I was raised in a secular household, and so therefore grew up without a religion (tear...). But I think that regardless of whether one identifies his religion as Christian, Hindi, Islamic, Jewish, Buddhist, or, in my case, doesn't identify religion, there has to be something to fill that spiritual void - to explain what can't be explained by the natural, and to feel something, dare I say, transcendental. For the Romanticists of the early 19th century, this connection was with the natural world. I suspect that I have a number of friends who feel this way - that the natural world, the world free of human soiling, holds something supernatural (ironically), something transcendental. And at times, I would agree to feeling this pull from nature. But I discovered last night that my true religion is football.
A friend of mine from high school came down from Madrid, where he is studying this weekend, to take in some sun and see the Costa del Sol. On Friday night, we went to the Málaga C. F. team store to buy tickets for yesterday's match. The tickets were in the following price categories: expensive, more expensive, really expensive, and Holy S*** expensive. We decided to get the more expensive ones - a wise choice, in retrospect. Naturally, game-day (Saturday) it rained all afternoon - the first time it has rained for more than about 20 minutes since I got here three weeks ago. I decided to go into town a little early to meet him and a few other people and go out for churros pre-match.
By the time we got out of the churro place (around 6), the rain had almost stopped and the 30 minute walk to the stadium, while not being pleasant due to the wetness and drizzle, was passed quickly due to my anticipatory adrenaline. Once we reached about two blocks away from the stadium, things started getting pretty busy. Lots of people, lots of drinking, and lots of Málaga jerseys. We walked around the outside of the stadium looking for the gate through which we were supposed to enter. Unlike at most stadia in the US where one can walk all around the stadium, here, the sections were cordoned off and it was simply not possible to go anywhere beyond the two or three sections where one's ticket permitted entry.
The people would swell in bulges around the gates while they waited for them to be open, so we decided to watch that madness from across the street, neither of us having the desire to be quite so intimate with so many Malagueñans. I get all the intimacy with Malagueñans I need from the bus. Our gate was actually one of the last to open (about 7:15 - 45 minutes before kickoff). We walked up about 10 steps to get out into the stadium, turned to the right, and sat down. Those were our seats. There was a divide in the lower level, with about 6 rows being lower down close to the field, then a walkway, and then the rest of the lower level rows. We were sitting in the first row of the slightly higher section of the lower tier - quite close to the field.
The first players to come out of the tunnel were the Barca goalkeepers, and they were met with a chorus of whistling and boos from the only half full stadium. The atmosphere was already deafening and it was still more than half an hour before the game was to start. The crowd cheered loudly for the Málaga players when they came out, but it was nothing compared to the roar of disapproval for the visiting players when they arrived. I've read about opposing grounds being intimidating for footballers, but I never understood what that meant until now. And once the game started it got even worse.
Málaga started the game a bit faster than Barcelona and almost surprised them within the first minute. I wide shot was as close as they came to scoring in the entire match. It wasn't that Barca dominated, although they did create far more chances and have more possession. Málaga, however, defended admirably throughout the match, and it took all of Messi's creativity, and Ibrahimavic's brawn to produce the first goal in the near the end of the first half. A little dinked ball over the top from just outside the box, that Ibrahimavic, after holding off the defender would have had to have tried to miss. The celebration was directly in front of us on the field, and I managed to get some a good photo or two. The only other thing of note in the first half was that Xavi gave the ball away once - in the 13th minute. I turned to my friend and correctly speculated that that would be the only instance in the match.
After about ten minutes in the second half, Piqué, who had just come on for Chygrinsky, the new signing from some Eastern European club, got a touch on a Xavi free kick to put it in. That effectively ended the game. The major talking point in the second half was when Málaga substitute Alberto Luque made a pretty bad challenge on Dani Alvés and got sent off for it. I don't know if it warranted a red card. Alves's acting merited an oscar, and when he popped up off the stretcher and jumped back on the field, I nearly covered my ears to the roar of disapproval from the crowd. And La Rosaleda is supposed to be one of the more hospitable places to play - at least compared with the Estadio Ramon Sanchez Pizjuan (Sevilla), El Sarindero (Santander), and San Mamés (Bilbao). I wouldn't have wanted to be Dani Alvés, I'll put it that way.
Coincidentally, Barca put four past Santander in El Sardinero midweek. With Champion's League fixtures coming up this week, Iniesta was left totally on the bench. That was my only regret. Other than that, I felt that my baptism into the world of European club football was all that I could have asked for.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Who´s the Bigger Ass-Hole, vol. 4 (and a few other things)
Sorry to those of you who signed on looking for some news about Spain. You´re just going to have to wait until after I have a little fun debating rather than my traditional column of two people, one person´s two ass-hole actions. The man is question, is, of course, a footballer: Emmanuel Adebayor.
The Togolese international striker seemed to have had more than one rush of blood to the head a week and a half ago when he enountered his former team, Arsenal. It was a real blockbuster of a game, as was the Manchester Derby this past weekend, but Emmanuel Adebayor was less blockbuster than facebuster, after his stamp on former teammate´s, Robin van Persie´s face left rather a lot of blood and the pretty boy van Persie anything but pretty.
While any partially observant collection of referees would have sent Adebayor straight home, this collection seemed to have inherited what I´ll simply refer to as a "Rick Bloom" level of observancy. The stamp wasn´t even ruled a foul, and play was allowed to continue.
Arsenal fans, already enraged by the fact that Adebayor got away (for then) with such a malicious act, were further enraged when the referee´s error cost them dearly, as Adebayor scored what turned out to be the winner. As if slaughtering van Persie´s face weren´t enough debauchery for one day, Adebayor sprinted the full length of the pitch to celebrate his goal immediately in front of the visiting Arsenal fans.
So, I leave it to you, my four readers... who´s the bigger ass-hole - Adebayor (stamp) or Adebayor (celebration)?
Now for the ridiculous people who actually are interested in my day to day life (I´ve still yet to figure out why...), let me throw you a bone or two...
I chewed gum today. It was orbit. It tasted like mint. I enjoyed it. Yummmm. Satisfied? I can´t understand why not, but here´s something else.
Yesterday, several of us had a meeting with Valentín someone-or-other who is the director of the Málaga branch of El Movimiento en contra de la Intolerancia. It´s a non-profit group that tries to prevent discrimination of all types. This is on option to do a little volunteer work this fall before those of us remaining for the year have a full-fledged internship in the spring.
Valentín was quite nice (despite being a Madrileño). That´s a joke, in case I have any Madrilño readers, which I highly doubt. And starting next week, I´ll be volunteering two hours a week there on Tuesday mornings. I´m not entirely sure what exactly the work will be yet. Probably at first it will be some translating type stuff. This organization works closely with other similar organizations in other countries and has a newsletter that goes out in English as well as Spanish (if I understood everything correctly, which is highly doubtful). So I might be working with that. I think later on, we´ll actually get to go with people from this group to schools to give presentations about tolerance and non-discrimination. Sounds cool.
