Every single girl's dream Valentine's Day

I woke up before the sunrise to get ready for a beautiful day in Gibraltar. I am doing an internship with a student travel agency, so in turn for my helping out in organizing and managing the trip, I was going to get to go for free. I was given a t-shirt (definitely made for a five year old) and one task: make sure people have their passports. I performed my duties to the max: I wore my “Discover Sevilla” belly shirt and attacked people as they came towards the bus. After verbally accosting the last little girl as she ran for the bus, one of the program directors pulled me aside. In one of those really low, kind of nervous voices he was like, “Well, um, you see, um, there were actually two, um people, um, that came today, um, that weren’t on the list so, um, there isn’t really space for, um, well, um, you.” I gave him the blank stare. Not the confused blank stare, but more like the, I am going to try and choke back some tears right now blank stare. He did add a nice touch by saying, “Well at least now you can enjoy a good breakfast!”

I walked away, biting my lip and being brave as I went to enjoy a good breakfast. And let me tell you how enjoyable it was sitting alone on the street curb drinking a Venti mocha frappaccino and stuffing my face with a chocolate doughnut. I finally felt that it was o.k. to let the waterworks go and I think I had good reason: Valentine’s day, single, left behind, literally absolutely alone in Sevilla. Luckily for me, the public street cleaning crew of Sevilla is highly trained in handling these types of situations (and luckily they happen to be the only people awake in Spain at 8:30 on a Saturday morning). As I sat there on that street curb, I saw five giant yellow blobs coming towards me. They sat down next to me and started asking me about my day. I think I was able to make out the words, “pobrecita, sola en el dia de Valentine”. His name was Manuel and he gives the best hugs of anyone I know in Sevilla.

After this, I decided to turn my day around. I searched through my phone, all 20 contacts, and finally called up the only person I knew who would be awake at this deathly hour. David had a run earlier that morning. When I got him on the phone, I said, “David, how would you feel about going to Gibraltar today?” He was at my house to pick me up 30 minutes later and we headed to Gibraltar.

It turned out to be one of the best Valentine’s days of my life. Half of the time, I had no idea what was happening or where we were going, I just kind of went with the flow. David knew someone in every town in Spain, so we stopped to visit with everyone. I think that is a big difference between Spain and the U.S., it is perfectly normal just to drop by people’s houses unexpectedly, and even more normal to end up passing the entire afternoon with that person drinking a beer, eating tapas, and going to a kazoo concert. We ended up getting to Gibraltar around 5:30. As we drove up the projecting rock, I was enthralled with the views and made David stop every 5 seconds to take a picture. This was until I saw a sign informing us that the tunnels at the top of the mountain close at 5:45. David put the petal to the metal and we flew up the steepest, windiest one way road I have ever seen. I continued to snap pictures out the car window; unfortunately they were just a little blurrier. We parked and searched around for the entrance to the tunnels. With my luck, a fellow tourist pointed us to the entrance, 400 meters farther up the hill. This is where the marathon training started as we dashed up the hill towards the open doors. As we were about to cross the finish line, I heard the screeching of the giant wooden doors and then they slammed in my face. I began to bang on the doors with all my might (hey, I am a dedicated tourist). The guard poked his head out from the side door to tell me that they were closed (really? That wasn’t obvious?) but I pleaded with him in a sort of high pitched squeaky girl voice, “But I travel all day and just wanna see tunnel and valentine and tunnel and monkey but run and please fast mr. its valentine all I want.” He let us in.

After watching the sunset over the straight of Gibraltar, I decided that no matter how disappointed I had been earlier that morning this was definitely better than any guided tour I could have gotten (unfortunately I forgot to take off my miniature t-shirt).

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Or as they say in Sevilla, when life gives you oranges, MAKE A BLUE MOON!

