There was no other way, I swear.

So I know that I haven’t been keeping up with blogging AT
ALL the whole trip, and I still need to write the blogs from the rest of the Eurotrip…
but today’s story can’t wait.

Lea decided that she wanted to go to Bilbao this weekend,
but the trip seemed a little too pricey for Morgan and me because we spent more
than expected on our eurotrip. We decide we would go on a day trip to one of
the cities that is closer so we wouldn’t have to spend another weekend in
Salamanca. I did a teeny bit of research on the surrounding towns and after a
game of eenie-meenie-miney-mo, I picked Bejar. So this morning (Sunday) we walk
to the bus station at 9 hoping to get on the 9:30 bus. The ticket counter is
closed until 10:30. Luckily, we know we could by a ticket on the bus, so we do.
It costs us 5.5 euros. We know the ride would take about an hour. We sit down
next to each other about 6 rows back: first bad decision. I take the window seat:
second bad decision. I look out the window for the first 20 minutes: third bad
decision. I move up two rows, get out my cold water bottle, and press it to my
face: my only good decisions. As we got closer to Bejar, I feel myself getting
sicker and sicker. The route is A LOT like highway 7 in Arkansas. Hairpin
turns, curves, and hills. I put in my headphones and try to think about other
things. About 10 minutes later, I sit straight up and try with every ounce of
me to not think about how dizzy I am.

My lips start to curl back. My heart is pounding. I am
completely clammy.  I am trying to devise
a plan… when it happens. What I am about to tell you might have too much detail,
and for that I apologize… my mouth suddenly fills with strawberry vomit. I
immediately regret my breakfast decision. With no other choice, I swallow the
mouthful. Victory. Unfortunately, I am so grossed out by what has happened that
it happens again. I manage to swallow again, knowing we are very close to the
station. For the third time, my mouth fills with vomit. This time however, I am
not a trooper. This time, I gag twice in a row. Unable to hold it in, I lean
forward and to the side and vomit onto the floor. I vomited. I puked. I ralped.
I tossed my cookies. ON THE FLOOR OF THE BUS. No less than 3 minutes later, the
driver pulls into the station. The man next to me is staring. My hand, sleeve,
mouth, and part of my backpack all have a little bit of icky on them.  Morgan gets out the napkins from our lunches
that we packed; luckily there are a lot. I sop up what I can and stuff them in
the now emptied plastic bag. As the driver starts pulling out, I yell at him to
stop and let us off. He sighs and opens the door for a second time. Little does
he know…

We run off the bus and I threw away the barf bag. The
bathroom OF COURSE has no soap. I rinse my hand and sleeve under the sink. Ew.
I drink some water and that is that. Morgan says I look like a ghost. Even my
lips are pale. Already, I am laughing about it. I REALLY lose it when Morgan
informs me that it sounded like I threw soup onto the floor.

We walk out of the bus station and start looking for a map. Just
outside the station, we find a cute, sweet little park with a gazebo and a
music stage. We find the office of tourism and a very nice lady tells us the
best places to go and even highlights the routes on the map. The first place we
head towards is a park with free admission. It closes at two, so we decided to
go there first. We stop at a kiosko to get some bread to settle my stomach. It
is fresh out of the oven and still hot. YUM.  The trek to the park is straight uphill but
has a spectacular view of the mountains. The park is my favorite thing of the
day! It is has a man-made, square lake with a gazebo that seems as if it is floating
in the middle. It has fountains galore and garden upon garden filled with GIANT
trees and flowers. We eat the rest of our bread there and form a plan of action
for the rest of the day. We walk back down the hill, towards the city center
again, where we start towards the “Plaza del Toro,” the bull fighting arena.
Bejar is home to what is said to be the oldest bull fighting arena in all of
Spain, and it is a mere 70km from Salamanca! The hike up that hill takes even
longer, but it is very worth it.

On the way back down, we start to get very hungry. We
stopped at a café closer to town, and order hamburgers and French fries…
typical Americans, right? Hey! We were tourists today after all. Well, as punishment
for ordering American food in Spain, the waitress brought us two unrecognizable
things. Morgan nails it on the head when she says, “this is a Spam burger.” I
eat two bites. The French fries, however, are delicious! We start making our
way to the plaza mayor, past a ton of churches, old buildings, and jolly
people. We finally make it to the end of this walk at the Murallas: a series of
old buildings, what’s left of the city wall, and a palace.

We turn and head toward the river and the “Rua de texiles,”
or the route of the textiles. Bejar used to be known for its numerous textile
mills. For those of you Arkansans, the mills remind me a whole lot of driving
past dogpatch USA on hwy 7. It is a series of old abandoned buildings with
busted out windows at the bottom of a ravine. Very cool though. We head back
towards town via the river. There is a walking trail that runs along the river.
Dad… don’t freak out at this part, but about half way back to town a ginormous black
snake slithers across our path and into the brush. Omigosh. I scream like a
6-year-old and jump 10 feet in the air. Don’t try and feed me all that “they’re
more scared of you than you are of them” mumbo jumbo. It scared the living
daylights out of me, so I can only imagine how scared our scaly friend was. Almost
immediately after seeing the snake, a huge, Colonel-sized St. Bernard appears
out of nowhere and starts bounding towards us barking his biggest bark. Great,
snake food or dog food. Morgan squats down in an attempt to look less
threatening and he wags his tail and runs away. We skidaddle out of the river
area and go back to the train station. We are able to hop on the 6 pm bus with
no problem, but is absolutely full. Not wanting to take a risk of a round two,
I immediately put in my headphones and pass smooth out. 45 minutes later, I
open my eyes, and here we are, back in Salamanca, where it is pouring down
rain. We walk back home, eat some leftovers in the fridge, and here I am!

My shower tonight will be WELL appreciated.

Haha… you said wee wee.

Let’s start at the very beginning… a very fine place to start.

But really… I don’t know how to start, so I am just going to jump in.

