, despite obviously only being able to speak to them in English. Perhaps it’s the tourism that wears on the rest of the city; God knows I’d be sick of English if I had to deal with it every day. But talking to real French people about real French things (like their undying love for the movie Ratatouille) maybe changed my mind a bit about the French. Maybe.

But even in the airport, waiting for my flight to Madrid and surrounded by Madrileños, I felt so much better. And I could tell just by hanging out in Paris with Emily, who is such a friendly and open person, that she is most certainly Spanish and belongs in Madrid. In the terminal, someone asked me where I was from and after finding out I was American, she was actually interested in having a conversation about it. There’s a sincere kindness that radiates from the Spanish that I felt lacking in Parisians. Despite physically sticking out in the city and the occasional cat-call that follows, the people in Madrid make me so much more comfortable. And I am all the more comfortable knowing that I can talk about more than just baguettes and unicorns.

My Blind Date with Croatia

As our plane passed over the shimmering water of the Adriatic Sea sparkled with that unbelievable blue that you find on a Greek postcard, my heart caught in my throat: I was in love. Coming into this vacation I didn’t even know the basic essentials about Croatia—all I came prepared with was the knowledge that they did not speak English, were not on the Euro, and that we’d gotten an apartment on the water. So when I finally did catch a glimpse of my home for the next few days, my stomach fluttered and I could not stop smiling. If love at first sight existed, surely this was it.

Our bus ride into the city of Split was full of longing looks out the window and several comments of: “Wow, are we really here?” Split is an offset “Mediterranean-style” town free from the international spotlight of Mediterranean tourism. In fact, that’s what made our journey to the apartment so interesting. Still unable to come to grips with the reality of where we were and realizing that yes, the view from everywhere is just that amazing, we soon discovered a slight imperfection in this gorgeous country: public transportation. Amanda, Rebecca, and I set off to try to decipher the Croatian bus system and maybe find our where the hell our apartment was. Yet even though our supposedly half hour bus ride turned into a two hour ordeal where we unknowingly passed our apartment three times and ended up having to walk along the highway for a kilometer with luggage and all, I found myself willing to forgive Croatia’s initial flaw. Because even though we were all worried and lost and had no way of communicating with the bus driver, I was still grinning. And upon stepping into the apartment, all three of us forgot about the entire thing… Set right against a private marina on the sea, we found ourselves in a marble-floored, spacious apartment with a modern kitchen and an indescribable view from the balcony (all of which cost $100 a person for four nights). About half my pictures from our vacation were taken every time I stepped through our glass doors out onto the porch. Every time I woke up in the morning and every time we came into the apartment, I could never get over its beauty. It always just seemed a little too good to be true.

Saturday we explored the flea market and “Old Town” of Split (side note: we were staying about forty minutes outside of Split in Sumpetar which was ultimately worth it in the end and made us masters of the transportation system by the end of our stay). The night after, we discovered a small pizza bar along the water with a hostess who spoke English (YES!) and enjoyed a few domestic beers and a shrimp and muscle pizza. The rest of the days and evenings were spent with no internet, phone, or computer lounging, exploring, dipping our feet into the sea, and generally soaking up everything that was around us. Walking back along the beach at night, looking up at the stars, seeing the clear outline of a cloud from the Milky Way, and hearing the waves crash up against the apartment, I couldn’t help but think of how lucky I was. And despite having to work at the relationship in the beginning, I knew that I had to come back to visit some day. From the moment we met, Croatia stole my heart and kept me smiling until the very end.

Hasta el fin de marzo!

I'm packing/celebrating the end of midterms as we speak. I pretty much dominated my last exam today so my biggest test right now is trying to decide between boots or tennis shoes (Paris might be drizzly...) and whether or not I should bring a bathing suit for the Adriatic Sea (that may be a little too optimistic even for me)
For those of you who may be out of the loop, here are my travel plans for Semana Santa:
Croatia: March 14th-18th
Paris: March 19th-24th
[with Rebecca and Emily, respectively]
I'm looking forward to it, to say the least :)

Perhaps the greatest combination of events, people, and places known to man

This weekend I spent rediscovering and inevitibly falling in love all over again with Madrid. I hosted two of my closest friends, Emily (who is studying abroad in Paris this semester) and Rebecca (studying abroad in Brighton, England) for three days in the city. Luck would have it that Emily's cousins live twenty-minutes walking from my apartment and Rebecca's hostel was situated conveniently in between the two. We spent the days wandering the city, goofing around in museums, and relaxing in the park. The evenings were filled with Flamenco, a trip to the ballet, and laughter over wine and tapas. I could say without a doubt that the best time spent here in Madrid was the last few days.

And while the luxury of sharing one of my favorite places in the world with two of my favorite people in the world was undeniably comforting, I felt homesick for the first time during my stay in Madrid. Even though I've felt so at ease in this city in the last two months, those two girls reminded me that there's something beyond the energy of Madrid and the european lifestyle that I left behind in the states--something that maybe I had forgotten about.

It's one thing living on the other side of the country from one group of friends or the other for half the year; I know that in Washington, I've got friends like Rebecca (hell, I could see her in Massachusetts if I wanted to) and in Boston, I've got friends like Emily. But here...here I miss everyone. I'm completely separated from the friends I grew up with, the indescribably fantastic people at BU, and my family at home. In no way could I ever recreate the friendships that I have at home abroad. There's this tiny connection between the madrileños and myself that's missing and will always be missing. And it's something that can only be bridged by the people you've grown up with, the people you've gone to school with, the people who know exactly where you come from (geographically or otherwise). I'm having the time of my life and I'm creating all these wonderful experiences but you know, it's just THAT much better when you're sharing it with the people you really love.