Classes at the Universidad start next week in the mornings as well, so that means I´ll have something in the mornings every day. A busier schedule isn´t exactly ideal, but I´m excited for everything I´ll be doing, so it should be a cool week!
The Togolese international striker seemed to have had more than one rush of blood to the head a week and a half ago when he enountered his former team, Arsenal. It was a real blockbuster of a game, as was the Manchester Derby this past weekend, but Emmanuel Adebayor was less blockbuster than facebuster, after his stamp on former teammate´s, Robin van Persie´s face left rather a lot of blood and the pretty boy van Persie anything but pretty.
While any partially observant collection of referees would have sent Adebayor straight home, this collection seemed to have inherited what I´ll simply refer to as a "Rick Bloom" level of observancy. The stamp wasn´t even ruled a foul, and play was allowed to continue.
Arsenal fans, already enraged by the fact that Adebayor got away (for then) with such a malicious act, were further enraged when the referee´s error cost them dearly, as Adebayor scored what turned out to be the winner. As if slaughtering van Persie´s face weren´t enough debauchery for one day, Adebayor sprinted the full length of the pitch to celebrate his goal immediately in front of the visiting Arsenal fans.
So, I leave it to you, my four readers... who´s the bigger ass-hole - Adebayor (stamp) or Adebayor (celebration)?
Now for the ridiculous people who actually are interested in my day to day life (I´ve still yet to figure out why...), let me throw you a bone or two...
I chewed gum today. It was orbit. It tasted like mint. I enjoyed it. Yummmm. Satisfied? I can´t understand why not, but here´s something else.
Yesterday, several of us had a meeting with Valentín someone-or-other who is the director of the Málaga branch of El Movimiento en contra de la Intolerancia. It´s a non-profit group that tries to prevent discrimination of all types. This is on option to do a little volunteer work this fall before those of us remaining for the year have a full-fledged internship in the spring.
Valentín was quite nice (despite being a Madrileño). That´s a joke, in case I have any Madrilño readers, which I highly doubt. And starting next week, I´ll be volunteering two hours a week there on Tuesday mornings. I´m not entirely sure what exactly the work will be yet. Probably at first it will be some translating type stuff. This organization works closely with other similar organizations in other countries and has a newsletter that goes out in English as well as Spanish (if I understood everything correctly, which is highly doubtful). So I might be working with that. I think later on, we´ll actually get to go with people from this group to schools to give presentations about tolerance and non-discrimination. Sounds cool.
Classes at the Universidad start next week in the mornings as well, so that means I´ll have something in the mornings every day. A busier schedule isn´t exactly ideal, but I´m excited for everything I´ll be doing, so it should be a cool week!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
2 Cathedrals, 2 Palaces, 2 Aston Martins, 2 Barca games, 1 Fortress, and THE Plaza de Toros
So it's been a bit longer than I had hoped since my last post, and unfortunately that means you're going to have to suffer through a super-long one. It's been quite the busy schedule in the past five days, as you might have guessed from the title.
On Wednesday last week, I went downstairs (literally) to watch the Barcelona-Inter game at the bar on the first floor of the apartment building immediately behind mine. I wouldn't say that the atmosphere was great, but there was something very nice about just being able to go watch the game with other people who were actually interested in it... easily. And the bartender was great, perhaps more into the game than anyone else.
Thursday morning, we had to get up early (before 9) to take a tour of the Cathedral of Málaga and the Alcazaba (the Muslim fortress). The inside of the Cathedral was quite awesome, as many of you may have already seen from the photos I posted to facebook. The stained glass was lit up perfectly for our visit, which, I must admit, was a bit surprising given that it was raining slightly when I got off the bus in El Centro.
From there, we proceeded to the Alcazaba, but what I found to be super-interesting was the fact that it was built on the site of a Roman Amphitheatre. We stopped briefly at the amphitheatre before entering the Alcazaba. Once we had entered the Alcazaba, it was quite literally a case of up, up, and well, more up. The zig-zagging path up to the top, as I explained briefly in one of my photos, was used as an elaborate defense mechanism. I'm not sure because I wasn't quite paying full attention, but I don't believe it was ever successfully attacked. I believe when the Moors left the Alcazaba, that it was done peacefully. It certainly seemed to be in quite good condition.
Inside the Alcazaba, at the top of the winding path, was the palace of the governor. Our tour guide made it quite clear that this governor was totally unimportant, and that if we wanted to see the palace of an important governor, we'd have to go to the Alhambra... that comes next month. The palace was nice, but what I really found interesting were the little mini-irrigation canals dug into the paths to water various gardens throughout the palace and Alcazaba. The Moors certainly knew how use water to good effect, and of course, their elaborate defense mechanism was also quite a fascinating work of engineering.
Take a deep breath... that wasn't even nearly half.
Friday's are still days off for me, but I went with a bunch of other people to play basketball and then beach football. Basketball, right? Who knew I could play basketball? Well, I can't, actually, but nobody else is really that great either. I mean, there's nobody who's just head and shoulders better than everybody else. The beach football was a little disappointing. The court was just kind of Rocky and that made it rather uncomfortable to play. It also meant anytime anyone fell, he got cut. It was great to play though.
Saturday we had to wake up really early (6:30 for me) to get the group bus at 8 in El Centro to go to Ronda. When I told my host mom I was going to Ronda for the day, I could just see her getting excited for me to experience Ronda for the first time. Maybe if I had gone on a different day, or maybe if I had toured the city in a different direction, or maybe if I had had a different guide, I wouldn't have found it so unbelievably enchanting. But if it hadn't been for Manolo, the travel companion for us Dickinson students on all our trips, it certainly wouldn't have been so.
Manolo is a big guy, at least 6 feet tall and 230+ pounds (I still haven't made the conversion entirely to the metric system). He has a huge face (big nose, big mouth, and massive ears). He has long grayish white hair that's always slicked back over his head. He dresses like what you would expect from a man who knows his personality will win over more people than his looks (not that he's unattractive, rather that he has a great personality). And all of this at at least 60-70 years old.
So the 27 of us students, plus Manolo and Profesor Borges, got off in Ronda at one end of the old town. We met our guide for Ronda, a trilingual Ronda native, Jesús. Jesús explained everything to us in Spanish that was quite easy to understand, but frequently would interject an English word or two, usually with a rather thick British-German-Spanish accent - never heard that one before. When I asked him where he had learned his English, he replied that he had gone to college for tourism in Grenada, but was now married to an anglophonic German wife. And whenever we would finish at any one location, he'd say, "follow Jesus" in a straight British accent. I got quite a kick out of that.