"The Senora" A three part series. Single elimination

Episode 1

INNNNCAAAA!!! We thought about a variety of names to call her, i.e. the Incmaester, the Incster, Incerator. But I think the high pitched squeal of INNNNCAAAA is really the only way to describe her. We escaped from the prison cell two Fridays ago. We definitely did it refugee style: packing at 4am in silence, tiptoeing around the house to find our things, leaving early in the morning with only a sandwich for lunch. After we left, Angeles called Inca to tell her that we would be coming back around nine to take our suitcases and go…and never return. We narrowly escaped the wrath of Inca. When we walked in (praying to God that we wouldn’t have to speak to her) she was dressed in her finest clothes and all 200 pieces of gold jewelry she owned, looking quite a lot like that old lady in the bar in the beginning of “Titanic”. If we had thought the house was cluttered before, now our table that had been covered in plants and pictures was now also jumbled with all of Inca’s china and any figurine she had ever collected from a pawn shop, her grandmother’s attic, or a McDonald’s happy meal. We quickly gathered our things and rushed out the door to avoid as much awkward conversation as possible (I’m not really sure if there can be awkward conversation when you can’t understand a word of what someone is saying, but if there can, this would be the time). On our way out the door, Inca managed to slip in her usual twelve stories, a boob grab, and a face pull and told us that if we ever needed ANYTHING we should call her. I will be sure to call her the next time I don’t feel like talking for days or if I decide to go anorexic.

Episode 2

Paloma. Friday night I moved in with Caroline, another girl from our program who had been previously living alone with Paloma and her dog, Bombo. I went to Cordoba on Saturday during the day, but I think my day on Sunday pretty much sums up the angelic figure that Paloma was in my life. I woke up Sunday morning to breakfast in bed…and not just any breakfast in bed...no… chocolate con churros. I didn’t even care that I had just eaten late night chocolate con churros 4 hours earlier; heaven had come to earth. Then she proceeded to invite me to go to the gypsy market with her and her best friend. I brought 10 euro and I bought three things of makeup, a purse, perfume, a bracelet and earrings. Incredible. Next, we went out to lunch at the local café. When the waiter came to ask us what we wanted to drink, Paloma wouldn’t let me order my usual glass of water. Oh, no, she ordered us beer. We sat at that café, laughing and talking for almost three hours: her friends kept pulling up chairs to sit at our table, the drinks were never ending, it was someone’s birthday, I learned how to dance flamenco, and I passed away my favorite Sunday afternoon in Sevilla with ten 40 year old Spanish people in a café. Unfortunately, I had to move out again that night because of complications with Kathryn’s living situation. We got back to the house just in time for me to throw all my stuff in my suitcase and move on to my third home in Sevilla.

Episode 3

Maria Jose. Peace, Love, and good food. I now live in el Centro which is like the center of everything… 10 minutes to school, 10 minutes to work, 10 minutes to SHOPPING! It is not Paloma, but at least it is not Inca. Our laundry is done the day that it is started. I don’t know what kind of magic Maria Jose is doing, but it works. Also, my shower has a door, and a place to actually insert the shower head. I am now allowed in the kitchen, and I see the dog every day.

Well that wraps up the three part series of “The Senora”. Tune in next week for our new prime time special, “living with heat”.

P.S. Three days ago I got a bag of clothes from Angeles that Inca had just returned to her…clean.

The picture is taken of us in Cordoba!

Dear Freddie,

This bog is dedicated to you. You would love Spain. The caramel macchiatos are three times the size of those in the U.S., they come with at least a pound of caramel on top, and they always serve them in a real glass (none of those cheap to-go-cups). Also, if you thought the U.S. was bad: I’m sitting at Starbucks right now (listening to Sinatra of course!) and I can see another Starbucks down the street. If I walked the 200 meters there, I would be able to see the third Starbucks around the corner.

You know the phrase “The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain.” I’ve decided that the phrase needs to be altered just a bit. The rain in Spain falls, no rather pours with wind and frigid temperatures (think hurricane)…everywhere in Spain… all the time. Well, not all the time. We are kind of playing a game. It is called, when I leave the house, it is perfectly sunny, 5 minutes later, after putting on my new shoes and leaving all rain gear in the house, it starts pouring. It is even more fun if I’ve just rented a bike because who doesn’t love rain whipping in your face at twice the speed? Even on days when I come prepared, my umbrella is from the United States and apparently it was built to withstand wind speed of up to 0 mph. It is constantly in a sort of inside-out state and, like all umbrellas I have ever owned, there is one arm that just hangs. I am hesitant to buy a new one because it matches my rain coat and my boots.

Beyond the freakish weather that every native claims is completely out of the ordinary, there are a few other ordinary things that really surprised me in Spain.

