Titulo General

Tomorrow I'm going to Sitges for the day. It's a little beach town south of Barca. Though the weather is getting colder. I am now greeted by an autumn crispness when I step outside. It's this particular feel the air gets...I've written about it before. I think I love it so much because it reminds me of my childhood in Chicago. In Texas I usually don't feel the crispness before we're well into October. But here! I felt it today when I woke up! It's the morning coldness when it's difficult to get out of bed because the air around you is cooler than the nest of sheets you've created. I also felt it when I stepped out of the UB building at 9PM after my last class. My hair begins to settle when the temperature drops. Today sections of it became straight on its own accord. Amazing.

I plan to return from Sitges tomorrow night and leave for Tarragona and Monserrat the next morning, two towns north of Barcelona. Tarragona is known for its Roman ruins. (And a club inside a cave Megumi told me about! Awesome!) Monserrat is known for a monastery and jutting cliffs. I haven't really traveled since I've been in Barcelona and I'm really excited to start the excursions.

Today I went to the grocery store with Viktoriya to buy sweet things and other indulgences. Grocery stores are so much more interesting in other countries! There was half of an aisle full of spreads like Nutella, a whole aisle of olive oil, wine that's sold in cartons, puddings for 18 euro cents. Frozen churros, OMG. A whole display of different types of Garbanzo beans. OoOoOoO! The brands...and the prices...and the selections. So many cheeses! Legs of animals hung with other types of cured meats. I want to transport a Carrefour to Austin.

People eat differently here, obviously. Which explains our need to go to the store and buy candy. Dessert at my house, and many others, is a piece of fruit or maybe some yogurt or cookies. It always sounded so lame to me when I read about people not having dessert in other countries, but now I don't mind it. I still need my daily intake of sugar, I manage, but I think I'm eating less sweet stuff. The sweet meal of the day is breakfast when we drink coffee, tea or juice. We eat yogurt, cookies, a pastry, croissant or magdalenas (sweet muffins). The big meal of the day is comida, at lunch. Though sometimes when we have classes we just take a bocadillo. Then at about 6-7PM most people eat a snack. Maybe go for a café with some tapas or a pastry. Then dinner is late, around 10PM. We normally eat a big-ish meal, depending on who was home for comida. Afterwards we sit around and maybe eat fruit or a small dessert or some café or tea. We have a joke in our house about the bread...because Ana lets it get really stale. She calls them "galletas" (cookies) when the bread goes stale, maybe to entice us to keep eating it, haha. I decided to go along with it, so now we sometimes spread Nutella on stale bread and eat it for dessert. I don't know...maybe it's not a joke. I was hoping to eat healthier here and slim myself a bit. In reality, I do think I'm eating healthier, more balanced meals, but I'm not slimming. Oh well. Ana's an excellent cook.

I feel like I'm finally starting to improve my speaking skills. Megumi is often gone at meals, so it's just Ana and I. We talk through most of the meal and Ana doesn't speak any English, so I must know how to communicate to some extent. I've noticed things flowing out of my mouth a little bit more seamlessly lately. Though Ana still takes a lot of time to correct all of my mistakes. Conjugating verbs slows me down a lot when I talk. I feel more confident and hopeful when I realize that everything Ana knows of me are things I've communicated to her in another language. I don't think she understands me on the same level she would if I spoke perfect Spanish, but I've told her about so many things and we generally understand each other. And now instead of being shy to speak, I bring up topics at dinner just so I can talk. Tonight the subject was art.

I was actually asking her about the El Prado, the art museum in Madrid. I'm planning to go in a couple of weeks. I'm excited to see another part of Spain. More recently I've become interested in the modern history of Spain, like 20th century. I never learned much about Franco or the industrialization of the country in my Spanish Civ class. I bought a book yesterday called "The New Spaniards" about cultural/societal/economic/political issues in Spain in the past 100 years or so. So far I love it. I didn't realize how closed off and repressed the country was during Franco's dictatorship. I still have a lot more to read and to learn, but it's fascinating to read about such a subject while I'm living in the midst of it.

What it is and other thoughts.

Barcelona is...

-a later start to the day and the night, loving it
-constantly having filthy blackened feet
-socializing/energizing while sipping café con leche
-meeting people from all over the world
-finishing dinner between 11-12 at night
-sangria and cava
-wearing a bathing suit to class
-walking home at 5AM on streets that are 500 years old
-standing on the balcony and watching all the chumps in the plaza
-tons of mullets, rattails, dreadlocks, sandals, metallic accessories, diaper pants
-bocadillos
-the smell of sewage wafting from the street grates
-Fanta (Naranja)
-professors arriving 15 minutes late for class
-drinking in the streets
-full of tourists
-diminishing my euros
-El Corte Inglés bags all over the place
-washing the streets every night and the little BCNeta trucks
-the annoyance known as Las Ramblas
-hearing your neighbors flush the toilet, wash the dishes, have sex, etc.
-the lack of consistent water temperature in the shower
-the punctuality of the Metro, but hating that it's usually closed when you're a borrachita and need to get home
-fewer showers and less laundry
-learning 24-hour time
-lisps

Barcelona is...also causing me to struggle with my image for the first time. Like most other women I get hung up about certain things, but overall I'm okay with the way I look. Here I go out and feel too fat, too white, like my clothes aren't good enough and besides the physical stuff, I can't even talk normally! The people here are really attractive, or at least what I deem attractive. I think what's considered attractive in the U.S. is different than here, but I understand the European concept of attractiveness much more. When I'm in America, even if I feel unattractive it doesn't bother me a much because American attractiveness is kinda lame. Here it's like a double threat because besides the other women being beautiful they have a better sense of style. In the U.S. I see tons of women that are attractive but have a crappy sense of style so I'm not as phased by it. However, I am glad I have dark hair, Mediterranean eyes and a less American name. At least I can sort of disguise my American-ness when I'm on the streets. People sometimes ask me for directions, which seems good, but as soon as I open my mouth they know I'm foreign.

I am also questioning parts of my personality that have not formerly bothered me. I've met new people here who are so completely different than me. It's not at all that I want to be just like them, but I feel pressure to reexamine my extreme cynicism and distrust, especially regarding people and relationships. Is it really going to serve me well to go through life with such an outlook? I don't necessarily feel like a pessimist...I'm usually pretty happy. I question things too much, I'm judgmental, I'm not usually warm and friendly, and I don't typically go out of my way for other people unless they're important to me. Like, the day after I was robbed Megumi met me outside our apartment and was offering me gelato or dulces or coffee or anything I wanted. We settled on walking to Spar Express and she bought me paprika Pringles (good!), Pims, Fanta Limón and a KinderJoy with a little toy inside. It was so nice and thoughtful. I wondered if I would do the same for her. Obviously I would in a second, but would I have been so thoughtful in the first place? We talk a lot about our personalities and our differences and it makes me think about these things I never thought about. I suppose everyone back home just knows me as I've always been and I don't normally think about why I am the way I am. I guess many things that have happened in the past five years have made me even more cynical than I was before. I also think being involved with journalism naturally makes a person more cynical. Or perhaps cynical people are drawn to journalism. Ultimately, I don't think I'll change much. I'd like to treat people better, even if I don't know them well. Maybe that just entails being warmer with people, though I don't know if I'm capable. It just takes me more time to get close to a person. I'm also independent and like to spend time alone, so I don't always feel the need to be connected to someone else. I'm finding that some people need to be around the company of others a lot more than me. I just don't like to share too much of myself with people too quickly. I only want to be involved with people and relationships that are real.

¡La Mercé!

This past weekend was La Mercé, a huge city-wide festival to celebrate the patron saint of Barcelona. The whole city prepares for a giant party. Every important plaza (at least 10) sets up a stage and has tons of free music each day. There are also cultural events that happen like Correfoc, Xambanga de Gegants, building towers of humans and cultural dances. There are at least two huge carnivals set up in the city and fireworks every night at the beach. This goes on for four days. I was really impressed.

The first night of La Mercé I saw Sage Francis, this hip-hop man from Rhode Island. He had a good sense of humor and sang to the beat of NIN's "Closer". I don't really understand what makes hip-hop artists good or not. His lyrics kept my attention. For being so illiterate of the art...I found it to be enjoyable. Though he made a mistake when he decided to disrespect mullets. Angry Euro mullets threw beer cans at him. After the concert I split off from the group to explore with Viktoriya. We hung around in Plaça Cataluñya and got lost in a crowd of pot-smoking hippies dancing to the music coming from the stage. That quickly became annoying as a guy with an extraordinarily large backpack kept bumping me. Next we walked to Plaça Jaume I, close to my house where all of the government buildings are. There was Celtic music playing. Eh. We decided to try absinthe. I was worried but had been reassured it's not as strong as they used to make it. In reality, it tasted like horrible medicine and strung my throat almost to the point of nausea. The effect was similar to 1-2 shots of vodka. We boarded the Metro and headed to El Forum. El Forum is this huge venue/port/outdoorsy area on the far east side of the city. It seemed more youthful and rowdy than some of the other places. As soon as we came up from the Metro station I could see hundreds of people and started imagining how easily a riot could occur. At the actual place there were thousands of people. It was like a small music festival with three stages, from where I was standing it looked very much like Austin City Limits Festival because of the ridiculous crowds. In another part of El Forum there was a carnival set up and all of the rides were amplified X100 compared to the US. The ferris wheel went faster, bumper cars bumped harder, the scary rides went higher and rotated more. There were so rides I'd never seen in the US like the giant disk with about 30 people hanging on to the edges. One person would be pushed in the middle and forced to dance. Except the whole disk was shaking and spinning so hard that most people could stand up. They end up piled on top of one another in the middle. It actually looked fun.

