Tag Archives: Culture

The abroad “horario diario”

As I began this post, I was 30,000 feet in the air, somewhere between Zurich and Madrid (EDIT: Looking back, I realized that I was on this flight during the time that the Germanwings flight crashed. Scary!). I was on my way back to Seville after having spent the weekend with my dad in Hamburg, Germany, where he was visiting for work. Lucky for me I got to see him on my birthday (which was the day I started this post!) and was able to celebrate by eating lots of meat (mostly sausage) and drinking a fair amount of German beer. This past weekend, I headed into London to visit a friend and to see the city a bit. Then I went up to Scotland to see another friend, and I stayed there through Wednesday. Though I will admit that I skipped classes to see my dad in Germany, I won’t have to miss this week because we are celebrating “Semana Santa,” or Holy Week, in Seville. I came back yesterday in order to see the processions, or “pasos,” that make Seville so famous for its pre-Easter celebrations. This will include my host mom and I getting up at 5:00 AM tomorrow in order to go into the center and see the holiest (?) of all of the pasos, La Madrugada (“the dawn”), which begins its march in the wee hours of Viernes Santo–Good Friday.

sausage in mustard at Dom in Hamburg, Germany

One of the two official beer-and-meat 21st birthday meals.

But I’ll save my Semana Santa and UK experiences for the next post (or the one after that). Today, because I am realizing how little time I’ll spend in Seville over the next two weeks, I want to tell you about my life in the city where I am studying and give you a taste of the day-to-day. I’ve been keeping a running list of some of the things I think you’ll find most interesting in my handy dandy notebook (credit: Blue’s Clues) which is sitting beside my computer. Note: I include here a significant number of tangents about European life/things that made me laugh/other miscellaneous and not directly related details. But, as always, I hope you enjoy regardless.

NOTE: I apologize in advance for the lack of pictures in this post. For some reason, the photo uploader on sites.psu isn’t working too quickly tonight.

Daily/Weekly Routine

This seems like a good place to start! Thankfully our program does not offer any classes that begin before 9AM, and even more thankfully I was lucky enough to have all of my classes start at 10:30. I wake up around 8:15 so I can shower and eat before I leave at 9:30. My host mom is such a sweetheart and always has my breakfast materials (which I will tell you about in the next section) laid out for me at my spot on the table. This “spot” is arbitrary and subject to random changes, as I learned quickly over the first few weeks of my stay. During breakfast and dinner, I sit at one of the heads of the rectangular table. But during lunch, I sit at one of the long edges next to my host mom, who may or may not join me for breakfast or dinner. It depends on the day. Lunch, however, we always eat together, and when my host dad knocks on my door and asks me if I want to help him “poner la mesa” (set the table), I know it’s almost time to eat. Again, food info is coming in the next section.

I walk to a nearby bus stop with some friends from my program who also have 10:30 classes. Originally, our orientation guide introduced us to the Metro–the equivalent of a subway–to get to the university, but we discovered that the bus station is closer to our apartments and also costs less per ride. So we bus ourselves into Universidad Pablo de Olavide each day. I am taking just four classes this semester: Spanish literature, Spanish language, global economics, and intercultural communications. For the most part, these classes are okay. The Spanish teaching style is difficult to adjust to, particularly because:

Several of the professors, who are native Spanish speakers but teach courses in English, tend to have trouble expressing themselves in their second language. This makes discussion, as well as getting our questions answered, difficult.
It often seems like professors are trying to “cater” to the American, discussion-based class style, but have difficulty maintaining these discussions because they have not practiced enough (or so it seems to us) and also perhaps because they don’t understand everything we are saying.

All in all I am not thrilled with my classes here. This could also be partly due to the fact that I have found my niche in the English program at Penn State and am thriving under the guidance of our wonderful department. But, if nothing else, it has been nice to take a break from the sometimes rigorous book-reading and paper-writing. I’ll have my fill of that over the summer and next year.