We start our journey in the Salamanca train station with our not-yet-dog-eared Eurail passes and maps in hand and snack-packed back packs strapped onto us. Being that all the trains to Paris are full, we hop on a regional train to Hendaye, France instead. This is my first train ride ever. The first stop we make is at a station called “Medina del campo,” which I understand as “Middle of the country.” We have stumbled into the boonies of Spain. Our seats are in the rows that directly face other rows. It is sort of hard to explain. Morgan, Lea, and I sat in a row, the two of them on one side of the aisle with me on the other. Directly in front of us is another row of seats, but not airplane style… The row faces us and there is roughly a foot between the edge of my seat and the one in front of me. I put my backpack in the seat across from me, hoping no one will sit in it. Much to my discomfort a tall, thin red headed girl with hair down to her waist sits directly in front of me. You would think this would be no big deal. But in order to sit comfortably, we have to strategically place her right knee between my knees, and her left knee on the outside of my right knee, which is in between her knees. SO awkward. Anyway, we soon discover that there is a restaurant compartment in which we can freely move around. We relocate there and eat the sandwiches that our host mom sent with us. When we arrive in Hendaye, we strike up conversation in the ticket line with a group of students from Wisconsin. It doesn’t take too long for them to comment on our accents and use of “y’all.” But, seriously? Wiscaaansin? We could talk about accents all day J

The group tells us that we are close to a beach. After we buy our overnight tickets from Paris to Munich from a very curt French woman at the ticket counter, we take a picture of the city map with my camera and hit the city. It takes us about 20 minutes to get to the beach, and we have a 5 hour layover until our next train to Paris. We eat dinner at a fantastic beach-themed pizzeria. We stand outside of said pizzeria for at least five or ten minutes trying to understand bits and pieces of the French menu that resemble Spanish words. A man with a gold hoop in one ear approaches us and says “need help?” It is the owner of the restaurant. He is fabulous. He helps us order and makes THE BEST PIZZA EVER. SARAH… it might be better than armando’s in Cuernavaca. It is THAT good. We have a chicken and artichoke pizza, and a four cheese pizza. Yes… three girls finish two pizzas. We also have dessert. Spain hasn’t really managed to strike my fancy as far as desserts go, but France? YUM. We have chocolate cake drizzled with chocolate sauce and white cream. Hendaye has the most beautiful beach, and we end up there by accident! Had we taken the fast train from Madrid to Paris, we never would have seen it! We play in the water, though it is a little chilly, and take fun pictures. The sky is a spectacular blue filled with cottony clouds, and the water is so clear sitting atop the sand that it reflects the sky like a mirror covering the entire ground as far as we can see. We stand in awe of the Bay of Biscay (had to look that one up), until it is time to go back to the station… and then begins our streak of icky night trains.

This particular night train is not compartment style. At first we don’t like that, but after we realize compartment seats do not recline, we are thankful to be in a big train car. The train car is huge, maybe 40 people or so, airplane style, two rows of two seats. A TERRIBLY stinky man sits behind Lea and talks to a friend before the train leaves the station. Luckily, this is not his seat and he moves… his stench, however, lingers for quite a while. Though the seats do not belong to stinky man, they do belong to a portly, un-groomed fellow, an older woman, and a very, very sick baby. In all my days of babysitting and working in the nursery at church, I have never ever heard a baby with a cough like this one. While I feel sorry for the little one, I also feel sorry for everyone in the train car because she cries all night, the entire 11 hours, only interrupting herself with that terrible wet, flemmy cough. Also, in the middle of the night, I manage to break the train. I have my foot propped on the tiny trashcan on the wall next to me, and all of the sudden it crashes to the floor. Of course it is metal, so the clatter stirs the entire cabin. We burst out of the train with relief upon arriving in Paris very early, and we are very hungry. We set off in search of the Louvre and some breakfast. We stop at a very cute bakery and order drinks and something very different, but delicious. It looks like a regular loaf of bread, but normal it is not. It has CHOCOLATE CHIPS in it. I have been scouring the city of Salamanca for chocolate chips since we got here to no avail. The three of us eat our own mini loaf of chocolate chip bread while walking towards the Louvre… we think. None of the street names look the same as the ones in our map. We finish our breakfast and throw it away in the closest wastebasket (Paris has many, so it’s really clean), thinking nothing of it. Soon, we ask Morgan to look at the map again. She can’t find it. We then realize that when she tossed out the breakfast bag, she also threw away the map that was inside. We traced our steps back to the trashcan, and brave Morgan pulls out the bag (it was still on top), retrieves the map, and we start trying to find our way again. We are TOTALLY lost at this point. Luckily, a young man says “Hello Friends!!” from up ahead. He is tall, French, and kind of scruffy. He is repairing what we like to call “space bathrooms.” They are like port-a-potties, but they are nicer and around the city. Nice? No, nicer than the Pope County Fair potties? Yes. They also cost money, and the little building looks like a rocketship, hence the name space bathrooms. Anyway, we ask him how to get there and he says that we are on the opposite side of town. He tells us the metro stations are easy to navigate (lie) and that it is cheap to buy single voyage tickets (lie) and that you only need one ticket per trip (lie). He was really really sweet, but mistaken about the metro station. We buy a packet of metro tickets from a disgruntled employee and stand totally befuddled in front of the metro map. A very sweet girl eventually comes along and tells us which trains to take and where to get off to get to the Louvre. Soooooo, we finally make it to the Louvre and it is FANTASTIC! I mean, how many times do you get to stand in front of THE Mona Lisa? So many of the paintings I have studied in classes before and I am actually standing right in front of them. I didn’t realize that the Lourve was that incredibly massive. If any of y’all ever go, allow a lot lot lot of time to see everything. You could get lost in there for days (especially if you’re the daughter of nerdy, museum-going, artsy parents).  From one of the windows we can see the Eiffel tower, and we start to get antsy to head that way. We leave the Lourve are tower-bound. We decide to stop at the Orsay museum so that we can be at the tower closer to night time. To be honest, I like the Orsay museum better than the Louvre. It’s collection of impressionist French paintings is absolutely incredible. They mostly house French art. The collection is made up of artists such as: Van Gogh, Renoir, Degas, Seurat, Sisley, Gaugin, Cezanne, Monet, and Manet. How could I not be in love with this place? I really wish that Dr. Ute could have been with us in Paris to comment on everything. After the Musee d’Orsay, we head off to the tower finally. I loved being able to actually stand in front of the Eiffel Tower. Even though we have to leave before nightfall, I am still amazed. I take the super-tourist route and eat crepe in front of the tower. We play around there for a while, and then we have to start heading back to the station. We go to the nearest metro station and realize we’ve run out of metro tickets. We have one left. As we realize this, a group of boys give us an idea. One guy uses a ticket, goes through the turnstile and holds the door open while the other three jump over. If they can do it, so can I. So I talk Lea into doing it to. Morgan decides that she can’t jump that high to get over, so she uses the ticket and waits for us to jump. I put my phone in my mouth and jump over, backpack and all. I will NEVER forget what happens next. After jumping, I turn around to make sure Lea made it okay, and there she is… Two feet caught in the turnstile, propped up on her arms, and her eyes as big as saucers. Her coat had wrapped around her arm and she got caught. I burst into laughter, and attempt to help by putting my hands under her arms like I’m picking up a baby, and eventually she makes it down. We all laugh forever and ever while she tells us that she saw her life flash before her eyes. Hahahahahahaha Best ending to a day in Paris. We are off to Munich on a night train… another icky experience.

I’ll start the Munich blog soon!

Horario

Just so y’all have an idea of how much I have to write about, I thought I would post a bulleted list of exactly where all we went during our 11 day adventure. Prepare yourself… Our journey begins in Salamanca.