We began entering through a stone arch into the old town. There was a trough outside with a spigot of water flowing out of the stone wall into it. At one point, while Jesús was explaining something, I noticed Manolo go over and just drink out of the spigot. I was standing right next to Profesor Borges, and another student had noticed the same thing, and so asked Profesor Borges if the water was drinkable. Profesor Borges, who seemed as taken aback as both of us, replied something along the lines of "apparently, so." I rather got the impression he wouldn't be caught dead doing that. But I also would have expected nothing less from Manolo.
From here, we walked up (more walking up) to the Cathedral of Toledo. This was quite fascinating (you know, I rarely find my second cathedral in a week fascinating) because there were two parts in two distinctly different styles. The front part of the cathedral was constructed in a Gothic style, with pointed arches and the like. There was the big wooden choir chamber in the middle which prevent the viewing of the other side and thus the mixing of the two styles, and the other other side was constructed in the style of the Renacimiento (Renaissance... a word that at least to me, makes a whole lot more sense in Spanish). Photos to come.
The plaza outside the cathedral was also lovely, with orange trees and Arabic architecture. From here, we did a vuelta of the old Ronda, stopping at the Palacio Mondragón. Manolo, as was the case at the cathedral, knew the people working there. Manolo is apparently also great friends with Jesús. The palace was a lovely excercise in the little patios and staircases. I took quite a number of photos here, which will be posted once I have the will to sort through the 250+ from yesterday. We also stopped at the Puente Nuevo (new bridge) from which we could see the Puente Viejo (old bridge). There was also a Puente Musulman (Muslim bridge), which we didn't see. These were great feats of engineering over massive gorges.
Finally, we finished our vuelta of Ronda at the Plaza de Toros, the largest and most famous plaza in the world. Here, Jesús consented to come on the tour, but insisted that Manolo give it because he has such a wealth of knowledge of bullfighting. What was nice was that not everyone wound up coming on the tour of the Plaza de Toros. We were allowed to do whatever we wanted to at this point, after seeing the inside of the plaza, but of course, I was never going to miss out on getting a tour of the most famous plaza de toros in the world.
After walking around the entirety of the interior of the ring, several of us climbed up to the top to snap some better photos, and then Manolo gave us a tour of the museum, pointing out portraits, clothing, gear, etc. of famous matadors. When we reached a painting of Juan Belmonte, Manolo stopped. "In my opinion, Belmonte is the best matador in the history of bullfighting... He revolutionized the art of bullfighting. Before, the matador would move to catch the attention of the bull. Belmonte would stand in the same place and make the bull come to him... He was gored over 90 times, including one in which the bull's horn went into his mouth and ripped out his cheek... I knew him personally. He was a friend of my father." As Manolo was telling us the story of Juan Belmonte, I could not help but get chills. It reminded me of Carlos Ruiz Zafrón telling the story of some character in "The Shadow of the Wind" because it just fit together so perfectly in a way that only Spanish stories can. I've now decided that I must go to a bullfight with Manolo.
The rest of the day was rather anticlimactic (how could it have been anything else), but still fun nonetheless. Seven us (Tito, Brynn, Ursala, Gina, Luís, Leslie and I - all of whom, except for Gina, will be here for the year), went out to a nice cheap café where we got a fine lunch. We then walked down through a lovely park to the puente viejo where we could take better pictures of the puente nuevo and the gorge. After this, there was just enough time to hurry back to meet up with the rest of the group to catch the bus.
The bus took us on a lovely scenic drive south to the coast (out of our way) to return via a more beautiful route. This is not to suggest that the drive TO Ronda wasn't scenic. I was snapping pictures from the bus then, too, but the drive south to the coast from Ronda was incredible. It was entirely mountainous, and reminded me slightly of driving along the roads in the Pyrenees until we rounded one corner and voila, there was the Mediterranean. For some reason, we were scheduled to stop in Porto Vanús, a luxury resort town on the coast. It's known for being the best sporting port in the world (or so says Manolo). Basically, there was more English than Spanish spoken there, and the majority of the people made me look like I was poor as dirt. There were 2 Aston Martins, a Bentley, a Ferrari, and just dozens of souped up Mercedes. The shopping was designer brand after designer brand. Some kids bought ice cream cones for 3 euro, a remarkably reasonable price comparatively.
Finally, after a scenic drive along the coast back to Málaga, I got in in time to go back to the same bar downstairs and watch the Barcelona game against Atletico de Madrid last night. It was 3-0 inside 30 minutes, and the game was more or less a joke. Messi looked his usual fantastic self, but Xavi was the key man again. Iniesta came off the bench to inspire the fifth goal in stoppage time. It ended 5-2 but Atletico was never within 1 after the 16th.
I think that about takes care of it, 2 cathedrals, 2 palaces, 2 aston martins, 2 Barca games, 1 fortress, and THE Plaza de Toros. Pictures to come...
On Wednesday last week, I went downstairs (literally) to watch the Barcelona-Inter game at the bar on the first floor of the apartment building immediately behind mine. I wouldn't say that the atmosphere was great, but there was something very nice about just being able to go watch the game with other people who were actually interested in it... easily. And the bartender was great, perhaps more into the game than anyone else.
Thursday morning, we had to get up early (before 9) to take a tour of the Cathedral of Málaga and the Alcazaba (the Muslim fortress). The inside of the Cathedral was quite awesome, as many of you may have already seen from the photos I posted to facebook. The stained glass was lit up perfectly for our visit, which, I must admit, was a bit surprising given that it was raining slightly when I got off the bus in El Centro.
From there, we proceeded to the Alcazaba, but what I found to be super-interesting was the fact that it was built on the site of a Roman Amphitheatre. We stopped briefly at the amphitheatre before entering the Alcazaba. Once we had entered the Alcazaba, it was quite literally a case of up, up, and well, more up. The zig-zagging path up to the top, as I explained briefly in one of my photos, was used as an elaborate defense mechanism. I'm not sure because I wasn't quite paying full attention, but I don't believe it was ever successfully attacked. I believe when the Moors left the Alcazaba, that it was done peacefully. It certainly seemed to be in quite good condition.
Inside the Alcazaba, at the top of the winding path, was the palace of the governor. Our tour guide made it quite clear that this governor was totally unimportant, and that if we wanted to see the palace of an important governor, we'd have to go to the Alhambra... that comes next month. The palace was nice, but what I really found interesting were the little mini-irrigation canals dug into the paths to water various gardens throughout the palace and Alcazaba. The Moors certainly knew how use water to good effect, and of course, their elaborate defense mechanism was also quite a fascinating work of engineering.
Take a deep breath... that wasn't even nearly half.
Friday's are still days off for me, but I went with a bunch of other people to play basketball and then beach football. Basketball, right? Who knew I could play basketball? Well, I can't, actually, but nobody else is really that great either. I mean, there's nobody who's just head and shoulders better than everybody else. The beach football was a little disappointing. The court was just kind of Rocky and that made it rather uncomfortable to play. It also meant anytime anyone fell, he got cut. It was great to play though.