I have class until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, at which time I come home for lunch. For those who don’t know, Spanish people tend to eat very late (it sometimes borders on 3:30 for my host family), and lunch usually lasts a while. I am typically eating and talking with my family for one to two hours during lunchtime. I really enjoy everything about the meal, though it can be exhausting to keep up with the conversation and to pay attention to the television (which is on during all of our meals). For this reason, I take a little “descanso” or “siesta” (rest/nap) after lunch. I don’t usually sleep, but I like to relax in a sunny spot in my room for an hour or so.

At this point, my day can take one of many turns. Sometimes, I’ll take a run with a friend to Parque Maria Luisa, which is situated next to La Plaza de Espana (if you Google “Sevilla,” the Plaza de Espana will be one of the first images to show up). Some nights I’ll meet up with my “intercambio”–a language exchange partner who wants to practice English just like I want to practice Spanish. We go, for example, to get tapas and a drink, or walk around, and take turns speaking each language. Recently, she won us movie ticket vouchers! So we’ll be doing that sometime soon.

Once a week, I volunteer at a “colegio,” which in this case is a private, religious primary school which educates kids between the ages of 3 and 14. I help out with a group of 7-8 year olds, which has been really fun so far. To be honest I feel like I don’t do too much while I am there besides laugh at the funny things the kids do and every once in a while I help out with a little activity. Unfortunately I have missed the last two weeks, the first because I got drenched on my way there during a chaparron (a downpour) and this past week because I was in Germany visiting my dad. And next week the kids don’t have school because it is Semana Santa! So it will be a while before I visit the colegio again.

The afternoons are also good for heading to a cafe to do some homework or for taking a walk to the center of Seville. Otherwise, it can be nice to stay in for the night, especially after traveling over the weekends. I will usually finish up homework, write this blog, or e-mail friends and family before dinner. Between 9PM and 10PM, I wait for my host mom’s knock on my door: “Ana. Cena.” Anna, dinner! I head into the family room to sit with my host parents for dinner and usually end up staying for an hour to an hour and a half. Then I go to bed!

Food

I may have already posted about food before, but that was pretty early on and Anna from 2 months ago had no idea that she would like as many Spanish foods as she does now. Of course, I liked breakfast from the start. I usually have two pieces of toast and put on top of them whatever my host mom sets out for me. At first, it was butter and jelly. I didn’t realize that people put butter and jelly on the same slice, so I would cover one piece with butter and one with jelly. That is, until my host mom subtlely suggested, “Anna, Noelia (my host sister) likes to eat her toast with butter and jelly on the same piece.” I got the hint and it’s actually really good! Other breakfast combos: cream cheese and jelly (even better than butter and jelly), a tomato/cream cheese paste with turkey, chocolate-filled croissants (another favorite). Alongside my eatables, I have a glass of hot milk, to which I add either cafe cappucino (a powder which makes a sweet cappucino/latte type thing) or Cola Cao, which is the Spanish equivalent of something like Nestle or Ovaltine.

my usual view in the morning. recently my host mom let me pick out a new flavor of jelly!

Lunch here, not breakfast, is the most important meal of the day. It is certainly the biggest, and because of that I am usually stuffed to the point of not moving for at least 20 minutes after the meal has ended. I would say our most frequent dishes are soups and fish platters. The soups are either creamy (usually cream of some type of vegetable) or those filled with beans (garbanzo, lentils) and a wide variety of vegetables. I have learned to LOVE lentils, even though I did not like them at all before leaving. My host mom usually adds some chorizo picante, or spicy sausage, to the lentil mixture. I am truly upset now that the winter is over (which is weird for me) because Sevillians tend, logically, to not eat hot soups when it is 110 degrees outside. The lentil days are numbered.