1. Regional Train to Hedaye, France
2. 5 hours at the beach
3. Overnight regional train to Paris, France
4. 12 hours spent in Paris
5. Night train to Munich, Germany
6. 13 hours in Munich
7. Train to Salzburg, Austria
8. Spent night in hostel in Salzburg
9. Morning and afternoon in Salzburg
10. Back to Munich
11. Night train to Rome, Italy
12. 16 hours in Rome
13. Train from Rome to La Spezia, Italy (11:30pm to 5am)
14. Regional train from La Spezia to Monorola (cinque terre), Italy (5:15am)
15. Day in the five cities of Cinque Terre
16. Night in hostel in Monorola
17. Train to Pisa, Italy (10:45am)
18. Bus to leaning tower of Pisa
19. Train to Florence (2pm)
20. Train to Venice (4:30pm)
21. Evening in Venice
22. Night train to Munich (midnight to 6am)
23. Train to Geneva, Switzerland (12:34pm)
24. Stayed the night with a friend in Geneva
25. Train to Lyon, France (7:30am)
26. Transfer to Regional Train towards Avignon, France
27. Afternoon and night in hostel in Avignon
28. Regional Train to Narbonne, France (noon)
29. Regional Train to Carcassonne, France at (2:48)
30. French train companies are lazy (missed connection because of delay)
31. Regional train to Toulouse, France (5:30 pm)
32. Regional train to Lourdes, France (9pm)
33. Bus to Pau, France (11pm)
34. Arrive in Pau at 12:30
35. Homeless for a night (wandered around and then slept in train station)
36. Regional train to Dax, France (9:30 am)
37. Regional train to Hendaye, France (11:11am)
38. All trains full to Salamanca
39. 5 minute train across the border to Irun, Spain
40. Miraculous bus tickets to Salamanca at 3:30 pm
41. Arrive in Salamanca at 11:30pm Sunday night
42. School at 9am Monday morning

uhhhh yeah.

The time has come, the Walrus said

… to talk of many things

Our Eurotrip starts tomorrow, and I have so much to say about the past few weeks. I haven’t been in much of a writing mood lately, but I know that having these memories recorded will be important to me later. I also know that after we get back from touring Europe, a lot of the small funny things that have happened will be overshadowed by more recent experiences, so I have decided to spit out everything that I need to write in one MONSTROSITY of a blog post. Here we go…

I will start with the most recent. We all know I can be a total sap. Well, thanks to Beelo (my group of closest friend from Columbia), I demonstrated said sappiness today.  After a day at school that seemed to drag on forever, I came home to the most wonderful of surprises: an envelope addressed to ME from “Beelo!” I was ecstatic! So ecstatic, in fact, that I tore open the envelope like a mad womanà BAD idea. My terribly sweet, but sneaky friends decided to include one of my absolute favorite things in my surprise letter… Glitter (a.k.a. the herpes of the crafting world). Needless to say, the bathroom floor and counter now has a venereal disease that may be irreversible. I swept most of it up, but I know I will continue to discover pieces until my departure. To be honest, I’m not upset about that. When I step out of the shower and discover rainbow flecks on the bottoms of my feet, I’ll be reminded of the girls and our many late night crafting extravaganzas in Allie Smith’s Sweat Shop. Hopefully, our host mom and aunt support the arts. J Anyway, after dusting off what I could of the glitter, I flipped through the pictures that they enclosed. Of course, in this moment I realize that “Home” by Michael Buble is playing on my phone. Isn’t that like out of a Friend’s episode or something? That would happen to me. I then proceeded to read the letters that Allie, Lily, and Nicole sent. I LOVED all of them. The best part about them is that I could hear their voices as I read, especially the stories included by Nicole about a little boy in her Mom’s Kindergarten class that we love. Milubyoumihill. I HAVE THE BEST FRIENDS EVER. Like really. I love you guys SO MUCH, and I thought I would dedicate this part of my blog to you like a lame-o sap would.

                Having the best friends ever was especially helpful today. Yesterday was a whirlwind. We have had to dramatically change our Eurotrip plans. We bought unlimited Eurail passes about 3 weeks ago so that we would be able to travel on as many trains as we wanted to for our upcoming Easter vacation. We had an entire itinerary planned out riding night trains so as to not waste daytime and to save money by avoiding hostels/hotels. We went to the train station yesterday to reserve our train tickets, and the trains to Paris were full, with the exception of sleeper cabins which would have cost us around $100 a person. So, to make a long story short(er), we had to totally scrap our itinerary. So, what’s the plan you ask? Oh… we have no idea, actually. The man that worked at the desk was an absolute angel. He worked with us to get us to Paris a day late, and from there? We have no clue. We are going to hop regional trains and go/sleep where we can. The funny thing is, I am completely chill about the whole thing. In fact, this is kind of what I had in mind anyway. We are going to be REAL backpackers and go where the wind takes us by being at the mercy of available seats. We actually think that this will prove to be less stressful and maybe save money. I have never been a hobo before, but here we go! I think it will be an adventure!

Those of you who have had a conversation with my dad in the last 3 years or so, I am sure have heard his power grid theory. To spare you the long version… it is basically the theory that when “bad” or unexpected things happen and cause a change in plans, always be looking for something better because changed plans allow us to see and experience things that we would not have, had our plans not changed. So I am trusting God that he will show and teach us things that our itinerary may not have. We leave tomorrow at 10am my time, and come back sometime Sunday. I will try to periodically find WiFi and check in as much as I can, but I can’t promise anything. I am SO stoked.

So let’s move on to some funnier stuff.  First of all, let me say that I am loving learning about different cultures in addition to Spanish culture. We have made pretty close friends with a group of students from Taiwan, and we have had so much fun teaching and learning things about each of our cultures. Being true to my nature, most of the cultural teachings I have provided have been about food, the most hilarious being our discussion about Girl Scout Cookies. We were eating cookies with our friends in our apartment, and either Lea or Morgan said that the cookies we were eating were sort of like GS cookies but not as good. I nodded to agree, and didn’t think much of it until our friend Alicia said “what are Girl Scout cookies?” I think at this point I had to roll my tongue back up and re-hinge my jaw. “Whaaaat? How do you not know what a Girl Scout cookie is?!” We told her all about our favorite kinds and tried to explain how the girls sell cookies door to door and they have meetings and wear uniforms, but we couldn’t even seem to explain the concept of a fund raiser very well. By the end of our tangent, we were all drooling. The same day we were all poking around on our computers, and Alicia asked us “If you had to pick one singer that is the most popular from America, who would it be.” Well, geez. Who the heck am I supposed to pick. We started naming super stars in the music industry, and I said Michael Jackson. When I said that, she sort of wrinkled her nose and said “really?”     Um… Hello? Michael Jackson is the KING of pop music. So we started listening to songs of his and named a million more. The only song our friend knew was “We Are the World.” No wonder she wrinkled her nose. J

One time, we were playing BS with our friend, Alicia, with the cards that Lea brought from home. We decided on that game because the rules seemed the easiest to explain. Well, we were playing the game, and it had built up speed after she caught on to the rules. We went around in the circle: Ace, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and then it was Alicia’s turn. She said “two elevens.” We all looked at each other until I said “they’re jacks, and you’re bullshitting.” She realized what she had said and we laughed for a really long time.