Saturday we had to wake up really early (6:30 for me) to get the group bus at 8 in El Centro to go to Ronda. When I told my host mom I was going to Ronda for the day, I could just see her getting excited for me to experience Ronda for the first time. Maybe if I had gone on a different day, or maybe if I had toured the city in a different direction, or maybe if I had had a different guide, I wouldn't have found it so unbelievably enchanting. But if it hadn't been for Manolo, the travel companion for us Dickinson students on all our trips, it certainly wouldn't have been so.
Manolo is a big guy, at least 6 feet tall and 230+ pounds (I still haven't made the conversion entirely to the metric system). He has a huge face (big nose, big mouth, and massive ears). He has long grayish white hair that's always slicked back over his head. He dresses like what you would expect from a man who knows his personality will win over more people than his looks (not that he's unattractive, rather that he has a great personality). And all of this at at least 60-70 years old.
So the 27 of us students, plus Manolo and Profesor Borges, got off in Ronda at one end of the old town. We met our guide for Ronda, a trilingual Ronda native, Jesús. Jesús explained everything to us in Spanish that was quite easy to understand, but frequently would interject an English word or two, usually with a rather thick British-German-Spanish accent - never heard that one before. When I asked him where he had learned his English, he replied that he had gone to college for tourism in Grenada, but was now married to an anglophonic German wife. And whenever we would finish at any one location, he'd say, "follow Jesus" in a straight British accent. I got quite a kick out of that.
We began entering through a stone arch into the old town. There was a trough outside with a spigot of water flowing out of the stone wall into it. At one point, while Jesús was explaining something, I noticed Manolo go over and just drink out of the spigot. I was standing right next to Profesor Borges, and another student had noticed the same thing, and so asked Profesor Borges if the water was drinkable. Profesor Borges, who seemed as taken aback as both of us, replied something along the lines of "apparently, so." I rather got the impression he wouldn't be caught dead doing that. But I also would have expected nothing less from Manolo.
From here, we walked up (more walking up) to the Cathedral of Toledo. This was quite fascinating (you know, I rarely find my second cathedral in a week fascinating) because there were two parts in two distinctly different styles. The front part of the cathedral was constructed in a Gothic style, with pointed arches and the like. There was the big wooden choir chamber in the middle which prevent the viewing of the other side and thus the mixing of the two styles, and the other other side was constructed in the style of the Renacimiento (Renaissance... a word that at least to me, makes a whole lot more sense in Spanish). Photos to come.
The plaza outside the cathedral was also lovely, with orange trees and Arabic architecture. From here, we did a vuelta of the old Ronda, stopping at the Palacio Mondragón. Manolo, as was the case at the cathedral, knew the people working there. Manolo is apparently also great friends with Jesús. The palace was a lovely excercise in the little patios and staircases. I took quite a number of photos here, which will be posted once I have the will to sort through the 250+ from yesterday. We also stopped at the Puente Nuevo (new bridge) from which we could see the Puente Viejo (old bridge). There was also a Puente Musulman (Muslim bridge), which we didn't see. These were great feats of engineering over massive gorges.
Finally, we finished our vuelta of Ronda at the Plaza de Toros, the largest and most famous plaza in the world. Here, Jesús consented to come on the tour, but insisted that Manolo give it because he has such a wealth of knowledge of bullfighting. What was nice was that not everyone wound up coming on the tour of the Plaza de Toros. We were allowed to do whatever we wanted to at this point, after seeing the inside of the plaza, but of course, I was never going to miss out on getting a tour of the most famous plaza de toros in the world.
After walking around the entirety of the interior of the ring, several of us climbed up to the top to snap some better photos, and then Manolo gave us a tour of the museum, pointing out portraits, clothing, gear, etc. of famous matadors. When we reached a painting of Juan Belmonte, Manolo stopped. "In my opinion, Belmonte is the best matador in the history of bullfighting... He revolutionized the art of bullfighting. Before, the matador would move to catch the attention of the bull. Belmonte would stand in the same place and make the bull come to him... He was gored over 90 times, including one in which the bull's horn went into his mouth and ripped out his cheek... I knew him personally. He was a friend of my father." As Manolo was telling us the story of Juan Belmonte, I could not help but get chills. It reminded me of Carlos Ruiz Zafrón telling the story of some character in "The Shadow of the Wind" because it just fit together so perfectly in a way that only Spanish stories can. I've now decided that I must go to a bullfight with Manolo.
The rest of the day was rather anticlimactic (how could it have been anything else), but still fun nonetheless. Seven us (Tito, Brynn, Ursala, Gina, Luís, Leslie and I - all of whom, except for Gina, will be here for the year), went out to a nice cheap café where we got a fine lunch. We then walked down through a lovely park to the puente viejo where we could take better pictures of the puente nuevo and the gorge. After this, there was just enough time to hurry back to meet up with the rest of the group to catch the bus.
The bus took us on a lovely scenic drive south to the coast (out of our way) to return via a more beautiful route. This is not to suggest that the drive TO Ronda wasn't scenic. I was snapping pictures from the bus then, too, but the drive south to the coast from Ronda was incredible. It was entirely mountainous, and reminded me slightly of driving along the roads in the Pyrenees until we rounded one corner and voila, there was the Mediterranean. For some reason, we were scheduled to stop in Porto Vanús, a luxury resort town on the coast. It's known for being the best sporting port in the world (or so says Manolo). Basically, there was more English than Spanish spoken there, and the majority of the people made me look like I was poor as dirt. There were 2 Aston Martins, a Bentley, a Ferrari, and just dozens of souped up Mercedes. The shopping was designer brand after designer brand. Some kids bought ice cream cones for 3 euro, a remarkably reasonable price comparatively.
Finally, after a scenic drive along the coast back to Málaga, I got in in time to go back to the same bar downstairs and watch the Barcelona game against Atletico de Madrid last night. It was 3-0 inside 30 minutes, and the game was more or less a joke. Messi looked his usual fantastic self, but Xavi was the key man again. Iniesta came off the bench to inspire the fifth goal in stoppage time. It ended 5-2 but Atletico was never within 1 after the 16th.
I think that about takes care of it, 2 cathedrals, 2 palaces, 2 aston martins, 2 Barca games, 1 fortress, and THE Plaza de Toros. Pictures to come...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Rain?
On Sunday, it rained. Well, to call it rain might be a bit of an overstatement. Honestly, calling it rain would be like cutting up a lindt truffle into ten parts, eating one, and calling it dessert. It drizzled. And even calling it drizzle feels like an overstatement. Seriously, there was just enough water coming out of the sky to make the ground a little wet and the air smell like rain.
Anyway, at the time, my host mom was watching Spanish soap operas with her sister and cousin (this went on for 3+ hours on Sunday - I'll wait and see if it's a weekly get-together next week - keeping my fingers crossed that it is not). I didn't even notice it was raining, but one of my friends here sent me a skype message that said that it was. We all thought this was a big deal because in Carlisle it never goes an entire week without raining, which it had since we got here.