Saturday night we went to Correfoc. This is a parade where people dressed as devils carry huge metal poles that shoot sparks in every direction. There are also monsters that shoot flame and sparks out of their mouth. There were warnings to not wear nice clothes to the event because it is possible to get burned. We joked that such a thing would never be allowed in America because of liability issues. There wasn't even a very defined parade route, the devils and monsters just made their way through the crowd. We were all screaming and trying to seek refuge under my scarf. I wasn't burned, but definitely had to run out of the way a few times.

After the parade we headed to the beach for the nightly fireworks show and were only able to see the end. On our way back to the city center we found one of the bestias from Correfoc. We quickly made friends with the devil in charge and took pictures. Then we continued our initial quest for a bocadillo. We ate and watched part of a fútbol game with some Spaniards. In our frenzy my friends forgot to pay and were scolded. We were close to the apartment so we stopped by...I can't remember why.

We left again to see what was happening at Plaça Cataluñya. It was dead because it was too late. We met more people. Guys working in a gelato store, a man with a weapon who fed my friend pastry, a group of kids from Barcelona...everyone advised us to go back to El Forum. I wasn't sure I wanted to go all the way there. Especially since my companions were more inebriated and had never been there before. I didn't want the responsibility of two other crazies, besides my crazy self, but I didn't care enough to protest. It didn't matter anyway. As soon as we arrived at El Forum we took a siesta in the grass. I kept opening my eyes because I was scared of more robbers, but all I noticed were men staring down at us. I suppose a pile of girls would usually attract attention. We later bought food: hot dog, French fries, churros and cotton candy. Churros are SO delicious. I don't know how I ate them so fast without barfing. My friends wasted money on games, made friends, wasted their money on games and won a huge stuffed sun. We had to escape the new "friends" and went to go look at the crazy rides. On the Metro ride back I somehow gave off an appearance of having strong arms. I drank some tepid Coke and wished it was colder. Then we all got home and went to bed in the morning.

By the third day of La Mercé I am losing steam. I meet with friends to see the parading giants enter the governmental plaza close to home.

I feel so glad for living so close to the action. We drink champagne in the plaza at our house. It was initially reserved for watching the sunrise at the beach, but sleep kept seeming more important. We walked to the beach for another concert. Someone started crying, someone else was mad about something. People become too emotional. I talked with Viktoriya and we decided to leave for gelato and a club in another part of town. We had the GREATEST gelato. A mix of crema catalana (like creme brulee) and hazelnut. We hopped on the Metro and it shorted out one stop away from where we were going. We walked the rest of the way to the club, KGB. It was disappointingly uncrowded, maybe because entrance was free until 3AM. After 3 it became more crowded. We danced around. Viktoriya admired the DJ! :) I spent a while talking to someone from Barcelona, always trying to get advice about the city and make friends who aren't American. I got home by 6AM and stayed up too late connecting with a piece of home via AIM. At the time I started to fall asleep, just before 9AM, I heard parades starting for the last day of La Mercé. Luckily my exhaustion enabled me to pass out with ease. I slept too late and missed meeting Viktoriya at 11:30AM for the tower of humans. I'd really wanted to see it, but could not manage to get out of bed. I slept until the afternoon, lazed around and eventually went out with Megumi for a bocadillo. It was so amazing! Spanish tortilla with potatoes on a baguette! I don't think I'll ever eat sandwiches in the same way again once I go back home. That night we went to Plaça de Españya for the final fireworks show. They were some of the best fireworks I've ever seen in my life! Types of fireworks I've never known before to really good music. All American music, strangely enough. That night I stayed at home for sleep. Though I couldn't because I'd become accustomed to falling asleep in the early morning. Megumi and I stayed up and raided the bare kitchen and watched people from the balcony. We fell asleep to the sounds of Anna yelling at the horrible neighbor upstairs because of his blasting music at 3AM.

The Robbery

I got robbed two nights ago.

Here's the story:

I was walking to my friend's residencia, which is a good 15-20 minutes away from the apartment on foot. I have to walk through my neighborhood (Gothic Quarter) and the one next to us (El Born) then through a park and then into the area where the building is. It was about 10:30-11PM. I was in El Born, which is a relatively nice area. I wasn't walking on the main street, rather two or three streets to the left of it. (I was told later it wasn't exactly El Born where I was.) The streets were not crowded, there were groups of people standing around. It was a predominately Muslim/Arab area based on the businesses and people I saw around me. I was getting closer to a plaza and I passed a group of kids younger than me. I didn't really have a bad feeling about the area, but regardless, I was walking rapidly. I always try to walk quickly to make it look like I know where I'm going. I don't ever want it to appear like I'm wandering. As I'm approaching the plaza I can sense someone walking too closely behind me. I assume they're about to pass me but they don't. I turn to look over my shoulder and see a boy, maybe 15 years, wearing a black shirt. I turn back around and keep walking. Suddenly I hear feet taking off, like for a race and before I know it someone is violently snatching the purse from my hand. Ahead of me there is a plaza if I veer to the right and another narrow street if I veer to the left. I look up after them and see them running down the narrow street. Them. It's now two boys. The black shirt, who stole my purse, and some sort of accomplice in a red shirt. I begin to take off after them but instead scream, "HEEEEYYYYYYYYYYY!" as loud as I can. They are long gone. There are people walking towards me coming from the plaza. I stop a woman and tell her I was just robbed and she sort of shrugs and continues on.

I think I kept walking in a sort of daze for a few minutes. So many things were running through my head. Do I call police? Do I turn around and go home? What exactly did I just lose? Am I safe here? Everything was contradicting. I wanted to continue to see my friends but I didn't have a phone to call them anymore. I wanted to get on the Metro instead of walking because I felt in danger but I had no money. I decided within minutes that I WOULD keep walking to the residencia despite the fact that I didn't know which building my friends lived in or have their room number or have access in through the door. The place the residencia is located is also a little sketch at night. But I didn't want to go home! That would be some kind of lame surrender. As I continued walking I wondered why I was targeted. I don't obviously look or dress like an American. I was wearing a fitted black dress, a lacy black scarf, black sandals and bright red lipstick. I was walking with my head up, quickly. Maybe they thought I looked too formal for that part of town, so I would have money on me. So wrong. As I walked I made a list in my head of what was taken.

-cellphone
-debit card
-int'l student ID
-T-10 pass for the Metro
-23 euros
-house keys
-a keychain from Italy (gift from dad)
-red lip gloss (gift from Jihae)
-my little red Coach purse (gift from Crissy)

The last three things seem so unimportant, but I think I'll miss them the most. Everything else is just utilitarian and necessary.

So I finally got the area of the residencia but I have no idea which building I am supposed to go into and nothing looks like it could be right. I eventually walked into an Asian restaurant and tried to explain to them what happened and if they knew which building housed students. No idea. I went back to the street, which, at this point were starting to seem scary. I found a girl that looked American and asked if she spoke English. Success, she was from the UK. I explained the situation and she agreed to walk around with me to look for the building. With her, I found it! I snuck in through the open door and marched up to the counter. I told the man I had just been robbed and I needed to know the room number for my friends. He told me. I found them and told them why I was so late. They were so nice and sympathetic. I got online and canceled my debit card and phone and emailed my mom. Then I tried to get a hold of Megumi so I would have a way in to my house at the end of the night. She was also SO kind and agreed to meet me at home whenever I wanted.

Because of the rough start I really wanted to have a fun night. I ingested and indulged a bit and we headed out. It was strange not having anything with me, but comforting to know I couldn't be robbed again. We were trying to find an Erasmus party at this club. (Erasmus is like study abroad for European students or something.) After laughing and walking our way around for many minutes we finally found the correct club off Diagonal. We were in the mood to dance but the music was all un-danceable 90s trash. My friend asked the DJ what was coming next and he told us Daft Punk. With excitement we waited and waited but it never came. In the meantime I talked to a Barcelonian (?) who recommended some places we might like better. Fed up with the music, we left. Piled in a cab. We rounded a corner and I lifted my head. Something felt so dizzy and sickly in the pit of my stomach. I worried and tried to look down.