Last week we got together with our friends and had a dinner party. We (the Americanas) made baked macaroni and cheese (Paula Deen’s recipe). We have had the hardest time finding cooking/baking ingredients. First of all, no one really bakes here as far as breads or desserts go. We couldn’t find baking powder, soda, or CHOCOLATE CHIPS the other day. No pecans either. We had to look in four grocery stores before we found cheddar cheese! The have about 65 billion kinds of cheese, but no cheddar. C’mon, Spain. Our friends from Taiwan have found a few specialty stores around the city to buy ingredients necessary for their recipes. They made a chicken dish that was like little chunks of chicken rolled in flour and deep fried, then covered with a red ginger-y, tomato-y, garlic-y sauce. They also made another dish that consisted of chicken chunks breaded in another type of breading and tapioca and then deep fried. They were SO good, and we got to eat with chopsticks!! Even the macaroni! I never thought I would have to teach someone the words “macaroni and cheese.” Doesn’t everyone know about mac and cheese? Nope. Not Spaniards either. One sort of silly thing that I am missing is plain ole’ kraft macaroni and cheese with that terribly fake (but delicious) cheese powder sauce. We’ve yet so see anything like it, but we were able to finally find peanut butter! Yay!

While on the subject of food, I’ve realized a common theme in Spanish Cuisine. They eat lots of babies. Not human babies, of course. But among the most popular dishes are lamb, suckling pig, and baby cow. When selecting the meat, talking about its quality, and determining the price, the value of the meat increases with how young the animal was at slaughter. We learned about this in my culture class last semester (I’m sure I looked mortified during the whole conversation). Our teacher said (in Spanish, of course) “if the lamb has stopped drinking its mother’s milk, it tastes much worse and is much tougher. It’s best to take them before weaning begins.” So what that means for this girl is that most of the pork I have been eating has in fact been baby Wilburs. I always comment on how I never like pork, but this pork is soooo tender blah blah blah.  Welp! In the words of Charlotte: “That’s some pig.”

I gave a presentation in my conversation class about the culture in my part of the world. Well, how could I have talked about the South without talking about food? When I got to that slide on my PowerPoint, a unanimous “mmmmm” echoed through the classroom. What was the weirdest part? Having to again explain macaroni and cheese, followed by gravy, collard greens, cornbread, biscuits, green bean casserole, and sweet potatoes. My professor’s face sort of wrinkled up and he said “did you mean to say that? A potato that is… sweet?” and I said “yeah, they are orange and their flavor is sweet. Most people like to put butter and cinnamon on it.” Saying that they were orange just seemed to confuse him more. He also did not know what I was saying when I tried to explain marshmallows. Also, on a funny side note, they do not eat chocolate Easter bunnies here… they eat Easter hens. I saw an entire display of them in the grocery store yesterday.

I’ve been learning a lot of funny colloquialisms since being here. I’ve chosen some of my favorites to explain. “Viejo verde” is the first one. “Viejo” means old, and “verde” means green, so when my professor started talking about green old people, I was SO confused and started laughing. “Why are the old people green?” I asked. She thought that was hilarious and started to explain what she meant. I still had no idea what she was saying, so I looked it up on my phone using www.spanishdict.com. The translation it gave me was “dirty old man.” Hahahahaha. The way she had tried to explain it is like “an old man that whistles at the teenaged or really young girls that walk by even though he is old, and he says inappropriate things.” Totally makes sense, but without context I was totally lost. I learned another one today: “mosquita muerte.” I learned it in literature. We are talking about 13^th - 15^th century literature and its common themes. It is during the transition period between the “edad media” (middle ages) and the “renacimiento” (renaissance). One of the themes we talked about today is the image of the woman in literature. We looked at an example of how women are portrayed as the basis of sin and the downfall of man. They talk about women as objects, or worse. We explored the topic of misogyny in literature and how the image of women got better in the transition during this time. Female characters started to have more depth and wit and are often described as “mosquitas muertes,” which literally translates to dead mosquito. To call a woman that is to say that she seems very innocent and virgin on the outside, but she is constantly plotting and men should watch out for her. She is very clever and uses her innocent outer shell to manipulate and climb to a better position. Also, she is probably a sex fiend and will at some point have a lover. A lot of the literature at this time was written by clergymen… it all seems a little erotic for a bunch of monks to be writing it. Right? I guess not. One of my favorite sayings I have learned is to be used when you accidently leave out a word while typing a paper or a worksheet or something. Our grammar professor said it yesterday when she had messed up on a worksheet she gave us. A classmate said “Carmen, isn’t this supposed to have ‘ya’ written right here before the blank.” And she said “Oh! La comí,” which means “oops! I ate it!” I love that! I have a ton more of sayings, but I will save them for later. That was another funny part of my presentation of the South was explaining funny Southernisms. How do I explain “full as a tick” in Spanish? Well… I managed it. Also “she could argue with a fence post, don’t bite off more than you can chew,” and a few more.

Seeing that this post is nearing 2,500 words, I am going to call it done. I still have many stories, but I have pieces of them written down so that I won’t forget to tell them! Keep harassing me about blogging. I know I need to!

Well, we leave tomorrow for Paris at 10:30 am, and I am not sure when I will get to talk to any of you again since we might be without WiFi for a while, but I promise to take lots and lots of pictures and tell all about it when I get back!

Jillie bean

One Worried Beelo

I know I have been slack about not blogging, so here goes nothin’. I have SO much to talk about that I am going to try to split it up over the next few days. I’ll start with our adventure to Porto since it is the most recent!

Our intensive language immersion month has come to an end. Our last classes were Tuesday, so we had the rest of the week and the weekend to do what ever we wanted. Lea and I decided to make our way over to PORTUGAL! I was itchin’ to see the beach, and Lea has wanted to see Portugal since before we left the States. So, we went down to the bus station and bought 2 tickets to Porto, Portugal. It is a beautiful city situated on either side of the Douro river and nestled up next to the Atlantic. It is the second largest city in Portugal and one of the oldest European centers. It is also a World Heritage Site, recognized by UNESCO. It is the city that port wine is named after. We had SO much fun!

We left in a hurry on Wednesday morning and rode the bus for a little over 6 hours into Portugal. What I didn’t realize was that, in my morning frenzy, I DID NOT pack my passport. At the border, policemen and Portuguese officials got onto the bus and started asking people for their passports. I realized that I didn’t have mine and panicked. I told them that I had forgotten it. I definitely thought that they were not going to let me go into Portugal, and at this point we were in the middle of nowhere. They scolded me a little for not traveling with my passport but accepted my driver’s license as a valid form of ID.