At that precise moment, my host mother walked into the room and asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee. It seemed a lovely idea, so I went to help with the preparation (she never lets me do any preparation by myself if she's around). I mentioned to her that it was raining. She replied curtly that it was not. I said that I hadn't seen it but that one of my friends had told me it was. Finally, she had the bright idea of actually looking out the window to see whether or not it was raining (William James would have been so proud).
The ensuing scene was something that I honestly could not exaggerate. My host mom shouted from the kitchen into the living room to her sister and cousin that it was raining, and they (both between 50 and 70) bolted out of their positions in an armchair and on the sofa and raced to the window. Seeing two women in their later middle ages run around a tiny apartment to get a glimpse of rain was really something I cannot imagine forgetting.
Finally catching on that this must be an exceptionally unusual event, I asked my host mom something along the lines of, "so the rain's not very common?" This question sent them (my host mom, her sister, and cousin) into a heated debate about whether or not it rained in May. Whether or not it had rained in June, July, or August was, I guess, so obvious, that nobody in her right mind could have thought that it had. The consensus was that it certainly hadn't rained since May, but that it might have rained in May.
Coincidentally, it rained again yesterday... This time, one of the Spanish professors at the Cursos para Extranjeros center warned us that we might not want to go outside because it was storming. The rain was marginally more significant than the day before.
Anyway, at the time, my host mom was watching Spanish soap operas with her sister and cousin (this went on for 3+ hours on Sunday - I'll wait and see if it's a weekly get-together next week - keeping my fingers crossed that it is not). I didn't even notice it was raining, but one of my friends here sent me a skype message that said that it was. We all thought this was a big deal because in Carlisle it never goes an entire week without raining, which it had since we got here.
At that precise moment, my host mother walked into the room and asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee. It seemed a lovely idea, so I went to help with the preparation (she never lets me do any preparation by myself if she's around). I mentioned to her that it was raining. She replied curtly that it was not. I said that I hadn't seen it but that one of my friends had told me it was. Finally, she had the bright idea of actually looking out the window to see whether or not it was raining (William James would have been so proud).
The ensuing scene was something that I honestly could not exaggerate. My host mom shouted from the kitchen into the living room to her sister and cousin that it was raining, and they (both between 50 and 70) bolted out of their positions in an armchair and on the sofa and raced to the window. Seeing two women in their later middle ages run around a tiny apartment to get a glimpse of rain was really something I cannot imagine forgetting.
Finally catching on that this must be an exceptionally unusual event, I asked my host mom something along the lines of, "so the rain's not very common?" This question sent them (my host mom, her sister, and cousin) into a heated debate about whether or not it rained in May. Whether or not it had rained in June, July, or August was, I guess, so obvious, that nobody in her right mind could have thought that it had. The consensus was that it certainly hadn't rained since May, but that it might have rained in May.
Coincidentally, it rained again yesterday... This time, one of the Spanish professors at the Cursos para Extranjeros center warned us that we might not want to go outside because it was storming. The rain was marginally more significant than the day before.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Classes and more
Hola otra vez de Málaga!
We've had the first two days of "classes" at the center for foreign students in Málaga. Classes is in quotation marks because, as with any class, the first session is always more of an introduction than something to actually be interested in.
In the first language class, we simply took an exam to determine which one of two groups we would be placed into. They told us that the groups were not based on skill level, but it appears that they are, since all of the native Spanish-speakers are in the more advanced group. I was fortunate enough to also be placed in this group, and so it appears I will be one of the weaker students in both the language class and the culture class, for this divide is used for both. Well, weaker in the sense that I will understand less of what is going on.
Interestingly, the Spanish language teacher, who conducted the briefest of interviews as part of the exam, told me that she thinks I have a Puertoriqueñan (from Puerto Rico) accent. This is something that my host mom told me as well. I still haven't figured out how I could have a Puertoriqueñan accent, but apparently I do. One of the guys on the trip has parents who are from Puerto Rico, and when I told him, all he said jokingly was "no me digas": Don't tell me this. Nonetheless, I don't think my Spanish would get me very far on the streets of little Puerto Rico in the Bronx.
We still have yet to begin the class on the history of Spanish and Hispano-Arab art. The Professor is apparently on vacation until this upcoming week. This is a class I'm looking forward to very much, and so it will be exciting to begin it.
One of the other more interesting things this week was a meeting with Manolo, our tour guide when we take trips. He talked to us for about half an hour about some of the trips. Then, some of us who are here for the year had some questions for Profesor Borges, but Manolo was just hanging around, so he told us about an optional trip to Morocco that would take place in December. It sounds AWESOME. We either take the fair to Ceuta or fly to Marakesh, then rent a tour bus, which takes us as far into the desert as possible, at which point we travel by camel to an oasis, spend the night, there, and then go back by camel in the morning. We also would get some time in one of the cities, either Marakesh, Casablanca, Rabat, or another one. Can't wait for that!
I've also been trying to figure out if I can get to a Liverpool game in Liverpool sometime. I got really excited today when I saw I could fly round trip direct to Liverpool over a weekend for 80 DOLLARS, but then when I tried to get tickets for that game in November, the cheapest I could find were 240 POUNDS. Something about these prices doesn't make sense to me.
Tomorrow I'll finally get to the Teatinos Campus, that's the main campus for the University of Málaga. Hasta pronto...
We've had the first two days of "classes" at the center for foreign students in Málaga. Classes is in quotation marks because, as with any class, the first session is always more of an introduction than something to actually be interested in.
In the first language class, we simply took an exam to determine which one of two groups we would be placed into. They told us that the groups were not based on skill level, but it appears that they are, since all of the native Spanish-speakers are in the more advanced group. I was fortunate enough to also be placed in this group, and so it appears I will be one of the weaker students in both the language class and the culture class, for this divide is used for both. Well, weaker in the sense that I will understand less of what is going on.
Interestingly, the Spanish language teacher, who conducted the briefest of interviews as part of the exam, told me that she thinks I have a Puertoriqueñan (from Puerto Rico) accent. This is something that my host mom told me as well. I still haven't figured out how I could have a Puertoriqueñan accent, but apparently I do. One of the guys on the trip has parents who are from Puerto Rico, and when I told him, all he said jokingly was "no me digas": Don't tell me this. Nonetheless, I don't think my Spanish would get me very far on the streets of little Puerto Rico in the Bronx.
We still have yet to begin the class on the history of Spanish and Hispano-Arab art. The Professor is apparently on vacation until this upcoming week. This is a class I'm looking forward to very much, and so it will be exciting to begin it.
One of the other more interesting things this week was a meeting with Manolo, our tour guide when we take trips. He talked to us for about half an hour about some of the trips. Then, some of us who are here for the year had some questions for Profesor Borges, but Manolo was just hanging around, so he told us about an optional trip to Morocco that would take place in December. It sounds AWESOME. We either take the fair to Ceuta or fly to Marakesh, then rent a tour bus, which takes us as far into the desert as possible, at which point we travel by camel to an oasis, spend the night, there, and then go back by camel in the morning. We also would get some time in one of the cities, either Marakesh, Casablanca, Rabat, or another one. Can't wait for that!