We stopped at some clubs at the waterfront. Got a free drink (nasty sweet) at one club, left to go to the better one next door. We finally danced! First with one of my friends, protecting each other from men who would try to butt in. Then I danced out of control with these Danish guys. They spun me so much I almost had to tell them to stop because I was going to barf. It seemed so much room had been cleared on the floor for our antics. The party at that place stopped at 3:30. My other friend had met some "British boys" on one of the little podiums for dancing. She insisted we follow them. There were three of us, and me and the other one were getting tired but we went along anyway. There is a common problem in Barcelona...it's that the Metro closes from 2-5AM on certain nights, so we were trying to stay out till it opened again. We walked around along the waterfront passing multiple clubs that all seemed lame on a Wednesday night at 4AM. At 4:30 we decided to walk back to the residencia despite my one friend's wishes to stay with her "British boy". We were going to wait on the couches downstairs at the residencia for a few minutes till the Metro opened. I was the first to pass out on the couch, and soon after the other two did. We all woke up nearly two hours later. Two of us left to go home on the Metro, my other friend went back to her room. I got home and Megumi met me outside our building with a huge hug. We walked up together and I fell asleep again, unsure if I would wake up in time for my class, since I had no source of alarm clock anymore. I didn't care. Luckily I woke up in time the next morning. Unluckily I felt like crap.

Overall, it's horrible I got robbed but I can be glad about two things. First, glad I didn't have anything really valuable on me. I could have been carrying my iPod or camera. Those punk asses only really got a cheap cell phone that won't work, 23 euros and three rides on the Metro. Nothing else would have been of value to them unless they tried to sell the purse. Second, I know what to be suspicious of now. I really didn't think I'd be robbed here. I thought it would happen to confused looking tourist types who weren't paying attention. I thought theft was mostly like pickpockets in crowded areas or people who play tricks on Americans, like thought out distractions with a theft. I never thought I'd be robbed out in the open with someone taking my WHOLE purse right from my hands. I mean, I was holding it by my side, it was even around my wrist and they just yanked it right off. I do regret that now I feel much more paranoid when I'm walking around. I wasn't scared right after it happened, I feel more scared now that it could somehow happen again. I didn't lose too much except having to pay $150 to replace the shittiest cellphone ever.

Anyway, that's the story of the robbery. I think I want to sew pockets on the insides of my underwear and store everything else in my bra. I can't let it happen again.

Right now it's Friday night, the beginning of La Mercé, one of the biggest festivals in Barcelona. I can hear the parades outside, the music playing and the crowds waiting.

I actually wrote this yesterday afternoon.

My classes are now in full swing.

Most of them seem like they'll be okay. I'm not worried about keeping up or understanding...I'm just still really scared to speak in front of the class. I'm getting more comfortable speaking because of living with Anna, but when I'm in front of many people my mind has a tendency to blank out. It's not that I don't necessarily know the words, it's that I'm nervous.

My classes all last really long, too. I'm used to 50 minute classes and here I have classes for 90 minutes and then three times a week I have class for three hours. Of the same class! Three of my culture classes meet only once a week for 90 minutes. Then I have a cinema class that meets every other week for three hours. Then the language/grammar class, OMG. It meets four days a week, twice for 90 minutes, the other two times for 3 hours. It's too much class at once! Some days, like yesterday, I get a headache from the sheer amount of processing my mind has to do. I can understand why people don't learn English in the US just from going to class. Here it's like we live, breathe and sleep Spanish. I can't escape it, which is great, but nearly painful to my mushy American languaged mind.

I think there's going to be a lot of reading this semester, too. Moreso than what I'm used to at UT. I thought I kissed literary analysis goodbye after high school, but it's back, and in Spanish. I'm taking a narrative texts class where the profesora claims she's just another person in the room to add to the discussion of the short stories we're going to read. I don't know if I can appreciate literary analysis the way I once did in high school. I'm used to reading for quick knowledge, reading to get information...the journalist in me. I don't like picking apart every detail of a piece of work. It's precisely the reason I dislike poetry. Somehow I love song lyrics, but despise poetry.

I'm more excited for my class about culture and issues of Spain. It seems like a political/cultural/social/etc examination of the country. We're encouraged to keep up with the news. Yay! I love that in other countries there are blatantly left-wing and right-wing newspapers. I don't think the press is trying so hard to be objective...you just read the paper that corresponds more with your political views. I suppose the idea of objectivity in the press is prized more in the States, but objectivity in the press does not exist. It never will because it cannot.

My cinema class is good for a Friday afternoon. Though we only have five more meetings left since it only meets every other week. Last week we watched "El Laberinto del Fauna". Pan's Labyrinth. I'd always meant to see it! I suppose it's even better watching it in it's native language in Spain. I was surprised I could understand it so well. It was definitely more intense than I'd anticipated. I thought it was mostly a fantasy movie with some special effects, but it was so emotional. It could tear me apart inside. Certain movies evoke feelings inside me, and they're not even necessarily directly related to what's happening in the movie. Sometimes I think about what's happening in the context of my own life, and that's what almost makes me cry. I didn't cry though! Oh! And it was also pretty gory. They show so much...like people getting beaten and a guy stitching up his own cheek with a needle. I had to cover my eyes for those parts.

All this class...I better learn Spanish!

My travel plans are beginning to change, unfortunately. I got really depressed yesterday after I realized I'm poor and don't have enough money to do so much traveling. I had to cut one of my trips for the time being. Southern France might have to wait. I'm still going to London, Prague, Madrid and southern Spain. I must, even if it means dipping into savings. I'm going to have to budget myself carefully and probably visit this web site where you can sleep on people's couches for cheaper than a hostel. I hate being poor. If my landlord would return my freaking deposit I'd be a lot better off. I'm barely going to have any money after paying my credit card bills. UGHHH, being poor depresses me. And I can't even work here because it's illegal.

On the bright side...I'm in Barcelona! My amazement hasn't worn off yet. I walk to class every day and it doesn't even seem real. I've always wished to go to school and live in a huge city. Any time I've visited a bustling city, I love it and try to imagine I live there. Now I do! I walk through the Plaça Catalunya and down the main street of the university and look all around me at the huge beautiful buildings and all the people and the cafes and the motos crowding the roads and it's like a dream. I know more than ever that I belong in a big city. Small towns are nice for visits, but I want to LIVE somewhere huge. It's type of appeal NYC had, I don't want to feel like I've ever conquered a place. I want to know there's more to discover every time I walk out my front door. I want the sense of being slightly overwhelmed. Being comfortable can be nice, but keeping on your toes is much better.

Soy una playa.

Today I got up and went to the beach with Laura. The beach in Barcelona is actually man made, but regardless it's really nice. The sky had NO clouds, the weather was warm and the people were out to be seen. Most women go topless at the beach. Today I was one of them. I guess it's part of the experience. I thought it might be weird, but it's actually quite nice. Everyone's so used to it here. It was great to feel so unrestricted. Unfortunately I think my topless time will have to stay in Europe because I'd guess America's not ready for it. So many women in America don't even want to wear a bathing suit in public. There are some really saggy people here! I hope there's never a day where my nipples point to the ground! Haha! I stayed at the beach for most of the afternoon and realized after I got home I had mild sunburn. My madre was telling me to wear sunscreen and I was trying to tell her this summer I hadn't been getting burned for a change. Regardless, she gave me a bottle to use and I only put it on my arms. My arms aren't burned, but most everything else is rosy. I've had much worse. I kinda wanted to be tan and my arms are on the way, but I'm starting to realize I don't even tan nicely. I think my arms just look dirty. The freckles on my shoulders are blooming out of control. At the beach I was slightly self conscious, not about my bare chest or weight or anything common, but about my skin! Everyone here is so dark and I feel like I take off my clothes and reveal my skin and it's blinding. People are shielding their eyes down the beach, putting on sunglasses, covering up with towels. Oh well.

Today we had another problem at the house. I've been telling Anna for a couple days that I need to do laundry because I have more than two weeks worth since I was traveling the week before I got here. Anyway, today I ran out of underwear, luckily I went to the beach. I got home expecting to do a load and Anna tells me the laundry machine is broken. It's supposed to be checked tomorrow but in the meantime I had to wash all of my underwear by hand. Lovely. I didn't realize how much I had. Then I had to be taught to use the clothes lines. I always thought they were cute when I was walking around in Europe, now I see they are so useful. And clothespins! This is the first time I've ever used them for something that's not an art project.

Tonight Megumi came back from her API trip to Tarragona/Monserrat. (I get to go in a couple of weeks.) We went out to look for some hard candy to soothe my sore throat. We ended up walking through El Born and the Barri Gótic. We went into some super fancy candy store, but they were too fancy for me. I just needed a bag of cheap wrapped things. While we were walking Megumi suddenly needed McDonald's. Oh no! I went with her, but just picked on some of her fries and finished part of her McFlurry. I have to admit, it was good. She felt sick afterwards. :( The food options at McDonald's here seem different. I don't really know because I don't eat at them in America, but since when did they have wedge fries and an "oriental" sandwich?

Nuba is having a dream next to me! Her legs are twitching all over the place. I wonder what dogs dream about. Surely they don't dream in color. Tomorrow I go to my last two classes I haven't known yet. I'm pretty much dreading grammar. We shall see.

Negativo

I'm missing things that don't exist in my life at all.

Tonight was not good. I noticed things I didn't like about Barcelona because I wasn't feeling happy. I spent exactly 40 minutes walking home and thought privately to myself. I was alone.

The ugliest things in this city are McDonald's, Burger King and Starbucks. They litter the streets. Literally. (No pun intended.) I saw all this trash on the street and in this plaza and then looked to my left and there's a McDonald's. Of course all the trash is greasy bags and hamburger boxes and soda cups.

