La Tamborrada

Closing ceremonies in la Plaza de la Constitucion
San Sebastian is a candidate for the cultural capital of Europe in the year 2016
Plaza de la Constitucion
Los cocineros
Mas cocineros
All ages involved!
Erica (italiana), Raiz, Ana (espanolas), Eli (italiana), me
Can't talk, but can play the drums! :)
The "women" and the cooks
One of the two water fountains; one of the parades ended here

Getting in on the action!

Cooks
The Basque Flag
Viva Donostia!
One of the "French soldiers"
Cocinero statue outside of a bank

Possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity; estar en San Sebastián/Donostia the 19^th and 20^th of January. An annual festival, entitled La Tamborrada, or Damborada en Euskara (Basque) is rooted deep in the history of the Basque population in Donostia. A brief, brief history of the celebration:

In 1597 a plague swept through San Sebastián, and the townspeople prayed to Saint Sebastián for an end to the disease that was wiping out their population. A possible miracle-the plague ended, and the people promised to celebrate the saint’s day on January 20^th, to give thanks to Saint Sebastián. At the time, Donostia was a walled city with a fort inhabited by the French Army; therefore, the people worked in shipping and commerce, living in a military style environment. Only two sources of agua, Kanoletan and Koxkax, were available for the women, cooks, and soldiers. Therefore, a line was formed everyday in which people filled their barrels with water to cook from the two fountains in the city. As you can imagine, the lines were long and cumbersome, and what does one do when bored? Sing, and “play the drums,” or the barrels with ladels. The story says that the women and chefs/bakers played tunes on their wooden barrels, not only because it was fun, but to urge those who were filling their barrels to hurry up! The French soldiers would respond to the noise, by joining along and somewhat “answering” the call with their own beat. And this is how la Tamborrada came to be, also symbolizing the first day of Carnaval, and the opening of the sidra houses (cider houses), or simply marking the springtime, an era of celebration while honoring Saint Sebastián.

After a spaghetti dinner at some classmates’ house, a group of about ten of us headed downtown to partake in the festivites, as this was the “homework” assigned to us by our professors. The opening ceremonies started at midnight on the 19^th in Plaza de Constitución, and lasted about a half an hour. As the plaza is fairly small and enclosed, after attempting to fight out way through only about four steps before being pushed, we decided to just give up and hang out with people on the street as to not get trampled. The streets of the Parte Vieja, the old sector of town, were filled with infants to elders, singing the song of San Sebastián, eating, drinking, and socializing. I am convinced that every person in the city was celebrating in some form or another, and the streets were jam packed with gente feliz. The ambiente was like something I have never experienced, as I have never witnessed such passion for heritage and tradition. The colors of the celebration, blue and white, adorned doorways and windows throughout the city, while different societies, or groups of people, dressed as either cooks or French soldiers, and marched around the city, playing their drums (French soldiers) or wooden barrels. These different groups played throughout the twenty-four hours, each one playing for about an hour each. Our instructors told us that we should not plan on sleeping because we would not be able to because of the drumming that would be shaking our heads….but that was a bit of an exaggeration; they did play for twenty four hours, but not continuously in every neighborhood. Spectators also participated in the festival, purchasing our own plates or drums and drumsticks, and following the beat of the certain songs the groups were playing. This lasted well into the night, roaming the streets, speaking Spanish, and essentially become a San Sebastian-ite for a night!

At about 7:30 am, I could no longer stay awake, and headed home with my roommates for a few hours rest before heading out to enjoy the next ten hours. Two of my Spanish roomies, two of their Italian friends, and another of their friends from Barcelona, and I bought bocadillos de tortilla de patata (potato/egg omelete sandwich-typical Spanish food), and headed down to the port to enjoy a bit of sunshine and eat our lunch. This must have been the hour of siesta/rest up for the big push through the rest of the day, because there weren’t many people out and about. However, we ended up finding and adolescent parade that we followed, drumming along with them for about an hour and then an adult one as well before attending the closing ceremonies. The closing ceremonies lasted for about an hour. We claimed our space early to ensure a spot close to the stage, and did the typical dancing and even some singing in Basque, as people did the congo around the plaza, chanted in between songs, and imitated those on stage as they tapped their drumsticks together and frolicked. Those who were fortunate, were able to observe from the balconies of the apartments in the plaza. Basque flags honoring the festival hung from balconies, and interestingly enough, no Spanish flags or colors were present, to me, making the statement that this was a BASQUE, San Sebastian festival. The Tamborrada expemlifies one of the reasons I have fallen in love with not only the Spanish culture, but the Basque culture as well.