I've also been trying to figure out if I can get to a Liverpool game in Liverpool sometime. I got really excited today when I saw I could fly round trip direct to Liverpool over a weekend for 80 DOLLARS, but then when I tried to get tickets for that game in November, the cheapest I could find were 240 POUNDS. Something about these prices doesn't make sense to me.
Tomorrow I'll finally get to the Teatinos Campus, that's the main campus for the University of Málaga. Hasta pronto...
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Anecdotes... y nada más
I've been putting off writing this blog post. It's not because I don't want to write it, nor is it because I don't have anything to say. Rather, I can find no central theme without being trite and cliche. I could regale you with a chronology of everything I have done so far, but few beyond my mother and grandmother would be interested in that. And yet, I would prefer to avoid being sucked into making some trivial comparison about differences in the style of life between Americans and Spaniards. It seems then, that the best option is to create a post of semi-interesting anecdotes of my time so far in Spain.
Television: First of all, it's on ALL the time... okay, I'm not used to that, but maybe that's because my family's weird in that we have only one television and it's in the basement. It's a lot easier for me to understand the commercials (anuncios here in Spain) than it is the actual television. And the first one that made an impression on me was a Chevrolet commercial featuring members of La Selección (The Spanish national football team). How a bankrupt American company is managing to hire Fernando Torres and Xavi Hernández to make anuncios in Spain, I'll never know.
I saw this anuncio en El Cinco (Channel 5), which is more or less a station of entirely American television shows and movies dubbed over in Spanish. The first thing I saw was "Hombres en Negro" (Men in Black). Other things have more interesting translations. For example, a show that I got fascinated in just before leaving was NCIS. Here it's just called NAVY. One of my colleagues here said she watched CSI with her host mom.
La Playa: That's the beach for those of you lacking Spanish vocabulary. Talk about nice. It takes me longer to walk down the five flights of stairs than it takes me to walk from the apartment building to the Mediterranean. Both are close to a minute, although I'm pretty sure that if I were in a hurry I could make it to the water in under a minute. Useful in case I eat something extra spicy or am on fire.
The beach right across from my apartment is a little rocky. It's really quite a hassle to walk another minute away from the center of the city to get to a sandy beach... When I first went to the rocky beach, I thought that it must have been high tide, because the water was coming all the way to the rocks. As it turns out however, the entrance to the Mediterranean via the straight of Gibraltar is too small to allow for much tidal fluctuation in the Mediterranean. Who knew? The only tidal fluctuations, more or less are from east to west within the Mediterranean, making them barely noticeable.
Food: My host mother confessed to being something of a health nut. She's very keen on the Mediterranean diet, and told me she doesn't cook with any butter or vegetable oil. It's all olive oil. Additionally, dessert is almost always fruit. Last night, I had what would be called junk food for the first time. A tiny prepackaged portion of chocolate mousse. For the most part, however, the food has been filling enough that I haven't felt the need for dessert.
Much of the time my host mom makes one thing for me and something else for her. Today at lunch, for instance she made me a pasta with ham and cheese. She, however, had the traditional dish calamares en su tinta. That's squid in its ink. Needless to say, I wasn't distraught over not being served that business. I'll have plenty of time to try it. And of course, the television and is always on at mealtimes. Last night, my mother served me dinner in the living room and was watching the tele in a different room. When she didn't hear the television in the living room, she came in, turned it on, told me I could watch whatever I wanted to, and left. I thought this a little odd at first, but the same occurrence happened when her son came in a bit later, so I didn't take it personally.
Weather: Today is the first day it hasn't cracked 30 - that's 86 for those of you using Fahrenheit. It's typically quite hot on the fifth floor here, and my room doesn't face the sea, so I have to hope that the wind blows all the way through the apartment. Today the breeze is a bit stronger as well, so despite the fact that it's still 28, it's ten times more comfortable. Of course, I still haven't seen a cloud. How's the weather in Pennsylvania these days - haha!
Today is the day of the Virgin Victoria - the patron saint of Málaga or some business like that. I know that it's a holiday only in Málaga today. We're headed out to some procession in a bit where they carry the Virgin Victoria through the streets. Should be interesting. Tomorrow and Thursday we have classes in the afternoon. And after two days of classes I'm sure I'll be absolutely exhausted, so it's a good thing those of us not taking the Spain and the EU elective have Fridays off (until classes start at the Universidad de Málaga).
I'd love to hear any particular questions you have; please direct them to blooma@dickinson.edu or my facebook account. Hasta luego...
Television: First of all, it's on ALL the time... okay, I'm not used to that, but maybe that's because my family's weird in that we have only one television and it's in the basement. It's a lot easier for me to understand the commercials (anuncios here in Spain) than it is the actual television. And the first one that made an impression on me was a Chevrolet commercial featuring members of La Selección (The Spanish national football team). How a bankrupt American company is managing to hire Fernando Torres and Xavi Hernández to make anuncios in Spain, I'll never know.
I saw this anuncio en El Cinco (Channel 5), which is more or less a station of entirely American television shows and movies dubbed over in Spanish. The first thing I saw was "Hombres en Negro" (Men in Black). Other things have more interesting translations. For example, a show that I got fascinated in just before leaving was NCIS. Here it's just called NAVY. One of my colleagues here said she watched CSI with her host mom.
La Playa: That's the beach for those of you lacking Spanish vocabulary. Talk about nice. It takes me longer to walk down the five flights of stairs than it takes me to walk from the apartment building to the Mediterranean. Both are close to a minute, although I'm pretty sure that if I were in a hurry I could make it to the water in under a minute. Useful in case I eat something extra spicy or am on fire.
The beach right across from my apartment is a little rocky. It's really quite a hassle to walk another minute away from the center of the city to get to a sandy beach... When I first went to the rocky beach, I thought that it must have been high tide, because the water was coming all the way to the rocks. As it turns out however, the entrance to the Mediterranean via the straight of Gibraltar is too small to allow for much tidal fluctuation in the Mediterranean. Who knew? The only tidal fluctuations, more or less are from east to west within the Mediterranean, making them barely noticeable.
Food: My host mother confessed to being something of a health nut. She's very keen on the Mediterranean diet, and told me she doesn't cook with any butter or vegetable oil. It's all olive oil. Additionally, dessert is almost always fruit. Last night, I had what would be called junk food for the first time. A tiny prepackaged portion of chocolate mousse. For the most part, however, the food has been filling enough that I haven't felt the need for dessert.