I am also starting to resent all of the couples all over the place and how annoyingly public they are with their affections for each other. On my walk home I must have passed six couples all in a row. Looking happy. Sure...they're all quite in love after a few drinks on a Saturday night. My affection didn't seem to make it across the Atlantic. I lost it somewhere.

Another thing I've come to hate is Las Ramblas. I'm so close to it, it's hard to get away from, but I'm not sure of the other routes to get out of my area of town without encountering it. The worst is when I'm trying to get to class and I'm walking up Las Ramblas behind some stupid slow tourists who are looking in a window or at some street performer. I try to pass politely but it's so hard. It's nearly impossible to walk at a quick speed down that road. I've tried so many times.

Learning has also become a frustation. I am so eager to know this language and to speak fluently and I can't yet! My mom told me that when I was learning to read I'd get really upset because I wouldn't know words or couldn't read fast enough. I vaguely remember the irritation and aggravation of that time. Eventually I made it into the highest reading group. Anyway, I feel the same way about Spanish. Learning is almost painful. I want it so bad, but it doesn't come fast enough. Laura compared it to learning to type. It just happens and you can't imagine not being able to.

Last thing I'll complain about: this sickness! First it was exhaustion. Then a few days of headaches at night that could only be cured by sleeping. Then I got the stupid pink eye. Now I have a sore throat and am developing a cough. Is it common to not have a tolerance to "European bacteria"? Does such a thing exist? Usually my immune system is really strong, but right now it sucks!

Okay, so despite my whining...I still love it. I know I've just had an unfortunate night. I'm not taking it for granted!

On the bright side, one of my favorite bands, Air, is playing here in November and I'm totally going. It's an anniversary party for a popular venue in Barcelona.

I'm going to watch the movie I rented and try to fall asleep. At just past 2:30AM, the night's still young here in Barcelona, but I'm still American and it seems like a good time for rest.

vida

Living in this apartment is hilarious. Anna and Megumi are such characters. They both love to make these silly sound effects to communicate. Every night at dinner we like to try to talk like civilized people, but at some point in our story-tellings or general conversations we come across words we have to teach each other or try to act out. It's kind of like playing Taboo/Gestures in another language. I have begun to call it "teatro de la mesa". The other night it was the word hazelnut. We taught it to Anna, but her accent is so strong, it comes out like hate-chel-noot.

Speaking of which, I love Spaniard's accents, like the way they speak Castellano. I really hope I learn to speak fluently here so I can speak like them. Their lisps and the way their tongues make soft whispery sounds when they talk...I guess the tongue hits the roof of the mouth here more. It's more poetic than the way we learn at school.

A problem happened. In the bathroom. The other day I went and when I pulled the cord (because people have "water closets" here where the tank is on the wall) it snapped way up high somewhere in the tank. UGH! I thought I was home alone and went outside thinking I would go talk to Anna at her store, but instead I went back in and walked to the bathroom. Keep in mind, this is the only bathroom in the apartment. Someone was in there! Terror. Who was it and how would they react when they realized the toilet no funcionar? It was Laura and she asked me if I knew anything about the status of the toilet. I explained to her and we got out a ladder and she prodded around in the tank. We fixed it! I didn't have to tell Anna. Then today I used it again and SNAP. I was trying extra hard not to pull it with strength! This time I had to tell Anna. First, I consulted Megumi and we went into the kitchen with the dictionary. Surely I couldn't explain such a problem; my bathroom vocabulary isn't the greatest. She understood and said she needed to fix that particular part in the tank. Then she started talking about how we would use the toilet in the meantime. She went into the shower/laundry room and got a bucket. Megumi and I didn't understand and thought she was saying we had to go to the bathroom in the bucket. We were hesitantly nodding along. Then she realized and explained we just had to use the bucket to flush the toilet. Phew...it doesn't seem too hygienic to take a whiz in a bucket, haha. Hopefully it starts working again soon.

The other night I went out for La Diada. We ended up getting tapas, my first time. I really like Spanish food. It's simple, but good. I've also taken a trip to Parc Güell, which was the park Gaudí designed. And to the top of Mount Tibidabo, which gives a great view of the city. I'm learning the layout of the city really well and all of the neighborhoods. My favorites are definitely all of the older barrios like El Ravel, Barri Gótic and Born. They're all like labyrinths, especially the Gothic Quarter. I've also embraced the power of caffeine. I drink café con leche daily. People are always going for a coffee and it's perfect to have a cup after comida and before cena because it keeps you going. It tastes better here, too. People actually sit down to socialize and drink it, instead of walking around with those silly plastic lid things. The schedule really is different, too. I've definitely become used to it. We eat dinner at about 10 or 10:30 at night and finish some time around 11PM. It's so nice having such a long afternoon. It makes the day more productive.

Last night I went out to a club that you have to be "accepted" into. I don't really think I'd want to do it again. There were so many guys trying to get in and we got in fine because we were girls, I guess. The people working the door were so rude though. And apparently there's some lame password, too. Once we got in, drinks were 10 euros, as they are many places. The dance floor and club in general were really cool looking, but the people weren't even dancing! They were too cool for themselves and a lot of them were old. We'd walked all the way across the city to go. I didn't care too much about going in the first place. Plus, my eye was sick and it was cloudy and rainbow when I looked toward sources of light. I woke up this morning with my eyelid glued into place. Pink eye. My madre gave me an infusion of "yerbas" and it healed my problem! I've been walking around all day with a severely bloodshot eye, but at least it's not leaking juices anymore. My body is still giving up for some reason.

Today I went to the public library of Cataluñya, which has a branch in El Ravel, really close to the apartment. I got a library card. YAY! Which permits me to get books, CDs and DVDs and to use their free WiFi. (They pronounce it WeeFee here. It's cute.) I hope my access to internet becomes more regular from this point on. My madre has wireless but it's irregular. Actually I have to wrap this up because she's about to disconnect it for the night. So more will come at a later time. There's so much!

La Cama

I could say la cama is the thing I've been most familiar with lately. I think the week of serious traveling and all of the new things to familiarize myself with in Spain finally caught up with me. The past couple days all I've been sleeping uncontrollably. Going to bed early and sleeping late. This morning I woke up at 6:30 and couldn't fall asleep. I was laying in bed and heard the sounds of people having sex. These apartments are SO close together. Luckily I fell asleep again.

Yesterday I spent most of the afternoon (by afternoon I mean 5-8PM) at the cafe in the plaza outside our house. Laura's boyfriend, Sammy, works there. He doesn't charge us for anything we order and keeps brining us food and drinks. Coffee, lemon ice, papas, olives, gelato. We left feeling so full. Laura had been really helpful and gives me all kinds of advice about living here. She says I'm really lucky to be able to stay with Anna because she's a really good teacher/mama and her apartment is in the best location. As I live in the Barri Gótic longer I start to see it's kind of a bohemian area. There are so many hippie types and people with dreadlocks. And many genie pants. Lace-up sandals. Shops that look Moroccan or gypsy. But then one street over there are some chain stores. Two units down there's Calvin Klein. It's hard to imagine such an area of town like this in the US.

Anyway, so Laura and I are chatting and we see a line start to form outside the church next door to our house. It gets longer and longer until it's going past our front door. Sammy comes over and tells us it's for the Dalai Lama, who was in town. He'd given a talk at Montjuïc earlier in the day. We tried to get in, but tickets were required. Then we found out maybe it was just some of his monks that were going to sing. Either way, that's so cool!

This morning I woke up (late) and Laura came in to tell me they'd just finished filming a movie outside the apartment at the bar Sammy works at. He was an extra and had some lines. Apparently it was a Hollywood movie and he'd worked with one of the actresses. I wish I'd been able to see. This place does look like it's out of a movie.

Today is La Diada, to celebrate Cataluña. Most of the shops are closed so we've been hanging around inside most of the day. After lunch Anna started singing a song at the table, and it sounded just like a song I know by this Mexican singer I like. I got my computer and played it for her and she knew it! I ended up burning a Lila Downs mix for Anna and she loves it! We were all listening and dancing in the living room together.

Siempre que te pregunto
Que, cuándo, cómo y dónde
Tú siempre me respondes
Quizás, quizás, quizás

Y así pasan los días
Y yo, desesperando
Y tú, tú contestando
Quizás, quizás, quizás

Estás perdiendo el tiempo
Pensando, pensando
Por lo que más tú quieras
¿Hasta cuándo? ¿Hasta cuándo?