When we got there, it looked like the bus had just picked a street corner to drop us off. we had no idea where we were and had no map. Also, we do not speak a word of Portuguese with the exception of “Obrigada” which means thank you. We got in a taxi, showed them the card with the address of our hostel, and took off. We checked into the hostel called “Yellow House.” It was just that… A yellow house: three floors, two bathrooms, and LOTS of people. The fella that checked us in was named Marcus. Momma, he looked a lot like our cousin Ashton. His English was nearly perfect, and he also speaks Portuguese, Spanish, and probably more. We offered to take the tour of the hostel in Spanish because the girl who checked in after us did not speak English. We stayed on the second floor in a room with four sets of bunk beds. The girl’s bathroom was one floor up. It seemed to be only us, but soon after we settled in a guy walked into the room. He was tall and slender and had on a tight sweater and camel-colored pants. He walked in, changed his socks, grabbed a jar of olives from his bedside table, and began looking at a map and eating said olives. Every once in a while I would look up, and he would be staring at us. Honestly, he looked like a psycho. When Lea left the room, he asked me if I was from Georgia in broken English. I said no, and he asked where I was from. I said Arkansas but I study in South Carolina, and he said that he had visited there once before. He went on about how beautiful Sullivan’s Island was and that he was 16 when he went. He was German. He then proceeded to tell me all of the cities in America he had visited. He was an odd bird, that one. He sighed a lot and laughed to himself a lot, too. He wasn’t scary… Just very, very strange. He paced around the room for several minutes at a time, and when we asked him how long he was going to be in Portugal, he said he didn’t remember. We asked him what he liked about the city, and he said he didn’t know. We asked him what he had planned to see, and he said he didn’t know. We asked him if he was staying in porto or travelling around some, and he said he didn’t know. He knew nothing… Except how to eat olives and stare at us.

Anyway, we slept like the dead and woke up around 8am to eat breakfast (included at the hostel) and hit the city of Porto. The yellow house only had room for us on Wednesday night, so we left with all of our stuff to go to the city center, knowing that we couldn’t check into our next hostel until later in the afternoon. We bought bus tour tickets (a fantastic idea of Lea’s), and it was so much fun! Our tickets cost 19 euro (about 25 bucks) and it included unlimited bus tours for 2 days (there were three long tours), unlimited usage of the city buses for 2 days, a tour of the winery, and a boat tour of the Douro river from the eastern side up to the Atlantic. The buses were the double-decker kind, and we all got our own pair of headphones to plug into the seat in front of us to listen to an audio tour in one of eight languages. The tour choices were “Historic Porto,” “Castles of Porto,” and “Bridges of Porto.” All of the tours, but the bridges tour was my favorite. Porto has two bridges constructed by THE Gustave Eiffel (yes, as in the Eiffel tower). The first day, it was pretty windy, and a little chilly (especially on top of a double-decker bus), but I was so stoked to be there that I cinched my hood up around my face and stayed up top. I knew we were getting close to the Atlantic when my favorite salty, marshy smell filled my nose and whipped around my face. It got warmer as we got closer, and suddenly we rounded a corner to see the glittery ocean. I totally squealed like a school girl and gripped onto the railing as I leaned over the edge of the bus. Though the tours were hop on-hop off, we decided to take all of the tours first without stopping and then make our way back to see what we had  missed. At the end of our last tour, we looked at our map and started towards our second hostel. I am pretty sure we went around our elbows to get to our toenail on this journey, but we made it! The woman at the front desk was strange. She told us 101 stories about unrelated topics before she finally showed us to our room. At this hostel, Lea and I shared one room with a double bed. We even had our own shower and sink, but the toilet was shared with two other rooms. I had done a little research about traditional Portuguese food, and one dish that had caught our eye is called a Francesinha, which literally translates to little frenchie. The city of Porto, in particular, is known for this sandwich. It consists of two pieces of bread with 2 kinds of ham, 1 or 2 types of sausage, and a beef steak. It is topped with cheese and sometimes a fried egg, and then to melt the cheese, a molten beer-based tomato sauce is poured over the top, covering the sandwich and the bed of french fries it sits on. Sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen, right?… but a delicious heart attack it was. We asked the odd woman at the check in counter which restaurant has the best Frenchie, and she said that the number one restaurant for Francesinhas is very near to the hostel! We walked in, sat at the bar, stuffed our faces with Portuguese culture, and walked (scuffed, really) home… slowly, very slowly. The next morning, we hopped on the Historic Porto tour bus to cross the river for the boat tour and winery tour. We didn’t know that you had to call ahead to schedule the wine tour, and it would be another two hours until the next boat tour. A little miffed, we scheduled our tour for late afternoon and made sure that there would be a boat tour soon after. We walked back up to the first stop of the castle tour with the intention of heading to the beach. The next bus didn’t leave for another 45 minutes… more waiting. At least the weather was INCREDIBLE. It was the perfect not-too-hot, not-too-cold, walking around kind of weather. We ducked into the closest cafeteria and grabbed some delicious pizza. SO good. I also ordered a coca-cola light. Beware diet coke lovers of this world, coca cola light is NOT like diet coke. Oh, what I would do for a real diet coke. Anyway, We made it out to the beach and I got to wear a BIKINI. That’s right, I went from wearing a coat to a bikini in a matter of days. Take THAT, Salamanca. We people watched, laid around, and ate ice cream until it was time to hop the bus back to the river. I have never seen a coast like this one. Our first view of the ocean was from the Castillo de Queso, or castle of cheese. It is named after the rock formation on which it was built because it resembles a piece of cheese. From the top of the castle we could see coastline for miles. We could see huge fishing boats in the misty horizon. The beach was fairly packed because of the fabulous weather. Surfers, young and old, were everywhere (in wetsuits of course because the water was still icy). We also saw our fair share of men in speedos. Girls, don’t get excited. When I say men, I mean fully grown, hairy, old men. Wah Wah Wee Wow. Not such a good view. The beach has enormous rock formations every 50 yards or so on the castle side of the beach, and the side with less rocks had more beach goers because the water is more surfer friendly. Some of the bolder surfers got so close to the rocks before they would bail. Lea and I got nervous just watching them. We were sad to leave the beach but very excited to see the winery and boat tour.

The wine tour was short, but we got to taste both a white wine and a red wine at the end. I don’t think I had ever had port wine. It is very, very strong, but surprisingly sweet. I prefered the red to the white. We hurried over to the boat tour, and sat down next to a group of young guys. They looked about our age. One turned around and interrupted our conversation by asking me a question. They asked where we were from and I said the typical: “I am from Arkansas originally, but I go to school in South Carolina.” When I said “where are y’all from,” one fella leaned over to his friend, laughed, and said “did you notice what word she used?” It took me a minute, but I realized that YET AGAIN I was getting picked on for using the word y’all. oops. One guy was from Germany, two were from Austria and the last guy wanted us to guess where he was from. I had a feeling he was from the states, but I didn’t want to seem ignorant by saying so. I kept saying I didn’t know, but he finally told us he is from Minnesota.