Una semana en Donostia

Less sleep, late nights, architecture, stairs, dos besitos, fashion, tranquilidad, pedestrian streets, café, pinxtos, lights, laughter; pura belleza. Spanish life: simple, sweet, enjoyable, passionate-sensorial.

I have observed in and attemped to live a week of pure beauty for life, in an attempt to absorb it all. Adapting to the lifestyle as an American, set in my ways is a different story. I am still adjusting to the normalcy of getting to bed between midnight and six am in the morning, while awaking between eight and one. Routine has not yet been established, and that’s okay; when in Rome…or Donostia (San Sebastián in Basque). I tried to convince myself today that I needed to start to get myself into a sleeping routine but then realized that this week is already shot starting tomorrow, the 19^th of January. More to come on the Tamborrada later, but in short, it is a 24 hour celebration honoring Saint Sebastian starting tomorrow at midnight and lasting until the 20^th at midnight. School is cancelled; the fun begins…or should I say continue?

This last week was reminiscent of the beginning of any uniting of strangers. Start as strangers, and with time, become friends. I have found myself pleasantly surprised and gratified each day no matter whom I am around. I am relieved to know that my fellow study-abroaders (USACers) are sincere in their efforts to learn and desire to acquire knowledge about the environment we are in. Thinking about it, having the guts to leave everything familiar and jump two feet in to the unknown, merits respect for any person regardless of age, objective, or former location. With that said, I can safely say that my Facebook website is now filled with many USAC “friends.”

A few anecdotes and fun facts from this past week:

Cell phones: Prepaid cell phones suck-plain and simple. That is when Facebook comes in handy. When calling someone, no one really wants the other person to answer because they will get charged. Many people have already run out of their minutes and have had to re-charge.

Mass:

I attended mass at the Buen Pastor Cathedral on Sunday night; the huge cathedral a block from my apartment, whose bells I hear chiming on the hour. The mass was difficult to understand due to the microphone echo, and there was only a first reading and then the gospel. There was no second reading. The collection was done using green satchel bags. Communion was disbursed by four different people, with the congregation forming fairly neat lines. The population was probably 90% over 80 years old. Sorry Mom, not any good Catholic boys for me yet. J There are five masses offered on Sundays: 3 in Castellano (Spanish), 1 in Basque, and 1 bilingual Basque/Spanish.

Multilingualism:

The intertwining of Basque (in English), Vasco (in Spanish) or Euskara (in Basque) combined with Spanish, Castellano/Español, _______ (don’t know how to say “Spanish” in Basque) in conjunction with hanging around some English friends creates a unique environment (and confusion). As previously mentioned, in Donostia/San Sebastián, it is appreciated by the locals to make an attempt at speaking Euskara especially when greeting people or dismissing yourself, no matter where you are from, with the sandwich of information between the greeting/dismissal in Spanish. I am taking a Basque class, and I am finding myself questioning whether to translate the Basque words into Spanish or English when making my flashcards. In class, Natalia, mi profesora uses a combination of Spanish, English and Euskara during instruction. The language is difficult, but rooted deep in history, with the people displaying an incredible passion for their region and culture. All street names, posted on the sides of the buildings, are in Spanish on one side of the street, and in Euskara on the other. For example, I leave on Calle Fuenterrabía (Spanish) or Hondarrabía (Basque). All traffic signs are in both Spanish and Euskara, with the Euskara font being slightly different than that of its Spanish counterpart.

The city layout:

Donostia/San Sebastián, as previously mentioned, is a street-walkers paradise-easy to navigate and highly traveled by foot. Nights are filled with window shopping, especially at this time of year with the many “rebajas” (discounts/sales), by both men and women, young and old. My apartment is right above the smaller of the two Zara stores located within a block of each other. Where I live, el Centro, shopping is the main attraction. In la Parte Vieja, bars and restaurants run the neighborhood. Gros is a newer barrio that I haven’t explored too much except to find a blow dryer on my way to join a gym. Ah, with that mentioned, I’ve joined at gym that is about a ten minute walk from my apartment. I received a gym membership card and paid about eighty dollars for a membership through May. Although fairly small and stocked with about ten weight machines, ten bikes, and ten stair steppers/cross trainers; it also has a pool. I figured this would be a great option on those rainy days, and/or for meeting people….hmmm…or guys like the one today that I swear was following me to every lift. Certainly could have been my imagination however, haha.