Everything is going well here, except I'm feeling slightly mental sometimes. At school I'm used to having a million things to do all the time and here I have almost no responsibilities. I have a placement test tomorrow, but that's it. I'm too free, in a sense. I kind of don't like it. I think I get depressed if I'm not busy. I want to feel productive. School starts Thursday, so maybe I'll begin to feel better. It's like...there is so much to see and do here, but I have so much time to do anything right now, I'm just being lazy and not taking advantage of what's in front of me. There are museums to go to, new parts of town to see, foods to try, people to meet and I'm just feeling tired all the time. It's like my mind and body are trying to shut down. As terrible and boring as it may be, I think I thrive on a routine. Plus, a lot of the people I initially met are living further away and I'm not seeing them at school, because there is no school yet. I'm just worried everyone else is going to meet Spaniards and make lots of friends and I'm going to be alone. And sometimes I miss home, er, rather my family and friends.

begin Spain

Of all of the places I’ve visited since I’ve been in Europe, I’m definitely happy that I chose to live in Barcelona. This place seems like a good fit for me. I already getting used to living in this city and I’m so glad I have another few months to stay. There are definitely some crazy things going on here, but it keeps it interesting. So far there has been no terrible luck. My house and “madre” (as I refer to her) are excellent. I have made some friends. I can find my way around the city pretty well. My classes should be good. My school is close enough to my house. I learned how to use the metro, though I am probably also going to rent a bike. Barcelona is such a right-minded city. They do things that seem to make sense. I was walking along the beach with some friends yesterday and they were saying that at night these huge trucks come out and collect all of the glass from the streets, grind it up and deposit it on the beaches as sand. It’s smart thinking, right? And my planned bike rental: they have this new program here called “Bicing” where you pay the equivalent of about $25 and you get a card that lets you rent out bikes from one of dozens of bike stations across the city. Then you ride the bike to where ever you need to go and drop it off at the closest station.

I did have one bit of bad luck on the way to Barcelona, though. My dad and I flew to Europe on Continental. An American airline to Europe. Then I flew this other airline, Alitalia, from Rome to Barcelona, but my dad had booked it through Continental. Apparently European airlines, like Alitalia, have much different luggage restrictions. My bags were within the restrictions when I flew Continental, but when I switched airlines, I was WAYYYYY over the limit. My dad and I hadn’t thought to check Alitalia’s restrictions since he booked everything through Continental. The gory details: they charged 12€ per kilo over the limit you were. I was 20 kilos over! That would have been 240€, which is a little less than $300, I think. Luckily they reduced my kilos to 12, so I had to pay 144€, which is around $200. I was really upset because that’s about 1/5 of my money for the whole trip. I knew I couldn’t afford to lose huge sums of money like that unexpectedly. Especially when I spent all night before I left making sure I was within the luggage limits. I paid the money, but I think my parents might help me out a little bit.

Once I got to Barcelona I waited for the people from my program to meet me. We could either meet them at 11AM or 2PM. My flight was supposed to get in at 10:30AM, but it was delayed and I didn’t get off the plane till 11AM and then I still had to get my luggage and stuff. I got to the meeting point at 11:45AM and sat down at a table to the side to wait until 2PM. At about 2PM I moved my stuff to the exact spot we were supposed to meet. I waited ten minutes and no one was there. I noticed another guy, young, who seemed to be waiting, so I asked him if he was with API. He was in the program also. We waited until 2:20PM and no one was there, so I decided to call the lady. She said they had waited for us earlier when they saw our planes were delayed, until 11:50AM or something. But we didn’t know they were waiting, we just assumed to meet them at 2PM. Anyway, everyone had left the airport and no one was planning on coming back, despite what our instructions had said. She told us to take a cab to the hotel. We did, but were NOT going to pay for it. I was especially mad since I’d just paid hundreds for my stupid luggage, and the other kid I was with didn’t have euros on him. But we got to the hotel and API paid. :)

At the hotel, my roommates were cool. One was from Philadelphia, schools in Vermont, another was from California and goes to school there. We have our first meeting where the resident director, Amalia, tells us 70% of API students get stuff stolen at some point during the semester. I am being careful. Later we go to dinner as a group to a really nice restaurant for paella. I have not eaten since the pastry I had on the plane, so I eat ravenously. After dinner I go out with my roommates and some other people. We end up at a cerveseria and I drink beer. Eh. Later they decide to go to an international student welcoming party at some club by the beach. I wait at the bus stop feeling more and more sleepy. The combination of beer and waking up at 6AM, I assume. The bus is taking forever and I start imagining what this party will be like. An expensive club with a bunch of Americans who want to act like wasted idiots. Hmmm. I decided to save my money and go back to the hotel to sleep. One of my roommates had already done the same. I walked back and instantly feel asleep. The next morning I heard that drinks at the club were 9€. Everyone said they’d spent too much.

The second day we walked around as a group and then split off. I stayed with my roommates and we explored Las Ramblas, the main tourist street. I was clutching my purse desperately, since this is where the thieves are concentrated. We walked up part of a mountain called Montjuïc and got on a cablecar that took us across part of the city (in the air) and dropped us off at the beach. The views were beautiful; we hadn’t realized how huge Barcelona is. After walking around more and getting lunch we took a siesta. That night we were going back to the main part of Montjuïc with the group. Before we left one of the roommates was trying to plug in her hair dryer. As soon as she put in adapter in the wall there was a pop and all of our power went off. We tried fiddling with the power box, but nothing would work. Since it was almost time to leave we just left it, hoping it would be fixed when we came back. We were going to Montjuïc for a special fountain lights show or something. There are tons of fountains leading up to a big building that part of an art foundation. Little by little the stretch of fountains would start turning on, and then the huge one on the middle turned on and started changing colors. It could make cool effects and the water would change its movements. There were thousands of people watching. Later they started playing classical music and the water danced to the music. It was lovely.

We had been led to the magic mountain fountain by one of the API leaders, but were left to get back on our own. The leader told us to take the #27 bus back to the hotel if we wanted. We got on 27 and it took us further and further away. It didn’t even look like the city anymore. We started seeing highways. I was with my roommates and another guy...we all looked at each other confusedly. I joked that the bus driver was probably going to stop and tell us to get off when we were lost in the middle of nowhere. Then the bus stopped and he did. We talked to him and he said if we paid again we could keep going. Luckily we ended up back at the hotel, but it took at least an hour on that stupid bus. We vowed not to take advice from the API guy every again. That night we went out again, but it was pretty tame. There was a glass of wine at a “grown up club” a block from the hotel in L’Eixample. Then we tried a club in another area that seemed okay, but I wasn’t in the mood. My roommates and I left after about 30 minutes. Back at the hotel, our power was still gone. We tried to explain to the man at the front desk, luckily he fixed it.

Friday was crazy. I waited for my “madre” at the hotel, but she was late. While I was waiting in the lobby with Amalia tells me my mom is kind of “hippie”. I find this to be good news. A small woman with curly gray hair and lace up sandals walks in, rushed. It’s Anna! I stand up and we greet each other with kisses. We’re whisked away into a taxi, heading towards the Barri Gótic, where she lives. She’s explaining why she’s late and telling me about the other API student living in the apartment. She doesn’t speak any English, which I think is wonderful. We can understand each other to come extent. I find myself nodding a lot. The cab drops us off right on Las Ramblas next to La Boqueria, which is the most famous market in town. I had visited the day before and it’s the most colorful place I’d ever been to, with fruit, fresh juice, fish, hanging meat, candy, vegetables and almost anything else. I wheel my luggage across the street into the maze of the Barri Gótic. Anna stops for bread and we get to the door of our building. It’s covered in pink graffiti. Not ghetto, haha, just colorful. Many of the other doors in the area have it. It actually helps me distinguish our building. Anna gets Megumi, the other API student that lives with her, to help me with the luggage. There are about three flights of stairs, even though we live on the second floor. It’s so old inside the building, but not in a dilapidated way, in an awesome way.

Anna’s apartment is amazing! I feel like it could be used in a movie. It’s not that everything is really new and fancy, but the decorations fits perfectly with the kind of apartment it is. There are old distorted glass windows all over the place with wooden shutters and huge metal locks. The walls are all cement and the ceilings are ribbed. Anna had painted on many of them. Doors don’t have handles. I can tell all of the power outlets and light fixture were added way after the building was constructed. The balcony in the living room looks out into a crowded plaza. I can hear the noise of our neighbors and Las Ramblas from my room. I love my room. It’s much bigger than I’d expected. There’s a main room with two windows and my bed and then a narrower side room with another window, a desk and my closet. I have so much space; it’s almost like having a tiny apartment. Her apartment is actually really big for a crowded city. There are five bedrooms total. My windows look out to windows of other people’s apartments and they’re SO close. I have to be careful about my own privacy. I can hear everything, including other people cell phones and them washing their dishes. The window in my desk room looks out to Megumi’s window because our apartment is in a sort of U-shape.

I was fed breakfast again and told all about the house after my arrival. Since it’s so old, there are many little rules about how everything works. Like hot water, it’s controlled by a butane tank in the kitchen. We have to light a flame in a box on the wall to make hot water happen. It’s confusing to me, but I’ll learn. Anna cooks our meals and they’re really great. She’s an excellent cook! Plus we get to practice our Spanish at every meal. It makes me glad I chose a host instead of a residencia (dorm). Anna designs lamps and owns a store in the neighborhood. She’s from Barcelona. She’s tranquila, but sometimes gets really animated when she tells stories. It’s so cute! Megumi and I love her. Nuba also lives with us. Her 12-year-old dog, I think part German Shepherd. Nuba is big, but gentle. She likes to nap under my desk when I’m on the computer or on the rug next to my bed. Megumi moved in the day before me. She lives in another room in the apartment. She’s a junior from UC in San Diego. She’s really energetic and excited about stuff and so friendly. She was really welcoming when I moved in. She speaks Spanish about like I do, so we’re making it with Anna together.