After the boat tour, we stayed on the river side for dinner. Lea ate another Frenchie, and I had a hamburger and fries with another, equally as disappointing, coca cola light. The lights on the river side of Porto at night are stunning. I am so glad we decided to stay there until dark. We walked back to the hostel, crashed, and woke up the next day ready to go home. On the way to the bus station, we saw a store that sells cheap suitcases. I have been thinking that I might need another to come home. The suitcases in Salamanca are very expensive, and the ones in this store were around 20 euro. I bought one, paid for it, and put my backpack inside of it. We continued on towards the bus stop. With a victory high-five for the successful trip, we boarded the bus. Everything was dandy, until a police officer got on the bus asking for passports. My heart raced a little, hoping that he would be as flexible as the cops on the way in. I reached in my bag to pull out my wallet with my DL inside… It wasn’t until this moment that I realized I DID NOT have my wallet. Of course, I start rambling to Lea asking what I should do. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I felt like I might hurl. I got all my stuff off the bus, went into the ticket office, and asked what I should do since my wallet is missing. He said he would change my ticket for tomorrow, but that wouldn’t have helped me. I took off in a sprint towards the store that I bought the suitcase, knowing that it was the last place I had seen my wallet. When we got to the store, I began speaking Spanish to the store owner explaining what happened. She said that she hadn’t seen it, and she seemed frantic, sort of defensive. We were told that if we speak Spanish to Portuguese people, they understand. She understood me alright, but I only understood parts of what she said. I shuffled through the shelves I had been close to when I was there, but my wallet was nowhere to be found. I sprinted back to the bus station, and luckily the bus was still there with a couple of minutes to spare. I explained to the police officer that I had been robbed, starting to cry of course. He told me that I would have to go to the police station and file a report, which made me cry more. I told him that my passport was still in Salamanca, and he said that was better, and let me get on the bus. We got on the bus at 10:30 on the dot, which was the intended departure time. My wallet had my driver’s license, my student ID for Columbia College and for the university of Salamanca, my debit card, and about 30 euro (50 bucks). Luckily, the rest of my cash was stowed in a separate pocket in my backpack or I would have a major problem. I managed to doze off for about 45 minutes before the bus stopped, and more police got on. I explained my situation to one cop, then another, and then another who asked me to come with him. I had to get off the bus with literally only the shirt on my back. I asked if I was going to be able to get my stuff, and he told me to just follow him. At this point I am crying (again). He made me get into the police van, sit in this little chair, and wait for his boss. His boss was not very nice to me, and he made me answer like 5 million questions. They had to call the Spanish embassy and make sure that I am who I say I am, and the whole time, I just had to wait. They spoke Portuguese back and forth with each other and looked at me and pointed at papers. The worry wart in me was in total panic mode. They finally got the confirmation call they needed to let me go, and I was on my merry way.

We leave for our Eurotrip in NINE DAYS!! YAY!

I have cancelled my debit card and ordered a new one, so all is well. Plus, we are so psyched for our eurotrip. We took placement tests today for our new classes, and I’m not sure how I did. The last section was super hard, but my oral interview went well! Yay!

Anyway, that’s all for now. Much more stories to tell of the month-long blog dry spell. Coming soon. I promise.

A semi-homesick chick

Though I am having a blast, the past few days have brought out the homebody in me. I am still enjoying the sights, the microwave people, and most of the food, but there are just things (but mostly people) from home that I am missing.

Anyway, putting the crybaby in me aside, I have many stories to tell! First off, I am beginning to think that my internal clock will NEVER adjust to the time change. I have accepted the fact that I can’t fall asleep before at least 1 or 2 am, so I have been using a little of my afternoon free time to take naps. I have been quite enjoying my naps because my room has a window shade like I have never seen before. Lily, it puts good ole’ purple room darkening panel to shame. At even the brightest times during the day, my room can be pitch black.

My classroom experience is SO different here than in the states. For example, I am in classes with people from all over the world. All of us speak a different native language. This is interesting, but also it presents me with a challenge. When there is a word that one of my classmates or I do not understand, the professor can only use Spanish to explain the word. At home, though we try to use this technique, We often explain words by simply translating them to English. Here that is nearly impossible because none of us share a language to fall back on. Also, some of my classmates are very… different that I am used to. The first and most obvious difference is that I have not studied with male counterparts since high school. Being outside of the women’s college environment is a change that I did not expect to affect me. However, it has been a strange adjustment. Just a little example: yesterday in conversation class we did an exercise in which we pretended that an atomic bomb had gone off and wiped out the entire population with the exception of 20 people. There was an airplane to take people to the only island with land that could support human life left on the earth. The catch, of course, is that the plane only had 7 seats. We had a list of all the survivors, their jobs/abilities, their gender, and their ages. It was our job to decide who goes, who stays, and why in groups of three. After the groups of three had decided, we consolidated with another group of three, compared lists, and compromised to make a new list. I was first in a group with 2 guys from Japan, and then our group merged with a group made up of one American guy, a French guy, and a man from Wales… Plus me. The only girl. They had chosen (very quickly might I add) the 23-year-old blonde bombshell, a biologist who specializes in agriculture (female 26), and an economist (27 female). This was only after selecting the males: a 26-year-old soldier, the leader of an African tribe (36) , a 50-year-old Psychiatrist, and a Judge, I think. When they explained why they chose the women the answer was “we picked the youngest because they’ll have the best chance of having the most children.” I understand we’re repopulating the world here, but really? You have nothing to say about her abilities? Oh well. Ps. Sorry Mom, Dad, Caroline, and the Stantons… The teachers and artists all got left behind.

On another note, I am learning little saying here and there in both Japanese and Chinese. I really like my Japanese friends. The way they dress is too cute. Also, the boys wear cardigans and man bags and square frame glasses There is a guy in my class named “Paco” because no one can pronounce his chinese name. He is too cool for school… according to him. He has a really dry sense of humor that kills me. At first, I thought he was an arrogant jerk, but he isn’t. He is actually super friendly. He’s very smart too. He speaks like 5 languages. Another student with a tude is in my culture class. He is French, and I can never remember his name. He has Edward Cullen hair. Like maybe he stuck his thumb in a light socket. He also wears paisley scarves, keds, and really tight pants. He has a beard but really its just a scruff. He never talks. Maybe he’s a vampire. He is as pale as I am at least, and his hair is almost black. He’s terribly handsome, but antisocial.

Today, something SO weird happened. There is a group of students here from Gabon. It is the place in Africa where they speak french. They are very funny and outspoken, especially in comparison with the seemingly cold Spanish people. Every day, they practically corner me, asking me where in the states I am from etc. Well, today one of the guys asked to take a picture with me. I barely know them, but whatever. It didn’t bother me. But then, you’ll never guess what happened!! Each one of them, one by one, asked to take a picture with me. It’s like they lined up for it. SO weird. I was beginning to wonder if I had something in my teeth or something. 