So I just wanted to say, hey--I miss you and I love you.

A weeks worth of Barcelona in two days

Barcelona is famous for three things: the inspirational architecture of Antonio Gaudi, nightlife rivaled by no other city in the world, and a stunning beach. In the span of 26 hours, we had hit up all three.

To start off the adventure, we headed to Barcelona’s cathedral on Friday at dusk. It had a realistic flow of energy that I hadn’t experienced in the other cathedrals. People were actually using the cathedral for its practical purposes and the cloister was a literal arboretum. A tier of red candles lit by patrons scattered the inside of the church and I lit a candle for Michaela. I couldn’t help but think of her in a place like this, how much she would appreciate it, how I wouldn’t be here at all in Madrid if it hadn’t been for that wonderful girl… It was cathartic and beautiful and I cried a little as I lit it.

We woke up bright and early on Saturday to beat the lines at Barcelona’s most inspiring piece of architecture: La Sagrada Familia [all the pictures in this post are of La Sagrada Familia; for the rest of Barcelona, scroll down to the next post]. Still under construction, this project of Antonio Gaudi (who died in the 1920s and never lived to see it finished) is undoubtedly the most amazing building I have set foot in. I almost don’t want to post the pictures because it simply does not do it justice. The finished cathedral will seat 13,000 and have 12 towers to represent the Disciples of Christ. Each façade of the building is a depiction of a portion of the life of Christ: the Nativity, the Glory, and the Passion. I took the elevator to the top of one of the finished towers and from there could I really begin to appreciate the detail of Gaudi’s work; even the points of the towers were incredibly ornate with fruits and doves circling the spires.

After La Sagrada Familia, we decided to see the rest of Gaudi’s work around the city and took a walking tour of his apartment, La Pedrera whose rooftop might be even more impressive than its interior. One short metro ride later, we hiked the steps up to Park Güell, another Gaudi work, and sat the world’s longest bench for a picnic lunch.

Wasting no time (surely we would have time to sit and/or sleep when we were back in Madrid), we toured the Museum of Picasso and I saw for the first time his ink and pencil works, which might now be my favorite. Nearing the end of the day, the girls and I tried to go to the observatory on Montjuïc to watch the sunset but by the time we reached the station, the tram up to the top had closed. We caught a bus, hoping it lead to the top of the mountain but to our dismay took a downhill route immediately after we boarded. As we stood worriedly on the bus, watching the sun begin to fall over the hills, we heard the sound of classical music blaring over the speakers. Turning the corner, we stumbled across Spain’s greatest water show at the Plaza de España. We ran off the bus and caught the last forty-five minutes of lights and fountains in sync to a few soundtracks by John Williams.

After dinner (duck with plum sauce and brie…mmm), we found a discoteca, danced until 4:30, and decided only at that point that maybe our feet needed a break. Our goal had been to stay up and watch the sunrise on the Mediterranean but after our incredibly busy day (I think we had sat down a total of an hour the entire day, including meals), we decided it would be best to go back to the hostel, get four solid hours of sleep, and head over to the beach before we had to catch our flight in the early afternoon. I only wish we had found more time in the trip to spend on the sand—the Mediterranean itself was dazzling and weather could not have been more perfect. I ended one of the greatest weekends of my life on the shore of the sea with five wonderful girls underneath the Spanish sun. And even with a test that I haven’t studied for and a paper that haven’t been touched looming this week, I feel the best I have this trip. Spain just keeps getting better and better.

A note on nationalism: the Catalunya problem

La Mar

Park Guell
Looking out from Park Guell

I arrived in Barcelona not being able to read any of the signs. Some of the words were strangely anglicized while others left me baffled as to how to even attempt to pronounce them. I had stepped into another country located within the borders of Spain. Though Spanish (which, technically speaking, is called Castellano) is mandatory as the official language of the country, Catalán is the first language of Barcelona without a question. Spain’s four main regions have developed distinct dialects ever since the establishment of separate kingdoms within "Spainish" borders after the inquisition. Yet no other region has struggled more with its identity than the northeast region of Spain. Catalunya itself was declared an autonomous community after the new Spanish constitution was written post-Franco in 1975 with Barcelona as the capital. Here you can also find the largest population of immigrants in all of Spain—a controversial issue no matter what region you’re from.

One of the staff at the hostel, Miguel, a native to Barcelona and a speaker of both Castellano and Catalán, explained his personal perspective of the dual identity. As one of the richest areas of the country, in both resources and tourism, the majority of the people in Catalunya feel that they should be entitled to more independence. Paying taxes to finance other areas of the country that look down on them for “butchering the perfectly good language of Castellano” is not their idea of an autonomous region or of a government working toward bettering Catalunya. If Catalunya were ever to secede from Spain and form its own autonomous body, Miguel explained to us that he would most definitely raise his children as Catalonians. Catalán is so much more than just a language: it’s an entirely different culture so distinct from the entirety of Spain and so misrepresented and disrespected from the rest of the country that it’s hard not to see why they would want their independence. It’s for this reason, more than anything, that Spain refuses to recognize the independence of Kosovo. For them, it’s a mockery of the integrity of the state. How can a region within the state secede without the consensus of the government? And though they are culturally and ethnically different, can the people of a small region like Kosovo or Catalunya really maintain itself?

I don’t know what the answer is but something has to be changed with Catalunya. The politics in Spain refuse to do anything concrete about their desire for independence. They fight the terrorism that stems from this problem but not the source. Presidential elections are March 9th and while the focus has most certainly been on the economy, there are masses of people holding signed petitions in the street of Barcelona, hoping for something other than what they have: an identity. One thing’s for certain: Spanish politics are stubborn enough to let this issue boil until it explodes and I can’t see anything changing in the near future.