Italian Friends:

Along with my amazing Spanish roommates who I hung out with this weekend, our apartment is the “study house” for their friends as well. I’ve found it interesting speaking especially with two Italian students/friends because although Spanish is neither of our native language, we are all understood by the others. They seem to have a good grasp on the speaking, because of the similarity to their native language. It’s amazing to see what language can do to unite people. Even within our USAC group, we try our best to speak Spanish to each other. Fascination I tell you, to be able to communicate with people from around the world.

A hurricane?

This story must be told. As I mentioned, I sauntered through the light rain to the gym in Gros on Friday, already knowing that I was going to join the gym. However, as I continued walking, the quantity of rain started to increase. Luckily, I pulled out my awesome purple plaid umbrella and used it to combat the drops soaking my blue jeans, and continuing to fill my shoes. Upon arrival and registration at the gym, my return mission was to find a blow dryer that I saw in a shop window on the way. I succeeded in this endeavor, however this was one of the only successes of the day. The wind and rain continually pounded me as I fought with my umbrella, turning itself inside out until I finally gave up, entered the Kutxa bank, caught my breath and threw the umbrella in my backpack. I’d have to do this alone-without the umbrella. I only had about five blocks to go. I could do it. Determination. Crossing the street after hightailing it out of the bank, my blowdryer fell in the middle of the street because the paper bag it was in has become so soggy that it flat out ripped. Luckily I was crossing with a green light, stooped to pick it up, and was nearly knocked over by a gust of wind. No turning back now; I was on the bridge. I found myself, knees bent in an athletic football stance fighting the wind, while other people gripped the side of the bridge for stability. Umbrellas fluttered and flew against any building as they escaped the hands so dearly trying to cling onto them. Although I had a pretty solid stance I felt, I tried to make it to grab the bridge, when a huge gust of wind pushed me toward the street corner…and an oncoming car. I had no option but to grab onto the light pole that stood between me and the street. So, there I stood, like an idiot, grabbing onto a light pole, but thank goodness for that!!!!!! The rest of the trip home consisted of popping into door entryways every block to take a “break.” Needless to say, by the time I got to school later in the day, my backpack had been open, books wet, pants soaked, and took a little “detour” on the bus route to school. It’s all a part of the adventure folks, and not to worry; it WAS an abnormal weather day!! J

Primer dia de clases

Waking up today, besides having blood speckle out my nose every time I blow it because it is so dried out from second hand cigarette smoke, I was excited about the school adventure that layed ahead. Of course I was anxious too, but I felt very confident in my abilities after hearing from so many people that I speak very well. I don’t feel the same, but I’ve been doing a decent job of coming out of my shell. I’ve learned that you don’t say, “Cómo está?” to a stranger that you are meeting because that implies that you really want to know, and that you know them. Instead, addressing them with “Buenas” is just fine J, which is contrary to what we do in the States when asking people how they are just to continue walking along and not expecting an answer. After a delicious breakfast with some cereal that I love paired with soy milk (yes!), I put on my walkin’ shoes and headed for the beach. The forty minute walk to school is along la Concha, lined with leafless trees, and una vista increíble. I felt so at peace with the walk because of the surroundings. There were joggers, viejos speed-walking, and many women pushing strollers with plastic wrapped around them because of the rain. I have seen many women with babies since being here, and their strollers are reminiscent of those I would imagine they use in England; buggy style. It was about 11 degrees C, which meant I was pretty warm when I got to school after layering up with a long sleeved shirt, a blazer, topped with a jacket, plus a scarf and gloves. But, better safe than sorry! My first experience with Euskara, or Basque, came this morning when I went to buy paper at the papelería. I greeted the man with “Buenos días” as I placed the paper on the counter. He replied in Basque and when I looked stumped, he asked me another question in Basque. He was then stumped because he thought I said something in Basque. When I finally unfroze, I told him I spoke Spanish. He got a great laugh out of it and said that it is so difficult because he doesn’t know which language to ever speak because some people speak Basque, others Spanish, and some even English. Those who do speak Basque prefer to speak it over Spanish, but those who are not Basque, don’t know a lick of it. And, only the younger generations speak English. Therefore, the confusion begins and the crossover between the cultures becomes evident.