Much of the time my host mom makes one thing for me and something else for her. Today at lunch, for instance she made me a pasta with ham and cheese. She, however, had the traditional dish calamares en su tinta. That's squid in its ink. Needless to say, I wasn't distraught over not being served that business. I'll have plenty of time to try it. And of course, the television and is always on at mealtimes. Last night, my mother served me dinner in the living room and was watching the tele in a different room. When she didn't hear the television in the living room, she came in, turned it on, told me I could watch whatever I wanted to, and left. I thought this a little odd at first, but the same occurrence happened when her son came in a bit later, so I didn't take it personally.
Weather: Today is the first day it hasn't cracked 30 - that's 86 for those of you using Fahrenheit. It's typically quite hot on the fifth floor here, and my room doesn't face the sea, so I have to hope that the wind blows all the way through the apartment. Today the breeze is a bit stronger as well, so despite the fact that it's still 28, it's ten times more comfortable. Of course, I still haven't seen a cloud. How's the weather in Pennsylvania these days - haha!
Today is the day of the Virgin Victoria - the patron saint of Málaga or some business like that. I know that it's a holiday only in Málaga today. We're headed out to some procession in a bit where they carry the Virgin Victoria through the streets. Should be interesting. Tomorrow and Thursday we have classes in the afternoon. And after two days of classes I'm sure I'll be absolutely exhausted, so it's a good thing those of us not taking the Spain and the EU elective have Fridays off (until classes start at the Universidad de Málaga).
I'd love to hear any particular questions you have; please direct them to blooma@dickinson.edu or my facebook account. Hasta luego...
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Arrival in Málaga
Remarkably, my travel today from Geneva to Málaga was completely uneventful. The Iberia representative who checked me was completely taken aback when he saw how much luggage I was taking from Geneva to Málaga until I explained that I would be studying there, at which point he became very friendly and insisted that I would absolutely love it.
The Madrid airport is enormous - absolutely enormous. They had almost 100 gates for Iberia flights within the Schengen countries alone. I couldn't piece together how the airport worked, though. The H, J, and K gates were all connected in the format of one long rectangular terminal. Yet, the majority of the gates didn't have a plane at them. So I thought that maybe it just wasn't being fully used yet. But then, when I consulted the departures board, for flights even one and half hours away, there would not be a gate listed. Rather, it would simply say HJK. As the time of departure got closer, the gate would be posted specifically. It seemed odd that if the gates weren't all in use, they wouldn't be able to know that gate from which any individual flight would depart.
Anyway, upon arriving in Málaga, I ran into my colleagues from Dickinson as they were disembarking from a consecutive gate. My luggage then arrived at the wrong terminal (hey, at least it's here). Then Profesor Borges met us and put us in Taxis in pairs. On the way to the neighborhood of El Palo, where many of us are staying, we witnessed the Málaga air show, which featured all types of acrobatic flying manouevres by different types of fighter jets.
My taxi-mate Brynn's address proved difficult for the taxista to locate, and we wound up driving around in circles for some time until he finally relented to calling Brynn's host mother to get directions. About one minute after dropping her off, the taxista found my building no problem - a big apartment building on the road closest to the beach. It's right on the corner.
After I buzzed up, Señora Almansa came down to meet me and assist me with the elevator (which looked like it might have seen better days - I make take the stairs in the future). After she gave me the tour of the apartment, which features a magnificent sea-view, I unpacked for about twenty minutes. Then she set out a wonderful lunch of the typical Spanish tortilla - an omlette with potato, some bread, and chicken. Everything was delicious, especially the tortilla.
Orientation starts tomorrow afternoon.
The Madrid airport is enormous - absolutely enormous. They had almost 100 gates for Iberia flights within the Schengen countries alone. I couldn't piece together how the airport worked, though. The H, J, and K gates were all connected in the format of one long rectangular terminal. Yet, the majority of the gates didn't have a plane at them. So I thought that maybe it just wasn't being fully used yet. But then, when I consulted the departures board, for flights even one and half hours away, there would not be a gate listed. Rather, it would simply say HJK. As the time of departure got closer, the gate would be posted specifically. It seemed odd that if the gates weren't all in use, they wouldn't be able to know that gate from which any individual flight would depart.
Anyway, upon arriving in Málaga, I ran into my colleagues from Dickinson as they were disembarking from a consecutive gate. My luggage then arrived at the wrong terminal (hey, at least it's here). Then Profesor Borges met us and put us in Taxis in pairs. On the way to the neighborhood of El Palo, where many of us are staying, we witnessed the Málaga air show, which featured all types of acrobatic flying manouevres by different types of fighter jets.
My taxi-mate Brynn's address proved difficult for the taxista to locate, and we wound up driving around in circles for some time until he finally relented to calling Brynn's host mother to get directions. About one minute after dropping her off, the taxista found my building no problem - a big apartment building on the road closest to the beach. It's right on the corner.
After I buzzed up, Señora Almansa came down to meet me and assist me with the elevator (which looked like it might have seen better days - I make take the stairs in the future). After she gave me the tour of the apartment, which features a magnificent sea-view, I unpacked for about twenty minutes. Then she set out a wonderful lunch of the typical Spanish tortilla - an omlette with potato, some bread, and chicken. Everything was delicious, especially the tortilla.
Orientation starts tomorrow afternoon.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
bread, meat, cheese, and ferrari's
Today, we went to the morning market just across the border in France. Normally, I would not count myself as having visited Germany since I didn't leave the airport, but in this case, my point of entry on the Schengen Visa is Frankfurt, and there's a big stamp in there that says so, so I'm debating about whether or not I can count my number of European countries at three. If so tomorrow's four in four days. Not that it really matters... but it does.
They say that the troika of the American diet is a cheeseburger, french fries, and a milkshake. One can see how with a troika of bread, meat, and cheese (all fresh) Europeans are a far healthier people. After the market, we came back and ate said European troika. I thought of how odd it must seem to Europeans that the things called Farmer's Markets in the United States are seen as something of a renaissance of a phenomenon. This is a practice that has been going on in Europe for ages. And my reaction to the bread, meat, cheese is the same as it was to the coffee the day before. It's just so fresh and delicious and unavailable in the US. Now I'm really excited for some jamon Serrano once I get to Spain.
This afternoon, the Genevoise whom I'm staying with had tickets to the circus, so they dropped me in downtown, and I walked around for about three-and-a-half hours - good preparation for the life I'll be living in Màlaga most likely. I took some great photos of the lake, hiked up the hill to the old town. My journey took me past one of the two highlights of the day - three Ferrari's - and deposited me at the other - the Espace Rousseau.
Rousseau was born in Geneva in the early 18th Century, and lived virtually his entire life as an outcast wherever he went. Hume accepted him in Scotland after his exile from both France and Geneva, but Rousseau was convinced Hume was plotting against him and returned promptly to rural France. An enigmatic philosopher, he is someone whose works I hope to become more acquainted with than I am at present.