After lunch that afternoon I had to go to a really boring meeting/grammar review class. On the way home I bought a calling card and called my mom because I’d found out that morning, via her email, that my uncle died. I’d never met him, but my mom was upset and had to break the news to my grandma. It’s very sad. She is going home soon to be with her mom. At least he died in his sleep, which means it probably wasn’t agonizing. They think it could have been a brain aneurysm.

We ate dinner much later that night, as they do here, and then I prepared to introduce my friends to Megumi’s friends because they all live at the same residencia. We dressed up and wore shoes that hurt our feet. We spent at least 30 minutes trying to get over there, taking the metro and walking till we had to take our shoes off. Everyone met and seemed to get along really well. About seven of us left to find this club in another part of the city. Some of the others were drunk and being typical “loud Americans”. I felt annoyed since I don’t want to attract negative attention in a city I am not familiar with and because people should know better than to get wasted in a place they don’t know. We had so much trouble finding the club, Otto Zutz, but eventually we got there. I’ve never been to such a big club, though I was told it was small by other people’s standards. There were two dance floors. It had been a long time since I’d danced like that, so much, so freely. Mostly I stayed close to my friends, but I was stolen a couple of times by aggressive men. They are too aggressive for me. This is precisely the reason I won’t be a “wasted American” in a foreign city. I did leave the club with fewer inhibitions that night, but I knew what I was doing. A few of the girls left in a cab, but cabs are expensive and wimpy. The rest of us waited a few minutes for the metro to re-open at 5AM. We rode together and got off at our respective stops. I was so glad to be with Megumi! We made it home, but not before witnessing a disgrace on the street to our house. There was man getting “serviced” by a lady (prostitute, I hope) in the open. I accidentally looked in that direction and saw everything before I realized what was going on. I pulled at Megumi and we walked even faster towards our graffitied door. She hadn’t seen it, but we were giggling. At home I took off what I could and fell asleep with very dirty, very sore feet.

Yesterday Megumi left to go to the Costa Brava. I was asked to go, but after the night before I wanted to stay in Barcelona and rest. I puttered around all morning and went to the beach with some friends later on. They are much more topless than I expected. Some tops I would have rather not seen, haha. My friends weren’t in their bathing suits so we sat in the sand for a while. Later we walked to a supermercado. I love looking at all of the foreign food! Bottles of wine are so cheap here. You can get them for less than a euro. I’m sure the quality is bad, but a decent bottle can probably be bought for just a few euros. We hung out at the residencia for a while and I eventually left because I wasn’t feeling well. I’m not sure if it’s the water here, or all of the coffee I’m drinking, or something entirely different, but my stomach’s been upset. The water is very chlorinated and tastes terrible. I have to take it in gulps at dinner. I’m thinking of sneaking in some bottled water for my room so I don’t offend Anna. Last night there was more drama in our apartment...well...in the apartment above. Anna had warned me the people living above us, a mother and her son, were unpleasant. We were in the apartment and we hear some yelling but ignore it. A few minutes later there is more yelling and screaming and then glass breaking and things being knocked over. Anna rushed in and made a motion like people punching each other. Apparently they were having a fight. Anna called the police and they came a bit later. It was very quiet upstairs. There was a police car and ambulance in the plaza below for some time. I don’t know...

Also that night Laura came. She lived with Anna as an exchange student two years ago. She speaks very fluently. It gives me hope, because she said she was terrible at speaking when she came here. She said she owed her fluency to the mealtime conversations she’d have with Anna. Laura is from the U.S. and visits Anna and her novio, who she met here in BCN when she was studying. That night we didn’t finish dinner till about midnight. I was exhausted and still feeling a little bit crappy so I just went to bed. I slept until almost noon today! I thought Anna would think I was lazy for sleeping so much, but she says my body needs time to adjust.

I spent a lot of time writing this afternoon, as I’ve been doing often. Then I went on a walk with Anna and Nuba around the Barri Gótic. She gave me an excellent tour and I even saw some ancient Roman ruins...just a few blocks from our house. We ate some seafood paella by the coast. The seafood comes complete with heads, eyes, bones and legs. She showed me how to crack the body open and how you’re supposed to suck on the head for flavor. I couldn’t bring myself to do that just yet. She also showed me a short cut of a narrow street that takes me right from our plaza to the beach. It’s very convenient. We got back and needed siestas. Nuba took her’s in my room. :)

Hopefully after this my entries will become a bit less rambling and lengthy. I’m just trying to take everything in right now and remember what I think about it all. It’s still strange to find euros in my wallet and read things in military time and type on keyboards with keys in different places and to find street names on the sides of buildings. I love it though. I feel so lucky to be here.

finish Rome, briefly Naples, Caposele

The second day in Rome I arose early at 7:30AM, not really knowing for sure what time it was. It can be nice not having a cell phone or watch, acting like time doesn’t matter at all. Due to my extra hours awake I took my time getting dressed and tried to look prettier than the day before. The pressure to look beautiful is a bit strong in Rome. I had breakfast and piddled around on the computer until my dad woke up. He woke up later than he’d expected by accident. It took forever to leave that morning! I’d already had a good two hours awake before my dad woke up and then we had to spend a bunch of time looking stuff up for the next leg of the trip and he had to get ready and was trying to text someone, though it wasn’t working. I was getting too impatient.

Finally we left and found that we could navigate Rome with a map, unlike the day before. We took a short cut around the back of the train station and some gypsies accosted my dad. They first started begging and we told them no, then they started chanting and I got away. My dad was left with the huddle and I turned around when I heard him yell “Hey!” I saw him pushing them away because I think they were touching him. Beggars are so annoying. We made it to the Via Nazionale and I realized my feet were definitely messed up badly from the day before. I complained to my dad and he told me it might be a bone bruise. The pain was excruciating and every so often there would be shooting pains through the outer edge of my foot.

Also while walking down the Via Nazionale, my dad and I were noticing how Euros dress. I had been bugging him the day earlier about looking too American, and this day it was worse somehow. He had on a bright blue t-shirt, Lee jeans and tennis shoes. I had tried harder that day to look like I fit in wearing a greenish-blue dress and a white scarf. I felt like my dad was negating any Euro-ness I may have been displaying. I told him tennis shoes and bright colors were usually easiest way to give yourself away as an American. I told him he needed a button-up shirt, slacks or fancier jeans and leather shoes. He said he could tell he looked different and wanted to change clothes before we went out that night. Haha.

We walked a lot further than we thought was possible. We ended up at the Pantheon, which we hadn’t gotten to see the day before. It was quite impressive—hard to imagine people could build something so large so long ago...though I suppose the Coliseum and pyramids were erected just as long ago. There were a lot of people standing around. We didn’t realize that the people in Rome turned the Pantheon into a Christian basilica after it was what they called a “pagan temple”.

Our actual destination that day was Vatican City. We crossed over the Tevere by bridge and walked past a huge palace and an old castle right next to each other. I was feeling bad for not understanding better the importance of such historical sites. I told my dad I wished I’d just taken a Roman history course. Finally we got into Vatican City. My feet are nearly dead by this point. We approach looming St. Peter’s Basilica. I have to cover my shoulders with my scarf, as I watch the less fortunate women get turned away for having inappropriate attire. We wait in a long line to go to the top of the basilica and meet some nice Aussies. We climb with them up a few hundred steps to the dome, which is fantastic. Then we continue up another few hundred steps to the very top of the tower, which overlooks all of the Rome area. At the top, my feet feel healed. I tell my dad it’s the power of God. He suggests maybe I should start going to church again. I was surprised by the amount of graffiti at the top of the basilica. It covered all of the arches. Mostly some sappy couples who want to deface a sacred building. On the way down from the top I get dizzy from the spiral steps. In a less claustrophobic stairwell a lady passes me who smells like my grandma, same perfume. I am reminded of her and where I am and, briefly, I want to be religious again, but the feeling quickly passes. We miraculously figure out how to take a bus from the Vatican to Termini Station. It breaks down in the middle of an intersection and people drive by honking and yelling. Back at the hostel I fall asleep for two hours before dinner and dream of home. “Home” just being people and places familiar to me. Dinner is some sub-par pasta that the hostel makes for free. Afterwards my dad and I go out exploring again, this time with much more confidence. We end up at Trevi Fountain for the second time, which is lit specially. Then we stop at a little cafe on the street for Limoncello. Sickly sweet and stronger than I imagined. On the way home we also stop for gelato and cannoli. Sampling the kinds of things that are the best in Italy.