After the brisk walk that I have been considering my “exercise” (sad, I know), I arrived at the campus just in time to feel the nerves a comin’ because I didn’t really know what to expect. After finding my first class, Contemporary Spanish Theatre of the Twentieth Century, I was relieved to meet my teacher, Mari Mar, and, well….no one else! I am the only student in this class. However, I am so happy that she is my profesora because she seems as though she is one of the nicest people I will ever meet in my life. She has a twenty four year old daughter, a husband, is blonde and fashionable, and expressed to me her desire to help me learn. As when meeting Adri and Ana, I felt an immediate connection and my affective filter was lowered just by her actions and sincerity. Because I was the only student, we talked about ourselves and then about the class for a little over an hour. Although demanding, I can’t imagine my Spanish not improving with this one-on-one teacher/student ratio. After this class, I attended three classes with the same profesora, Natalia, who I would guess is in her late twenties or early thirties. She is unmarried, and earned her doctorate from UNR but is Basque. She grew up speaking Basque at home, learned Spanish in school, and then learned English in the United States. The first class was the Basque Culture and Language that I will be taking simply out of interest in the Basque Culture, the second was Advanced Spanish I, and the third was Seminario. I am going to have an awfully difficult schedule, but that is my ultimate goal; to be challenged to learn the language. I felt the excitement brewing after Natalia told us that the Seminario class would take us to a near-native level because it is in preparation for a national examination. I am willing to work for the result!!!!!!

In an attempt to return to a normal type routine, my friend Lisa and I went to the cell phone store to try our luck at getting a “movil.” Fortunately, a former student who had used my bedroom left behind a phone, but all I needed to get was a sim card to charge to make it work! Sin embargo…I needed my passport and wasn’t about to walk home and back. It’s kind of nice at times to escape the cell phone epidemic, but would be useful for making plans to meet up with people from class.

My class schedule is as follows:

Mondays:

11:00-12:20 Spanish Theatre

12:30-1:50 Basque Language and Culture

2:10-3:40 Advanced Spanish I and II

Tuesdays:

2:10-3:40 Advanced Spanish I and II

Wednesdays:

11:20-12:20 Spanish Theatre

12:30-1:50 Basque Language and Cutlure

2:10-3:20 Advanced Spanish I and II

3:30-4:50 Spanish Seminary

Thursdays:

2:10-3:20 Advanced Spanish I and II

3:30-4:50 Spanish Seminary

Fridays:

NO CLASS!

A Basque Lesson:

Kaixo: Hello (the “x” is pronounced “sh”)

Ni Julie naiz: My name is Julie

Eta zu? And you?

Agur! Goodbye!

Oso ongi! Very good

Bai Yes

Ez No

Eskerrik asko! Thank you!

Settling In

Today consisted of meetings, finding out that I had passed the placement test to get into the upper division classes, and struggling to stay awake during a really interesting talk about the Basque People and the Basque country. I haven’t quite adjusted to the time change yet; my body is convinced that I am just taking three-hour naps instead of the eight hours at a time that has always been mandatory for me to function. So, while struggling to stay awake, I tried to absorb as much information as possible, as the speaker, although pacing nerviously enough to make me nervous watching, demonstrated his passion for this small corner of the world. And, although I wasn’t in the mindset to take in all of the information, he did inspire me to consider taking a class called Basque Language and Culture, for which I would receive no credit, yet a lot of interesting knowledge.

We were turned loose after the talk to head to the Plaza del Buen Pastor, which is about two blocks from my home, where those who wanted to in the group, could meet up for a “functional” walking tour of the city. Some fellow USACer’s and I attempted the bus for the first time after the meeting because it was raining pretty good, and was quite chilly. This is the first thing I’ve learned about the weather. A) I need an umbrella B) Although its nice in the morning, it’s sure to rain in the afternoon. What I’ve learned about the bus system is that A) It is simple because the city is so small and B) The bus stops are the first I’ve seen that tell you the bus number that will be coming and where it is going. Very efficient are those españoles I tell you. After meeting the group at the cathedral del Buen Pastor, an amazingly beautiful cathedral in the middle of the plaza, which is a common meeting place for people in the city, we visited the different neighborhoods of the city, la Parte Vieja, el Centro, Gros, and Nuevo Amara. We learned where to get the all-important cell phones, finally where grocery stores were, and where to find an umbrella, which I gladly paid about 20 dollars more than I would ever think about spending at home for a design and color that is certainly less than attractive. However, function was my main objective.

A nap was in order before heading out with some USAC buddies at 9:00. I attempted cooking a meal for myself consisting of chicken breast sprinkled with salt and pepper and microwaveable rice. I think I was supposed to not cut the bag of rice, but I didn’t understand the verb telling me what to do, and after looking it up online without success, I decided that I needed to cut open the bag and microwave it in a dish. And….maybe that is why it tasted like plastic. But, once again, food is food, and I’ve got to learn how to cook one of these days because I can’t just do the stopover at Mom and Dads and pick at their leftovers for a few monthsJ. I think I’ll need to branch out a bit at the supermarket too and try some things I don’t know. After my subpar attempt at satisfying my hunger, I met up with some friends and enjoyed the company of a mixed crew of people from Ohio, Nevada, and California, amongst others. I find the incredible mix of people incredibly refreshing and intriguing, and enjoyed having heart-to-hearts and sharing canned olives stuffed with what I would swear are anchovies that I don’t think I’ll partake in en el futuro. Upon returning home at a late hour, (Hey, I don’t have class until 11!), I caught up on some facebooking (I love that this is a verb!) and emails. It’s so great to hear from everyone, so please keep the emails coming!!!!!