Anyway, You all know this Tuesday was fat Tuesday. Well, in Spain, they don’t celebrate fat Tuesday… They celebrate the ENTIRE week leading up to ash Wednesday by partying and dressing up in costumes. We have seen every kind of costume, but most people were pirates. Last week, when we were in the Plaza mayor in the center of town, there was a festival going on for the Bolivian citizens of Spain. After the parade passed, a man in a Mickey Mouse costume emerged from the crowd. He had been staring at us for about a minute at this point. He was with a friend, and both Mickey and the friend smelled like beer. Mickey invited us to go to a bar with them. We agreed, and when we got to the bar, we realized what was going on. Another hoard of his friends were there all wearing MATCHING t-shirts. We had been invited to a bachelor party!!! Mickey Mouse is getting married this weekend! He stood next to me for the next 20 minutes telling me how pretty I am and toasting “to being pretty.” His friends talked to us for a while about why we are here etc. They were nice, but Mickey was insane. We finished our beers and left.  

The weather is starting to get a little better. We still wear coats and scarves, but I am not having to wear gloves and my face doesn’t freeze. I don’t know if it is the change in weather or what, but my nose is completely stopped up. Luckily, I remembered to pack nose spray and allergy pills. I hope the difference in foliage doesn’t affect us much.

For those of you who don’t know, I am regularly checking Facebook and my CC email. Also, I figured out a way to text while I am here using WiFi. The app I am using gave me a new number completely. It is 1-803-596-0973. I can’t call on it, but I can text. Also, I like to skype people at night when I can’t sleep because it is a normal hour for y’all in the US of A. If you want to, you can add me. My user name is bagbyjillian. Also, for the proud owners of iPhone 4′s… I can still FACETIME

We have started hanging out more with our friends outside of class. The group of students from Taiwan are super cool. Yesterday, we had tapas and either wine or coffee. A couple girls tried the coffee with Bailey’s and really liked it. I tried a wine from Spain called a “Rioja.” It was tasty, as was my chicken and cream tostada with pimento sauce on top.

Wow that was a long post. Sorry! More pictures on FB to come!

Love,

Spanish Beelow (Jillian)

Microwave People

  

One of my favorite stories that my parents tell is about a certain family friend and the day he got a microwave. Now, we have had a microwave during all of my formative years as far as I remember, so it is crazy to me that at some point in time microwaves were new. This happened somewhere between 1985 and 1990, so it was all before I was even born. But we all know how a story can live on forever if it is told enough, and if you know my family, you know that we are story tellers… Hence this post. So this is where the story begins, our family friend (we’ll call him Gary) was new to the whole microwave thing. I suppose no one told him that heating a jelly donut inside a microwave would in fact not be the same as in a traditional oven. Never having used a microwave, he places a lone jelly donut inside what I’m sure is a monstrosity of a machine, closes the door, and sets the timer. Now, if I were to heat a donut, I would set the timer somewhere between 10 and 25 seconds and probably still would have to wait for it to cool off. Gary, however, thinks around five minutes to be sufficient. After those five minutes pass, Gary retrieves the donut from the microwave and bites square into the middle. Molten jelly coats the inside of his mouth and throat, its stickiness completely preventing him from remedying his problem. At this point, I’m sure, he is hopping around the kitchen attempting to scrape the boiling goo from his mouth. Legend has it, Gary cried for days as his mouth throbbed and peeled.

So why am I telling you this story? I often get caught up in ridiculous comparisons, and I am afraid this is one of them. Upon arriving in Spain, I was quick to make the observation/judgement that Spanish people are rude and far from helpful. Coming from the Southern states of America, it has proven to be a real culture shock to me interacting with people who refer to themselves as “personas secas y serias” or in English, dry, serious people. But I’ve come to find out, since being here a few days more, that the Spanish people I have encountered are a lot  like Gary’s jelly donut. How? I’ve always heard it said that microwaves heat food from the inside out, as proved by Gary. While the outside of the donut is seemingly cool, the inside is full of molten jelly. The more people I encounter, the more I “jelly” I can see, if you will. Not that their insides are scalding or harmful, as was the jelly in Gary’s case, but that they are so much more than their cool exteriors. Our house mother, Cristina, is a prime example. Yesterday, as the temperature continued to drop towards and eventually below freezing, our Mama reminded us (for the millionth time) to cover our necks and throats so we don’t “fall ill.” We told her we would wait until Sunday because we all forgot scarves. She said “No, eso no me sirve” which is like “No, that doesn’t work for me,” and she dug through her closets pulling out scarves for us to borrow. Mine is bright pink rabbit fur, so you know I am in heaven. Today, when we came home from school, on Morgan’s bed were three packages wrapped just alike. Inside were three silk scarves, all in our favorite colors that she had remembered from the day before. This is the jelly that I am talking about. The streets are filled with old, sweet couples. They are dressed to the nines, of course, and they sometimes get huffy when people walk in front of them. But I see them, linked arm in arm, him always holding her umbrella, taking her coat when they enter a restaurant, or standing slightly in front of her when the wind turns bitter; it peels off a layer.

Anyway, to get to the point, I’ve bitten into the donut that is Salamanca, and the jelly is stuck to me. I know, like Gary’s burns, I’ll be carrying these memories around with me for a long time. The difference is, I won’t be anxious to get rid of them.

At your service with corny writings,

Jillian

Wah Wah Wee Wow.

This city is AMAZING!

Everything is so beautiful! I don’t know if y’all know this, but my school here was founded in like 1216 or something like that. I’m pretty sure that I am studying at Hogwarts. Yesss. I keep interrupting my own sentences to comment on how pretty someone’s coat is, or wondering where she got that scarf, or asking if Morgan and Lea think she really rides show horses or if she just wears riding pants and boots because they’re pretty. Even the Little tiny kids wear dress coats. I have a fabulous houndstooth coat that wouldn’t fit in my suitcase… boo. Our mama Cristina tells us there is a market on Sunday where we can buy clothes for cheaper than usual. Maybe I’ll bring home a Spanish coat. Also, I need a scarf. The wind at night freezes my neck and also my ears go numb. I should start wearing a hat. Luckily, I crocheted a cute one before I left! Ps. If you’re reading this, Julie King, you can’t tease me about bringing two pairs of boots anymore! that’s all these people wear!