The next morning we had to wake up in time to catch a train to Naples. We’re setting out for “the hometown” as we’ve been calling it. I am grumpy, as I realize I usually am when I travel with my dad. We’re both too stubborn and we both think we’re right and the other person is too relaxed (what my dad thinks of me) or that they’re too stressed out (what I think of my dad). On the ride to Naples I am listening to music and watching the power lines dance outside the window. I am noticing the scenery and watching my dad try to communicate with another man in our compartment. Southern Italy looks mostly rural and run down, though, it’s charming in a way. It’s not like rural Texas. The buildings are really old and there are mountains everywhere. I can almost imagine what it would be like hundreds of years ago. We round a bend and I can see the coast for the first time. The water is blue! Houses perch upon white cliffs and mountains. I wish it looked like this in my region. There is also a mother and her two sons in our compartment. The goofy boy starts saying, in Italian, that we’re stupid for not understanding him. I don’t know much Italian, but I know his words. I thought he was a cute kid for most of the ride, but then I start hating him.

In Naples my dad and I continue our arguments trying to find the place where we rent a car. I notice instantly that Naples is busy and dirty, at least compared to Rome. It generally has a metallic, smoky, gray-brown tinge to it. We get a Ford Fiesta, an American car that I’ve never even seen in America. It’s the first American car I see in Europe. My dad was panicked driving in downtown Naples and I can’t blame him because it’s chaos. It’s the scariest place to drive I’ve ever seen—worse than NYC, Rom or Mexico City. Basically there aren’t any rules. No lanes, stop lights don’t matter, people walk right out in front of car, people beep to get through intersections, buses and trains are running on the same roads as cars. It’s completely out of control. Luckily we navigate our way out quickly and enjoy the fast, but more organized, autostrada. It was apparently about 100km to Caposele, the hometown. We go through Salerno and past Pompeii and I wish we could stop, but the hometown is too important. As time goes on I’m getting hungrier and grumpier. I haven’t eaten anything since the small bowl of cereal and unrefrigerated milk from breakfast. More travel arguments begin. We are supposed to turn off the autostrada on to the superstrada, but we miss a turn and go into a town. Asking for directions is usually failure since we don’t speak Italian. We think we’re on the right road, just going through mountain town after mountain town. It’s taking forever. We start seeing signs for our town. We follow the arrows one way, but they’re wrong. It’s a series of hairpin turns through mountains with wooden railings that would never keep a car in if it were to tumble over a ledge. Our little manual car is chugging along. Finally a sign welcomes us to Caposele. I’m trying to take it all in, but it’s just an ugly street with some run down buildings. We find an old man. My dad tries to explain we’re looking for our family. He tells the man our family names, Merola and Sisto. Predictably, he has no idea what we’re saying. He gets a woman who understands a tiny bit of English. Little do we know it’s Caramela who will be our unofficial guide for the rest of the time in Caposele. She tells us there are many, many Merolas and Sistas in the town. We also find out Merola is actually pronounced MEH-roll-uh instead of mur-OH-luh. The name Sisto, which was my great-grandma’s maiden name, is actually Sista. We guessed they changed it at Ellis Island for some reason. We graciously follow Caramela’s old, gray Fiat Uno into the new part of town, which has a huge basilica and a bunch of shops, restaurants and markets. She talks to a few people and takes us to a couple of homes. No one speaks English, but we keep trying to communicate and find someone who may be distantly related.

I start noticing the people there. Many have the same eye color as me. They are brown, but a different shade than most people, more like a gold-brown. Caramela has them, my dad has them, my grandpa has them, and I have them, along with a bunch of other Italians. I also see a little girl, maybe 6 or 7, walking around with hairy legs! Mine used to be the same way even as a small girl and I always hated it. Many of the people have darker skin; I am still distinctly lighter than everyone else. I notice gardens, something my grandpa always had, and something I find out from my dad, my great-grandpa always had. (Side note: I never actually knew my great-grandparents who were from Caposele. They died in the 1970s, but I’ve always heard a lot about them.) I notice the beautiful mountains all over the place.

We are told there are about 4500 people in the town. Finally we come to the “Ristorante American”. I thought it might be a joke, but there is a man there, Tommas, who knew my great-grandpa, Salvatore Merola, who immigrated to America. Tommas knew him in Newark, where they both lived at the time. Tommas moved back to Caposele in 1983 and started the Ristorante America and the hotel above it. Fortunately he actually spoke English fluently. We met his wife who cooks at the restaurant, who is from Calabria, in the very southern tip of the country. Another man comes over who speaks English and lived in Newark for some time. Everyone is stereotypically Italian! Old men have gold jewelry, slicked gray hair, pointy leather shoes with small heels, thin button-up shirts tucked in with a leather belt holding up their slacks over their bellies. They’re not all fat, but the people here do tend to be shorter and stockier. The men talk all about the streets and places in the Italian neighborhood in Newark. My dad tells me the people in Caposele remind him of his grandparents and all the Italian people who lived in his neighborhood as a child. He calls my grandpa in New Jersey to have him talk in Italian to some of the people, since we have a difficult time communicating. It feels good to know that technology is allowing my 70-something-year-old grandpa to talk to people who live in the town his parents were from. No one has ever been back except my grandpa’s cousin, Nicci Sisto. Tommas also knows Nicci and knew my dad’s Aunt Julia who immigrated to Newark from Caposele. We end up staying at Tommas’ hotel upstairs and eating dinner at the restaurant in celebration of the festival that will take place the next day.

The first Sunday in September is a VERY important day in the town. The people of Caposele celebrate their patron saint, San Gerardo, that day. The bigger festival happens to be October 15-16, but they also celebrate in September because it’s right before school begins. It is especially pertinent because besides San Gerardo being the saint for the town, he was also my grandma’s patron saint because her birthday was October 15. She died on her birthday, too. San Gerardo was from Caposele and his remains are in the tower of the basilica. We are told about 4000 more people come to town to celebrate San Gerardo, and during the big festival as many as 10,000 will come to town.

Upstairs we find our connected rooms. They are old and very simple. There are huge windows that open to a balcony that looks out over the main street and the mountains. Finally dinner happens at 8PM. We hadn’t eaten since 9AM and were starving. We had homemade wine and the best meal of the trip: pasta fagiole. My dad and I have both tried making it ourselves but this tops them all. It’s a thick soup with beans and pasta. After dinner we contemplate walking around the town, since it is Saturday night, but I decide to go lay down for a few minutes first. I end up falling asleep in my clothes until the next morning.

Sunday morning I am woken before 8AM by explosions. I look out the open window to see puffs of smoke. Caposele isn’t under attack, but rather ready to start the celebration for San Gerardo. A few minutes later I hear a man singing in Italian. Before we go downstairs a band marches by the front door of the ristorante. We eat breakfast and go outside as the procession moves by on the street. A huge market is set up all along the main roads in town. The candy is most appealing, but people are also selling food, clothes, videos, kitchenware, trinkets and toys.

Caramela comes back for us later that morning with news that she’s found someone related to us. This is when we drive down the road to visit Pasqualina. We can’t completely understand each other and can’t exactly pinpoint how we’re related, but she treats us like family regardless. She lives by herself, a widow, in a little house with four rooms: two bedrooms, a kitchen and a living room. All are tiny. She’s a tiny woman. We sit in her living room trying to make sense of her relation to us. Caramela is trying to translate but her English isn’t sufficient. Pasqualina’s last name is Merola, but only because her late husband had been a Merola. I’m pretty sure we’re related somehow, but pretty sure the relation is distant. Caramela takes us to the town church while Pasqualina stays home. We go inside and look at the museum for San Gerardo and see the steps that lead to the place where is remains are. There are things he owned inside and tons of paintings of him. Inside a priest is praying and people kneel. Townspeople reach out to touch and kiss his statue, which is prominently on display. We walk around the market more and go back to the hotel for a rest.

The night before my dad had talked about canceling our night in Capri so we could stay in Caposele an extra night. I was freaking out because the first night I just wanted to come and go. However, the second day Caposele grew on me. The people we met there were so nice to us, even though we could hardly communicate. The town was so beautiful and simple. I still love big cities, like Rome, much more than sleepy mountain towns, but Caposele has a lot to offer in its own way. It feels real. No one’s trying to rip you off, there aren’t tourists, things are fresh and life is simple. People were already asking when we’d come back to visit.

We go back to Pasqualina’s for dinner at about 5pm, little do we know dinner is a long way off. First, Pasqualina calls her aunt in New Jersey. Her aunt says there is no relation, but we’re so confused because Tommas is telling us Pasqualina is my dad’s grandma’s niece. Trying to talk to these people is so hard. This is keeping in mind that Tommas is the only person who speaks English fluently.

After giving up on figuring out our relations and just saying, “Hey, we’re all Italians!” we went to watch San Gerardo’s procession go through town. There were hundreds of people gathered all worked up into a tizzy for the arrival of the town’s biggest celebrity. The statue makes its way through the crowd and is hoisted up onto a float. People are giving their handkerchiefs and water bottles and babies to touch the statue for blessing. Pasqualina is standing next to me singing their religious song and wiping her eyes, as many older women are also doing. Eventually as many people as can fit load onto the float and it leaves to make its way through some of the smaller towns in the area.