El apartamento

The 11th was our first big day in SS. I was more than ready to get rid of my luggage that I had been living out of, and digging through for the past two to three days. I can’t stand digging; it takes the life out of me. It is one of my pet peeves; and those who have traveled with me know what I mean. We visited the campus of la Universidad del País Vasco (UPV) in the morning, which is located near our hotel and it turns out, about forty minutes walking from my apartment. We finally got to meet the face behind the name Dr. Patricia O’Connor, who is the head honcho of the USAC Program here in San Sebastián.

After taking placement exams and hearing about all of the wonderful opportunities that await us, we got to return to the Hotel Codina and finally move into our new homes. Maggie, who speaks no Spanish, and I thought we hit a little bump when the cab driver took one look at our baggage and told us that it would not fit in one taxi. After some convincing (and realizing that there were thirty other students that needed a taxi), he bent the rules for us American gals, and put some of the suitcases in the backseat. Apparently we discovered the first law that is different from home. At least we got the vasco who was willing to break it J.

We pulled away from the hotel, and drove along the Playa de la Concha (beach), lined with trees, a paved walking path, and a paved bicycle path and into el Centro. Clothing stores such as Mango, Zara, United Colors of Benettion lined the street Fuenterrabía, where the cab driver stopped and I wondered why he was stopping. Sure enough, there was door #7, right next to Zara, which lead to our apartment. After squeezing the big suitcases into the tiny elevator, Maggie and I trekked the rest of the way up with our smaller bags, and knocked on the only door on floor #2, which we assumed was ours. To greet us were two españolas, Ana and Adriana, who are madrilenas (de Madrid). Immediately, I felt the warmth radiating from these two ladies, as the four of us sat in the hallway chatting for about fifteen minutes. Adri told us that she didn’t just want us to be roommates, but they wanted to be our friends. This comforting feeling was just what I was looking for, and yes, Tito was right, they were “cool.”

Entering the apartment, in both directions is a long cooridor hallway, with tall ceilings and wood floor in cuadros. To the right, Maggie found her room, with two beds (she’s awaiting the arrival of another roommate), across from her is Adri’s room, and in between is Ana’s. From their rooms, walking toward the opposite end, is a storage room on the right, and then an extra room with a couch, and then a bathroom. On the left, is a small living room, and then a bigger one with a television. Across from the living room is the kitchen, and in between the two is my room. The apartment is much larger than I had expected; and although old, it has a charm about it. The apartment, with the warm welcome, a room filled with new Ikea furniture, and wireless Internet (J) was exactly what I had been hoping for. And, apparently Internet is not common in many apartments, but luckily it’s in ours.

After settling in, Maggie and I took off exploring and hoping to find a grocery store. Not finding a grocery store, we settled on a restaurant about a block from our apartment. It was not a typical Basque tapas bar, but rather an outdoor café in a little shopping center. I ordered the Arzak special salad, because I have heard that the restaurant “Arzak” in San Sebastian is world famous, thanks to Anthony Bourdain’s adventures on the travel channel. The “Arzak special” included shrimp, bacon, and a whiteish vinegar dressing that satisfied my need to eat for the first time all day. It was also great getting to know Maggie, a recently turned 21 year old from Iowa, who was traveling alone for the first time. We enjoyed our meal, and then continued walking around el Centro before deciding to dive in for a tapa at a local restaurant. As we sat waiting at the table for the bartender to serve us, or at least acknowledge us, we recognized another USAC girl with who appeared to be her host family. As we talked with her, her Señora’s boyfriend bought us a drink, and befriended us in the typical Spanish style. We were taken aback by their graciousness, and then after inviting us to walk around the Parte Vieja, we went into a typical Basque bar, where he ordered us some calamari and a tinto. This experience for me captivates the dynamic, and people oriented culture of the Spanish people-strangers meeting as strangers, and leaving as friends-all because of shared food and drink.