1. Every lady wears heels.

2. Everyone walks at least 5 miles a day. (Including heel-ladies)

3. Potatoes and beans are considered vegetables

4. Dogs wear sweaters- and not just the Paris Hilton companions

5. I just saw my first “persona gorda”

6. People don’t stop for cars and cars don’t stop for people. Luckily I learned the basics from American parents.

7. You can’t buy stamps at the post office.

8. A Spanish man will call anyone “guapa”. You will be charmed the first time, the second time, and probably even the third time. Then you will realize that he has used the same line on all of your friends, the old lady next to you and the bartender. Also, it is a compliment if someone calls you “fea” (or so I was told)

9. I just heard the “persona gorda” speak. She is American.

10. Besitos are a way of life.

I realized yesterday that I have already been here a month. In some ways I feel like I just arrived, but in other ways, I feel very accustom to the city. We decided we were past the tourist phase when we stopped choosing bars with a presence in my guide book, and started choosing bars with a presence of toilet paper in the girl’s bathroom. I love the night life here. Dinner: 9:30, nap: 10:30, hit the town: 11:30, discoteca: 2:00, chocolate con churros: 5:00, sleep: 6:00. It is ridiculous.

I am moving to a new senora tonight. I know nothing about her- the director told me but the only words I caught were dog, cot, and hippie. I bought a pretty awesome hippie scarf since being here, so I think I should fit right in. We are moving because Inca finally reached the point of unbearable. Let me try to put things into perspective.

Monday night, I had just gotten to work, and I was giving besitos all around. After greeting my boss, he looked at me with interest and inquired if I had been to the Tex-Mex place down the street. Of course I had been there! I got so excited telling him about how I went Saturday night… and they showed our UNC- NC State basketball game…and we took over the bar with Americans… and then we all sang our fight song when we won! He simply looked at me and said, “yea, well you smell like it”. Ouch.

Inca hasn’t done my laundry in 2 ½ weeks. She said it was because it has been raining. I’m pretty sure it is impossible to rain every moment of every day for 2 ½ weeks. I was going to just let this roll off my back. I mean, I still have clothes to wear because I was able to pack so much in my one under-fifty pound suitcase. Unfortunately, she pulled the last straw. I had been wearing the same pants ever since she had originally taken the dirty clothes from our room, so I decided to switch it up and wear leggings and a skirt. I have been wearing leggings and a skirt for the last 3 days now. Inca came into our room and collected my pants from the floor of the closet to add them to her secret stash of our dirty clothes in her locked corner of the house. Thank you Inca, now I’m cold, smelly, and sick. We are moving TONIGHT.

There are a few other token Inca stories, but I think I will save them for when I talk to you all in person. Plus, I think this blog has been rambling on for quite awhile, and I understand that everyone has a life beyond my pathetic plight in Espana.

Adios, hasta luego, y besitos.

Abril

Best investment of my life: one ticket to Sevilla Football Club vs. Valencia soccer game. It was absolutely incredible. Picture: a stadium for 100,000 people, all 100,000 people standing up, 95,000 of these 100,000 people are drunken Spanish men singing and yelling at the top of their lungs. For our literature class our assignment for Monday is to learn new words relating to sports. I definitely learned some new words relating to sports. Unfortunately, I feel like those words would give my 95lb, 100 year old literature teacher a heart attack. The game was tied one to one for the entire first and second half. Then, with 43 seconds on the clock, Sevilla scored our winning goal! This of course gave rise to the biggest uproar of chanting and screaming, beating of drums and waving of all 50 enormous fan flags. The guy next to my friend John turned towards him and just started shaking him uncontrollably. I’m also pretty sure there were at least 10 crowd surfers, but amidst the chaos I couldn’t really tell. I woke up this morning with a ringing in my ears and an inability to speak, but I still proudly went to my early morning class sporting my Luis Fabiano Jersey and no regret. I don’t mean to be unpatriotic towards my school, but Sevilla soccer is UNC basketball times 100. Take notes Chapel Hill.

Second best investment of my life: Sevici year-long bike pass. I can pick up a bike for free at any stop around the city, ride it for 30 minutes, and then return it at any stop around the city. At first it was great for getting to class on time, getting to and from work, getting to the mall, etc. However, I realized that I love riding around Sevilla on bike because it is completely flat and absolutely gorgeous! Now, I take my bike anywhere and everywhere, whether I need to go somewhere or not. We have deemed our favorite path the Tour de Sevilla because it winds through small cobblestone roads and through parks and over bridges. I absolutely love it. Unfortunately it has rained all weekend so I haven’t gotten a chance to ride in a while.

Third best investment of my life: rain boots.