Pasqualina starts cooking dinner when we get back to her house. My dad and I wait in the living room and she comes in after while to show us her pasta. She’s making it by hand! We go in the kitchen to watch her. It’s such an interesting process. You have to roll the semolina dough and then cut it into a longer roll and then roll it out thinner until it’s a long rope that you can wrap up around your hand like a hose. Then you pull it through you hands to makes longer strings. I really want to try myself when I get back home. It was such a stereotypical scene. We’re in southern Italy watching a short old lady in a white apron making pasta on her old wooden table in her tiny kitchen. Her kitchen window, with red gingham curtains, is open, the sun is setting outside with a cool breeze coming in. Old school to the max. We’re trying our best to make conversation with her, but we can’t, especially since Caramela had to go home for a little bit. After the pasta’s done, and my dad and I are about to eat our arms off because we’re so hungry, Pasqualina gets up and put on her shoes and gets her purse. We’re going back out to see the procession return. There are supposed to be fireworks, but they are not allowed since the area is having a drought and wild fires.

Finally we go back to her house for dinner. By this time I’m sure anything will taste good to me, especially homemade pasta bologenese. We set the table assuming there will be three, but Pasqualina starts giving us all of her silverware. The whole family is coming over! Her kids and their families and their husbands’/wives’ parents. Everyone is crammed into her tiny living room. My dad and I eat the pasta and bread and cheese and dried meats and melon. Pasqualina forces us to eat more even after we’re full. It was delicious. Then she gave my dad a hunk of supersage (dried meat) to take home. We meet her family, who is also somehow related to us. Someone else there speaks English so we’re actually able to communicate with people again. It was a really happy night. Everyone was so welcoming and excited we were there. I couldn’t feel completely integrated, but it was still good. Before the night was over Caramela came back to say goodbye and we all exchanged addresses in order to stay in contact. I said goodbye hoping to see everyone again, but knowing that I likely would not.

Houston, Amsterdam, begin Rome

This trip started out with procrastination. What was happening didn’t really hit me until I was in the car on the way to the airport with my mom. My friend Tina called me to tell me goodbye and said how jealous she was of me. Then I realized...I’m going to Europe. For four months! I’d been in Austin visiting friends right up until I had to leave. I drove back to Houston and packed for almost 24 hours straight. The day I left I was feeling sick, which made me hesitant to eat any plane food, even though I was dying of hunger. I ate their rinky-dink microwave dinner and soggy croissant. I listened to a lot of music and tried, unsuccessfully, to sleep.

The Schipol airport in Amsterdam was immediately confusing to my dad and I. We couldn’t read anything. My dad eventually started making fun of the language saying it was just an exaggeration of English words with a stereotypical accent. We saw a sign for a “psycholoog” or something. We had an 8-hour layover and couldn’t get on an earlier flight so we took a train into the city.

If we’d been confused in the airport, the city was worse. We wandered around looking for a place to eat lunch. We tried to find a place with traditional Dutch food, but we weren’t exactly sure what it would be. We found a little something at a cafe and had a type of Dutch soup and breakfast with eggs, ham and bread.

For the rest of the day we just walked around, noticed people, went in a few shops an talked about our impressions of the city. You can, on occasion, faintly smell weed in the streets of Amsterdam, though it’s not really what I imagined. Most of the references to special “coffeeshops” are only in tourist shops where they sell post cards with high-looking frogs on them or something. I think I was expecting a dark place with red-lit smoke shops where clouds of smoke collected in the air. Amsterdam was actually beautiful and relatively clean. The people there were all really hip looking. The words and a lot of the furniture reminded me of IKEA. On the way to Rome in the plane I realized I could think of three songs that were called “Amsterdam”. There must be something magnetic about the city, besides the pot... On the downside it was cold, geographically monotonous (if that makes sense), and the people were rough-looking. It got really chilly towards the end of the day, like autumn in Texas. Then the monotony...it was just street after street of canal with two roads lined with shops and residences on both sides, thought it was lovely. There were a lot of bikes. Then the people...were not very attractive. Everyone was really harsh and kind of wrinkly, angular. Many of the women especially were masculine looking.

On the way back to the airport we missed our stop and had to go to the next town. Our plane was leaving in less than 1 ½ hours! Luckily some people told us how to get back. The good part: the next town had windmills! Classic Holland. We made it back to the airport in time. Starting on the train ride back from Amsterdam I started falling asleep every time I sat down. On the flight to Rome I finally got to sleep after being awake for more than 24 hours. The time difference is wacky. Even right now it’s 1:30AM here in Rome...I am looking at my computer clock, unchanged from Texas time; it’s only 6:30PM there. I started getting really grumpy after we got off the flight in Rome. I had all my luggage for four months with me. We were desperately trying to find place to store it in the airport but everything was empty-ish because it was so late at night. We finally put the luggage away then I had three heavy bags. We got to the last train departing from the airport right before it left. I was SOOO tired and my bags were really heavy and not fitting easily into the train compartment. Then my dad started talking to the people in there. (He talks to everyone, even if they don’t speak English!) I was falling asleep with my mouth hanging open...drool about to cascade down onto my sweaty hoodie. I’m sure it was an attractive sight. We got into Rome at about midnight and luckily the hostel was a “5-minute walk”. Well, we couldn’t find it ANYWHERE. We kept asking the lonely souls out on the streets for directions. The people were usually half right but we finally got to this area and people kept point us to this one street. We walked around for more than 30 minutes. I was so tired and so pissed. Then, I spotted it. It’s hard because in Europe there aren’t any street signs and the address numbers are located indiscreetly on the buildings with small tiles. There was no signage for our hostel either. Once were in, there were two flights of stairs to the floor the hostel is on. Ugh. My dad carried one of my bags. My hands were blistered. I was sweating so badly. I was about to pass out. The people at this hostel are really nice and give free wine and food whenever. I passed out so hard the first night. The room is hot and without AC and can be inhabited by four other people, but I didn’t care that night. I sleep on the top bunk next to a window that opens out to other windows across a narrow street. People hang laundry out their windows. It’s so cute. The bed sheets are like toilet paper.

Thursday we toured the city. The morning started out bad. I think I was still cranky from the night before. We walked around for almost two hours and ended up in the same place. Neither of us could get a sense of direction. We even walked off the map once. After a morning of disappointment and seeing the, frankly, shitty part of Rome we ran into a man at Termini station offering tours. We reluctantly followed him down the street to his office and got on a sightseeing tour of the city. It ended up being a really good deal. We saw all of the big sites and got off the bus for the best ones. We spent awhile at the Coliseum. My dad and I were trying to understand what it would have been like during its peak, but it was hard to get a good idea. We walked around Piazza Navona where dad dropped his Nutella gelato and everyone laughed at him. Then we spent the evening in the area of Rome where “La Dolce Vita” of the 1960s happened. We saw the Spanish Steps, Via Spagna and Trevi Fountain. Rome is absolutely beautiful. It’s not like I feel like I’m walking around in a picture or in a movie, it seems so normal, but when I think of it out of context it’s almost surreal. Everything is fascinating to look at, including Europeans. I am fascinated by them completely. We went to get coffee/beer at a cafe and wanted to find a place for a non-touristy dinner. Our waiter recommended a place further away in Trastevere. He said it was the best place he’d even eaten at in Rome and one of the best places for wine in all of Europe. We took a cab across the Tevere to Trastevere, which is a younger part of Rome across the river with many restaurants and bars. It didn’t seem like a touristy area.

We went into dinner between 8:30-9:00PM and stayed till 10:30PM. It was an excellent meal. Too fancy maybe. We split a “cheap” bottled of wine that was 30€. The lady seemed pissed we wouldn’t buy something better. Neither my dad nor I are very knowledgeable or picky about wine so we didn’t care. It was so great though...called Sum from the Puglia region of southern Italy. We had an appetizer and some entrees, pasta and fish. All served very decoratively. It was such a hip place, my dad doesn’t seem to fit in so well in modern places. He has more of a classic or traditional look. :) Either way, the food was delicious. At the end of the meal we still had some wine so we ordered a plate of hard Italian cheeses. They came out with at least five kinds and some sides of honey, berry sauce and fig sauce for dipping. I was proud of myself for liking “grown up” food. Haha. Hard cheese with fig puree and red wine. I loved it. We walked around in Trastevere for a while. There were so many young people! It made me miss Austin. Trastevere is like a 6th Street, but 100 times more European in narrow cobbled streets. Instead of bars there are sidewalk cafes with chairs outside of them and people sitting in large groups drinking wine and beer and smoking cigarettes. It was so appealing. I could only hope Barcelona would somehow be similar.

When I got home my feet hurt in a way that scared me. My shoes hold up quite well in Austin but it’s different in Europe. I stayed up for awhile at the hostel meeting some of the other travelers: Canadians, Americans, Mexicans and an Asian. They have great stories and advice.

Basically, this place is amazing. It’s still surreal that I’m actually here and this is happening. It’s hard to believe the vacation isn’t ending when I leave Italy. Though it’s great because I can see how much I love Europe and travel around knowing that I get to stay here and live here for a few months after the Italy vacation is over. I already know I need to come back here to see more stuff.

I'm here! I'm in love!

So things are going to get a little bit out of order and behind since I've been without internet access and time the past ten days. I'll try to catch myself up. I'm actually in Barcelona right now. I finally moved in with my host mom this afternoon. I LOVE IT HERE! I love where I live, it's like from a movie! Heehehe! ¡Barcelona es guay!