La llegada a San Sebastian

My experience in Madrid ended with Javier treating me to VIPS, an American style breakfast place close to his home. We ordered the “Americana,” consisting of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and French fries. I know, you are thinking, French fries for breakfast? Yes, and lunch, and yes, for dinner as well. It makes sense; the French are crazy folks. Additionally, I ordered a café cortado, an expresso, while he sipped a café con leche. I have to admit that the pancakes hit the spot-especially with the homemade whip cream and thick chocolate and caramel topping the load of carbs. I watched my watch that I now have handily on my arm because I haven’t bought a cell phone yet; I was feeling just a bit nervous about not making the bus to San Sebastián. However, as we left and drove to the Avenida de las Américas bus station, we quickly found a place to park and thank goodness for Javi, helping me with my luggage. I for sure would have been a disaster on my own, and probably would have boarded a different bus.

After settling in nicely and being reminded that just yesterday I was sitting for about 15 hours because my tailbone immediately started to hurt again, my goal was to see the countryside on the way to my destination. However, I know myself better than that, and as soon as my head rested on the seatback, like a switch had been flipped, my eyes were closed. I slept the majority of the way to San Sebastián (SS) but was awake long enough to know that everything was covered in snow all the way to Bilbao. We stopped at the bus station at Bilbao, and I immediately wondered what I had gotten myself into. Bilbao is located about an hour west of SS, and it was covered in about 3 feet of snow. I did not sign up for snow was my first thought; I signed up for beach and nice weather. Light sprinkles I could handle, snow I did not prefer. After the discovery, I anxiously awaited our arrival to SS and did not sleep the rest of the way wondering if SS was going to be blanketed in snow as well. Snow sprinkled the green countryside on the way, but succeeded upon arrival to SS. Pulling into the bus station, I started to get excited-here I was-in MY new city. Throwing my hikers backpack on my back, and dragging the rest of the luggage through the melted snow, I slowly made my way to an awaiting taxi, and asked him to take me to Hotel Codina. I had promised myself to speak Spanish when I arrived, but this was one of those akwkard-I’m sitting right next to you but don’t want to bother trying to carry on a conversation-stupid Americana. And I was too tired to force the conversation, so we settled on silence for the ten minute ride to the hotel.

I checked in no problem, and upon arriving to my third floor room, realized that I had no freakin’ idea how to open the hotel door, and certainly didn’t have the patience to try to decipher what the picture on the back of the key was trying to tell me. I couldn’t believe I’d made my way all the way across the world, reached my destination, and couldn’t figure out how to open a hotel room door. Luckily, my roomie for the night, Jillian from Nevada, came to the rescue and let me in. After dropping my baggage, I looked at the information sheet I was handed and the front desk and discovered that we had a meeting in ten minutes. Nice. Nothing like being informed ahead of time. At the meeting, Tito, the USAC coordinator, met with each of us as we signed our housing contract and received our key. The mystery was just about over….our fate for the next five months was about to be decided. In the group of five called to the table with me, Tito addressed me and a tall blonde girl named Maggie and excitedly told us that we were going to LOVE our apartment; it is in a great location en el Centro, right where all of the shopping, bars, and restaurants are located. He also said that our roommates are two very likeable Spanish girls that are medical students, but "don’t seem like it", which I took as that they were not nerdy, such a stereotype, I know, yet “cool” like us.

The rest of the first night in San Sebastián would not be considered the ideal night in the most beautiful city in the world; but rather filled with Skyping my Mom because my bank card would not work. Thank goodness for technology. Fabulous, I need to withdrawl an awful lot of money to pay my housing deposit and rent, and I can’t withdrawl a dime. Nothin’ like a first impression with the landlord. Thanks to my helpful mother though, we resolved the problem and I was able to diminish some funds.

Fotos de Madrid-Parte 1

A cathedral in Madrid
Esther White's store :). Had to take this picture with my Grandma's name!
This is the cave restaurant we went into
El Madrono Restaurant
La Puerta del Sol with the Bear and Madrono tree, symbolic of Madrid

Fotos de Madrid-Parte 2

The Belen in Javier's house
Javi and I at the Museo del Jamon
Estadio Bernabeau-Real Madrid stadium
Javi in front of his elementary/high school: Colegio San Agustin
Chicas playing some bball!

La llegada a Madrid

Mom and Dad picked me up at 3:30 in the morning for the long, early morning trek to Sacramento. The night before, Mom told me that only she was going to take me (I think so Dad wouldn’t have to say goodbye!) but it was supposed to be foggy, so she didn’t want to drive alone. With that said, my parents arrived bright and early. I slept for part of the trip, and didn’t really feel too many emotions. To me, it felt like I was just going to the airport, but not to be gone for seven months! That was, until it was time to say goodbye. I hated the look in my Mom’s eyes, that I was making her suffer pain. She teared up and so did I, while I’m sure Dad was doing the same underneath his thick skin. However, Dad put it into perspective for Mom by comparing me leaving for the time of my life, with a soldier leaving for Iraq. When put that way, it was a minute, small sacrifice they were making, letting their daughter leave for a mere seven months.