We drank cafe con leche yesterday afternoon, and let me tell you something… The coffee here has rocket fuel in it, I just know it. I was bouncing off the walls, which helped my jet lag. We watched the Spanish equivalent of Ricky Lake+ Maury last night with our Mom and our aunt. We saw a story about a man who lost his job and abandoned his wife and 4 kids out of shame, and now he is sorry. We saw a woman who is resentful of her mom who never gave her enough attention as a child. But best of all, we saw a story of a woman whose husband left her and she is in denial. Her best friend was there to encourage her to move on for her children’s sake. Touching it was… Especially for our aunt. First let me say that our aunt is maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She is miniature, and I love her already. She was so touched by the show, she actually cried. It was maybe the sweetest thing ever. Pictures of aunt Maruja soon to come! After the show last night, I took a shower that made me feel like a new woman. We were so grungy after a day of travel. I talked to Sarah on skype which was fun now that we are in the same time zone. Then I crashed. I was so tired that I don’t think I moved a muscle the entire night.

I awoke this morning to Cristina telling me that we don’t have school today! Yay! I rolled over and slept a little more. When I woke up, Cristina led me to the kitchen where she gave me a little orientation. She showed me where everything was, and then she insisted that I eat some of EVERYTHING. She kept saying “Come mas! Come fuerte y mucho!” Which is pretty much like “eat more! Eat a lot!” And good gravy, did I eat a lot. Then we left to adventure the city.

This is in the Plaza Mayor by our apartment

Our area of the city is all we’ve really seen, and it sure is breathtaking. After our long walk around the city, we went to the restaurant for lunch. It was really, really good today. I ate spaghetti first, and you’ll never guess what else. This one is for Caroline… They had a platter overflowing with artichoke hearts. Anyone that knows me knows that I looove artichokes. I was very pleased. Then Cristina came in, and it was all over. She always insists that we eat more. When we decline, she brings us more food anyway. She brought me a plate of some sort of beefy stew, and LILY you’re gonna die… It had asparagus in it! YUM. then she made us try the fried fish, which was delicious, but by this time I was about to explode. Then she brought us a plate of pears, which were also tasty. I made myself eat a few bites, and then I had to stop for fear of bursting, or worse. Granted, I only ate a little of each of these things, but still. Good gracious, a girl can only eat so much! Besides, the eating schedule is weird here. They eat lunch between 1:30 and 3:30 and then dinner from 8:30 till around 10, which is very late for me. We are getting used to it, though. Tomorrow we take our placement exams. Wish us luck!

Jillian

Ps. I posted more pictures on my Facebook.

Estoy Aqui

Well, Folks! I’m finally in Salamanca. The past 24 hours have been a whirlwind, but we made it. I still don’t think it is registering to me that we are going to live here for four months! It is all so surreal. The goodbyes were very sad on Sunday morning, but I’m very glad to have had such a great send off with so many people I love verrrryyy much.

 Many mini miracles happened on our way here. First of all, everyone reading this blog knows how much one Jillian Bagby loves her clothes. I think I deserve a round of applause for the fact that my suitcase weighed exactly fifty pounds, which is the weight limit for checked suitcases. No lie, 50.00 lbs is what the airport scale said. Still, I had my backpack and my duffel bag to lug through security and to the gate. Also, they selected me to go through the full body scanner. How embarrassing. Do I really look threatening? The scariest thing I had packed is my epipen. Anyway, some airport security personnel had the pleasure of ogling my goodies. I guess that’s better than a hijacked airplane.

In Philly, we ate italian food that was mediocre in taste, and outrageous in price. Then we began our flight across the atlantic. Luckily, I found a seat in one of the rows of four with only one other lady. Needless to say, I slept curled up in a ball across two seats for most of the flight. I did get to watch The Social Network before I crashed (figuratively), but only after I read the card from my Beelo girls and teared up. Love you!!

  We landed in Madrid at 8am-ish their time, so around 2ish SC time. Then began the wild goose chase. I swanee, the workers in the Madrid airport have a major problem with miscommunication, speaking Spanish OR English. We were told several times that we could not buy a bus ticket at the airport, which was not true as far as we had been told. At this point, we’ve all been carrying all of our luggage around the airport wandering in search of the bus ticket counter for at least an hour. My hands hurt. We finally found the counter and made our way towards the bus parking lot. When we looked out the window, we realized it was snowing! brr. The wind will sure get ya. A hat, a pair of gloves, a sweatshirt, and a coat later, we load our luggage under the bus, hop on, and begin towards Salamanca. The bus had free wifi! How cool is that? I perhaps could have better utilized it had I not passed out practically the second my butt hit the seat. At the bus station, we wandered a little while more until we found a cab. I don’t know how, but all of our luggage and our bodies fit into one cab, and he had no trouble understanding where it was we wanted to go. He dropped us off at the bottom of the stairs where our “tia” greeted us. She is so stinkin’ cute. She stands about 4’10″, and has the sweetest voice and Spanish accent. Morgan and I crammed into one elevator, and Lea shared the other with our tia. Cristina, our “mama” greeted us at the elevator doors. We live on the 5th floor, plus another flight or two up to the door. Lea and Morgan are sharing a bedroom with two twin beds, and I have my own room for now. Cristina said if someone else comes, they will stay with me. This confused me because there is only one bed in my room. I was less confused when she pulled at TRUNDLE BED out from under mine. It took me back to the days of slumber parties where someone’s mom would eventually have to make us stop giggling and shut up long enough to pass out. I don’t think my possible roommate will want to giggle with me about Justin Timberlake

We ate lunch at Cristina’s restaurant today. It was… interesting. The food was satisfying, but different. I had a sort of pork and vegetable soupy thingy with lots of chickpeas in it that I put over rice. Cristina kept trying to get us to eat more, but considering how tired we all are, how crowded the restaurant was, and the fact that I didn’t know what anything was made my appetite pretty pathetic. Besides, fried anchovies aren’t really my thing. My soup was delicious, and I also ate a yummy apple. There were all kinds of people around, mostly students. I wasn’t feeling particularly social or comfortable speaking Spanish, so for once in my life, I wasn’t an extrovert. In fact, people there probably think I’m a social reject. Tomorrow I’ll act normal, I hope.

We rode with Cristina to and from the restaurant ,in her bright lipstick-red Mercedes. Oh la la. Ps. We have to walk there tomorrow, and I have a feeling there will be more wandering in store for me. I don’t mind wandering because the city is BEAUTIFUL! And so are the people. Dear Allie, they know what’s dressed up. All of their coats and hats are soooo pretty. Some are a little strange, but these people sure know how to dress. I quickly felt dumpy in my day old travel outfit. I have a feeling I will love seeing the seasonal changes in fashion. Even the men dress fabulously in long coats and collared shirts with ties.

Anyway, we are back here at the flat, and it is clear that I have figured out the internet sitch. So I expect some skype-age, facebookage, blogage, and/or facetimeage. For now, I am going to unpack, work on a reflection for school, and try not to fall asleep until it’s dark. Next major thing on my to do list: figure out when the heck we are supposed to be at school and WHERE to go!

I miss everyone and love y’all SO SO SO much!

Looooove,

Jillian

PS. I swear all my posts won’t be this long

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