I exited the old town via a park which includes the Reformation Wall, something I remember visiting on my first visit to Geneva more than four years ago. My favorite attraction in the park, however, remains the 8 sq meter chess boards with .5 meter tall pieces. Every board was in use, almost exclusively by elderly gentlemen smoking pipes or cigars. After all of this, I met up with my family again, and we sat out at a café famous for its ice cream. I tried a dark chocolate sorbet which was delicious.
Our walk back to the car where they had parked several blocks away took us past what I found to be an odd phenomenon for Europe - a weight watchers. After I muttered hesitatingly about it, my aunt informed me that European employers frequently pay for their employees to attend because, naturally, it cuts down on other health costs. You mean a fit and healthy people are less likely to get other types of illnesses??? What a crazy idea (I still haven't found the exclamation mark on the French language keyboard).
Hasta manana de Espana...
They say that the troika of the American diet is a cheeseburger, french fries, and a milkshake. One can see how with a troika of bread, meat, and cheese (all fresh) Europeans are a far healthier people. After the market, we came back and ate said European troika. I thought of how odd it must seem to Europeans that the things called Farmer's Markets in the United States are seen as something of a renaissance of a phenomenon. This is a practice that has been going on in Europe for ages. And my reaction to the bread, meat, cheese is the same as it was to the coffee the day before. It's just so fresh and delicious and unavailable in the US. Now I'm really excited for some jamon Serrano once I get to Spain.
This afternoon, the Genevoise whom I'm staying with had tickets to the circus, so they dropped me in downtown, and I walked around for about three-and-a-half hours - good preparation for the life I'll be living in Màlaga most likely. I took some great photos of the lake, hiked up the hill to the old town. My journey took me past one of the two highlights of the day - three Ferrari's - and deposited me at the other - the Espace Rousseau.
Rousseau was born in Geneva in the early 18th Century, and lived virtually his entire life as an outcast wherever he went. Hume accepted him in Scotland after his exile from both France and Geneva, but Rousseau was convinced Hume was plotting against him and returned promptly to rural France. An enigmatic philosopher, he is someone whose works I hope to become more acquainted with than I am at present.
I exited the old town via a park which includes the Reformation Wall, something I remember visiting on my first visit to Geneva more than four years ago. My favorite attraction in the park, however, remains the 8 sq meter chess boards with .5 meter tall pieces. Every board was in use, almost exclusively by elderly gentlemen smoking pipes or cigars. After all of this, I met up with my family again, and we sat out at a café famous for its ice cream. I tried a dark chocolate sorbet which was delicious.
Our walk back to the car where they had parked several blocks away took us past what I found to be an odd phenomenon for Europe - a weight watchers. After I muttered hesitatingly about it, my aunt informed me that European employers frequently pay for their employees to attend because, naturally, it cuts down on other health costs. You mean a fit and healthy people are less likely to get other types of illnesses??? What a crazy idea (I still haven't found the exclamation mark on the French language keyboard).
Hasta manana de Espana...
Friday, September 4, 2009
The European Dream
For centuries, Europeans (and other people around the world in search of a better life) have talked of the American Dream. Well, now us Americans can talk of the European Dream, among whose benefits include guaranteed healthcare, a massive social safety net, and most importantly, good coffee. I am not a particularly superficial guy, but I must admit that my first action always upon disembarking from a voyage to Europe is to get a good cup of coffee. I mean, you can hide the fact that the coffee isn´t very good in the US by going to good local coffee shops regularly - which I do, but once you have that good European coffee going through your system, it makes even the best American coffee shop look like... well, I'll keep my first post on this relaunching of my blog G rated.
Usually when I travel I have some good story about meeting someone interesting or having my luggage lost (or almost lost) or being delayed for hours in a dreadful spot. Although I did meet a mildly interesting American-Italian, the highlight of my travels came about 30 minutes after leaving Pittsburgh (which made for a very long rest of the journey) when I saw Dickinson from the air. It was a perfectly clear day, and I was able to follow I 76 all the way from Pittsburgh. About halfway to Philadelphia, I looked down and saw a mid-sized town, then some warehouses to the west, then the track, and then, the thing that made me absolutely certain was the Kline. The guy next to me at the point muttered some question wondering where we were, and I was able to tell him with 100% certainty that we were over Carlisle, PA. The perfect way to say au revoir to the life I could have been living this year. I'll miss those of you at Dickinson (and abroad) a lot this year, but I can't help but be excited for the adventures to come, so what better way to say goodbye than from the very beginning of said adventures.
After arriving yesterday, I simply did everything in my power just to stay awake. My 7 year old cousin of course obliged in helping keep me awake with a full range of energy draining activities, most of which involved me running around trying to catch her. So I managed to stay awake until about 9:30. I then slept for 14 hours straight.... Today is a pretty miserable day in Geneva with much rain in fits and spurts, so it didn't seem to be a great day for walking around. My aunt was very gracious, however, in inviting me to lunch with several of her colleagues from the ILO. It was a delightful lunch at an authentic Galician (from northeastern Spain) restaurant to wet my tongue for Spanish cuisine.
The hope is that tomorrow the weather is better and that I may be able to stretch the legs a bit and get to know my new camera - either around Geneva or some other place nearby. If I can figure out how to post photos, you will see the good ones when I have them. For now, take care wherever you are, and expect another post upon my arrival in Spain.
Usually when I travel I have some good story about meeting someone interesting or having my luggage lost (or almost lost) or being delayed for hours in a dreadful spot. Although I did meet a mildly interesting American-Italian, the highlight of my travels came about 30 minutes after leaving Pittsburgh (which made for a very long rest of the journey) when I saw Dickinson from the air. It was a perfectly clear day, and I was able to follow I 76 all the way from Pittsburgh. About halfway to Philadelphia, I looked down and saw a mid-sized town, then some warehouses to the west, then the track, and then, the thing that made me absolutely certain was the Kline. The guy next to me at the point muttered some question wondering where we were, and I was able to tell him with 100% certainty that we were over Carlisle, PA. The perfect way to say au revoir to the life I could have been living this year. I'll miss those of you at Dickinson (and abroad) a lot this year, but I can't help but be excited for the adventures to come, so what better way to say goodbye than from the very beginning of said adventures.
After arriving yesterday, I simply did everything in my power just to stay awake. My 7 year old cousin of course obliged in helping keep me awake with a full range of energy draining activities, most of which involved me running around trying to catch her. So I managed to stay awake until about 9:30. I then slept for 14 hours straight.... Today is a pretty miserable day in Geneva with much rain in fits and spurts, so it didn't seem to be a great day for walking around. My aunt was very gracious, however, in inviting me to lunch with several of her colleagues from the ILO. It was a delightful lunch at an authentic Galician (from northeastern Spain) restaurant to wet my tongue for Spanish cuisine.
The hope is that tomorrow the weather is better and that I may be able to stretch the legs a bit and get to know my new camera - either around Geneva or some other place nearby. If I can figure out how to post photos, you will see the good ones when I have them. For now, take care wherever you are, and expect another post upon my arrival in Spain.
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