After a short stay in the Sacramento airport, I boarded a flight for a mundane flight to the Dallas Airport. Upon arrival in Dallas, I had a mere five hours to spend. As my father would do, I took a brisk walk with my suitcase in tote, adding to the dificultad of the situation. After getting my heart rate up to an acceptable rate, I plopped down to discover that the “free” wireless internet was “free” for an 8 dollar fee. Of course I couldn’t live without it. I then treated myself to a last “American” meal at TGI Fridays, where I consumed a less than impressive pecan crusted chicken salad. Note to self, when returning to the Dallas Airport, avoid the waiter who calls you “darlin” every time he addresses you. Gross. No “que guey” (how cool). Horrible!

Upon entering the plane for the next leg of the flight, this time I did not have to break a sweat by trying to shove my carry on suitcase in the overhead compartment because I knew what “Priority Access” meant-that I could board before everyone else. Therefore, I didn’t have to go through the red-face, sweat dripping down my face struggle that I encountered before when no one offered to help me put my larger than normal carry-on into the seemingly shrinking compartment. I was accompanied by a very friendly guatelmaleco (Guatemalan) 21 year old male who was studying in Pamplona, Spain, and had been there for the past two years. His name was Sergio, and we held a very pleasant conversation despite the need for sleep restricted by the need to consume food before the neck bobbing “sleep” we would get after taking a sleeping pill to help the process. Even on the airplane, we ate dinner as though we were at a table, enjoying the company of the other person. His slow eating made me do the same, so as not to shovel the food down my throat and be the typical eat-fast-and-in-a-hurry-American. I felt as though we actually engaged in the “sobremesa” that is typical of the Latin/Spanish lifestyle, staying at the “table,” be it a large dining room table or two simple airplane tray tables, to talk for an extended period of time, enjoying the other’s company before dessert or coffee came. After becoming aware of this custom, it seems the logical thing to do. I even forgot that I was so exhausted because I was being invited to Pamplona, and being told about the city that I was going to be living in for the next five to seven months. Sergio’s excitement about San Sebastián solidified my choice of destination. It’s going to be my dream come true….or so I thought until hitting turbulence so bad about two hours from Madrid that for the first time in my life, I thought that I wasn’t going to have a safe landing. It was to the point of searching for the barf bag (not finding it) and hoping that I wouldn’t have to commit “the act” that everyone despises almost worse than a crying baby on an airplane. Little did Sergio know, I was also to the point of reaching over to grab his hand for something to clench if the plane was on its way down. Hail Mary-thank you!

Upon arrival to Madrid, where luckily the weather was taking a break from snowing (in Madrid?), and the sun was shining, I uneventfully gathered and dragged my large suitcase, large carry on, backpack, and personal item out the front without even going through customs. It was the easiest entrance into a country that I can remember. I walked out of the doorway with a girl named Laura that was studying in Madrid, who I befriended as we waited at the luggage carousel. After for some reason feeling embarrassed about scanning the crowd to find Javier, I found him looking at me to see if it was really me. I waved, and he returned the gesture. I was seeing a life-long friend for the first time in ten years. I never would have imagined. He admitted to me that he wasn’t sure it was me walking out of the doorway because I was with someone else, and because I was wearing glasses….but it was certainly me! Doing the polite thing, we waited for my new friend Laura’s ride to come, but we only stayed a few minutes after Javi expressed his fear of getting a ticket for illegally parking his brother car. No sería bueno to have this brother’s car towed from the airport picking up some chick that he knew for one year and hadn’t seen for ten!

Javier lives in the Barrio de Castilla (right, Javi?), about fifteen minutes from the airport. I had never previously been to this part of town, and was excited to experience something new in one of my favorite large cities in Europe. We pulled into a garage in the side of a building that I barely recognized as a garage, took a few winding turns, and pulled into an underground parking space after lugging my bags out of the car that originally had barely fit! We definitely squeezed into the elevator (thank goodness there was one-my seventy pound bag would have been difficult to drag up the stairs!), and the door opened at to what I would describe as a house in an apartment setting. The first thing I was greeted with was a large Belen, right when we entered the apartment, which is essentially a Nativity scene, with a very important part of it being the appearance of the three wisemen. This took up the entire entryway of the home, and was quite impressive. The house consisted of five bedrooms (I think), a small kitchen, a large living room, a dining room, and another room with a large table, and two bathrooms. The décor was antique, with a Spanish charm. Javi graciously provided me with his bedroom, where I was able to settle down for the time being, take a shower (always the best after traveling to get rid of the grease infested hair), and then be ready at 12:00 to face the city of Madrid, in the country I so adore and always dream about; I was in España.

Javi and I walked around his neighborhood in the near snowing temperatures, where we visited el Colegio de San Agustín, where he spent all of his youth attending school. He hadn’t been there in a long time and I think enjoyed the opportunity to show me his stomping gounds. And get this-there were young girls playing basketball! It looked as though it was a youth league, and the girls were mixed with boys, doing drills, while receiving instruction from a man AND a young lady. It seemed normal, it seemed like home, I loved the equality. Also taking place was of course a soccer practice or match. He said that Saturdays was a day for the youth to practice sports. We took some pictures and then looked across the street to the Estadio Bernabeau, which is the stadium of the Real Madrid Soccer team. We took a look in the team store, and then continued our journey to la torre de Picasso, the Picasso Tower, which is a newer of three new towers filled with offices. As would be typical of the fututre night’s events, we stopped into the Museo de Jamón (The Ham Museum) for a drink and a bite to eat. This is a typical time in the afternoon, about two o’clock for this activity. As I reveled in how beautiful legs of pigs could be all lined up covering the ceiling of a restaurant, people enjoyed Mahau beer, made in Madrid and the tapa with jamón and bread that came gratis with the purchase. A simple drink and free tapa costs .80 euro, or about a dollar.

The snack at Museo de Jamón was just that, a snack. Upon arriving at the house again, the cooking lady had prepared a meal of salad, breaded and fried chicken, and French fries, which I soon discovered was a typical meal of the Spaniards. We enjoyed the lunch with two of Javi’s brothers, and his ten and twelve year old nephews. It was followed by sampling desserts that are typical of the Christmas season (which ended on the sixth of January). I was able to follow and partake in the conversation, and felt very welcome into their home. After filling my belly, I opted to take a siesta, which I was informed occurs on the couch.

Two hours later, after being wrapped in a warm electric blanket on the softest couch in Spain, I awoke and quickly grabbed my beanie and gloves for another excursion of the downtown area. We took the bus to la Puerta del Sol, a central, busy, lively area. The women, clad in tall boots, skinny leg jeans or leggings, and long sweaters, bustled around, arms wrapped around their sweeties, enjoying the energy of the plaza. I remember this area quite vividly, with the Tio Pepe sign overlooking the entire plaza. The symbolic bear and tree “el Oso y el Madroño” was a statue that I had to take a picture in front of, as it had been recently moved from one part of the plaza to the other. Interestingly enough, there was a mariachi band (why, I do not know) playing outside the metro station, and we continued on our stroll to la Plaza Mayor. La Plaza Mayor area is filled with Mesones (nicer restaurants) and we popped into one to escape the chilling weather, called “el Madroño,” named after a liqueor produced by a tree of the same name. After spending 30 minutes in this tiny restaurant, we continued to a street famous for the restaurants underground, like caves. We entered one called la Mazmorra Mesón, where we sampled a Rioja vino tinto (red wine) before snapping some pictures, and continuing onto our journey toward the king’s palace and the cathedral. The king’s palace was absolutely astonishing under the lights highlighting the beautiful architecture, but my toes were frostbitten at this point, so we headed to another restaurant. Now I know why there are so many restaurants and bars in Spain-to escape the cold! We entered a restaurant I never would have dared on my own because I didn’t even know that it was one! We indulged in la tortilla de patata, an omelletesque food made with egg, potato, and onion. Javi told me that tapas should come free with drinks, and that you shouldn’t have to pay for the snack if it is a real tapa. We left the restaurant after the crowd at the table next to us started to sing (they’d had a few I think), and took the metro back to Javi’s house.

Back at the house, Javi’s brother had several friends over, who greeted me with the two-cheeked kiss typical of an entrance or despedida of a woman, from males or females. We finished watching a movie, and then at about 1:30 am sat down for a game of good old Texas Hold ‘em. I watched while the boys played and enjoyed the rules of the game returning to me. After the brothers and friends left, Javi and I played with another brother, Pablo, and his two nephews before calling it a night at 3:30 am. I don’t know if I’d ever slept that good after such a long day, but I was a trooper and very much enjoyed exploring with Javier.