As far as fish, we have had what seems like every type imaginable. Bacalao, sardines…I really don’t know the names of all of the fish. My host mom always tells me “We’re having this fish today,” and then waits for me to react, because we have usually had that type of fish before. But I can’t keep all the names straight and they all taste similar anyway. It is crazy to me that 1) my host family eats the eyes, head, and tail of many types of fish and 2) that I usually have to remove the spines of the fish I eat. I am not used to either of these things, though having been here for close to three months now I am growing accustomed to having to do it. I am still not the biggest fan of fish but I need some protein in my life and being so close to the sea, it is a staple in many (most) Spanish homes.

We eat other things besides soup and fish. Several times, my host mom has made a pasta bolognesa dish, which I absolutely adore. This is the only lunch food that I finish before my host parents do. Sometimes we have fried eggs and vegetables; sometimes we have chicken and french fries. We always, always, always have bread, whether it is in typical roll form or in the form of “pico,” which are tiny crunchy breadsticks that I would probably refer to as crackers in the United States. We’ll often have “salad,” which can either be a traditional salad with lettuce, shredded carrots, corn kernels, and vinegar dressing, or which can also be simply a whole tomato sliced up and topped with vinegar and some seasoning. Tomatos are another food I didn’t like before coming here, and now they are the first thing I eat when I sit down.

After our salad and main course, we dig into a side dish that my host mom has prepared. Many times these are empanadas, which are like small, fried dumplings filled with some type of meat or fish (for example, chicken or tuna). Now that I think about it, this side dish is usually a fried food, whether it is an empanada or just plain old fried fish. And after this, we all usually have a piece of fruit. During my first few weeks here, oranges were the fruit of choice, and especially mandarinos, which are the perfect size orange and are easy to peel. In January, I was eating 2 oranges per day because they were so plentiful and because I liked them so much. Now, since oranges are going slightly out of season, they are harder to peel and not as sweet. So, instead, we eat bananas, pears, and apples, with the rare strawberry thrown in there. After the fruit, lunch is finally over, though my host parents usually have tea or coffee afterwards, extending lunch/the post-lunch siesta by another hour.

Dinner is a less extravagant affair. Many times my host parents themselves do not even eat dinner because they are full from eating little snacks throughout the rest of the day. Through March, when it was still “cold” outside, we would always have soup. This is usually just hot water with a packet of some kind of stir-in soup/pasta. At the beginning they would make fun of me because I couldn’t eat the soup while it was just out of the microwave. “You eat so strangely,” my host dad said to me once. “You take little bites of everything and you don’t eat the soup while it’s hot!” Actually, Fernando, when I try to sip the hot soup it burns my tongue and mouth, so I have to eat everything else before it. (I really am doing well with my host family.) My host parents will also have a piece of fruit, and my host mom will give me my own portion of whatever fruit they are having. Then she will also make me something else: eggs and sausages (which look exactly like hot dogs but taste better), microwave pizza (bocapizza), a piece of fish, a bocadillo. The other week she made me 4 spring rolls and chips. It was fantastic.

There have been a few awkward situations where I have to tell them that I don’t like certain foods. One of the first of these was a plate called callos. I remember being really hungry the day Rosa served it, and I also remember her explaining to me that she thought I would like it a lot. So it was with eagerness that I dug into lunch and started forking the callos into my mouth. About 3 bites in, I realized that the stuff had a weird texture and was a little chewy. Two bites later I was no longer hungry because I kept thinking about how the callos looked like cow skin. I am not a vegetarian and this was one of the first instances in my life when the reality of what was sitting in front of me–a dead animal–became overwhelming. After not eating it for 10 minutes I apologized and told Rosa I couldn’t eat it. She asked why, and my host sister said, “Because she doesn’t like it!” Bluntly put, but Noelia hit the mark. Later, I looked up callos on Wikipedia: its English equivalent, tripe, is “a type of edible offal from the stomachs of various farm animals.” I made it clear that I absolutely cannot have this dish again.

Also famous in Spain are olives, which I have learned that I hate. I was pretty much indifferent to them before arriving in Spain, though I rarely ate them. That probably explains the indifference. I can’t remember where I first tried olives here, but I have developed a strong aversion to them. This is unfortunate because my host family loves olives, and they love to buy different kinds and to have me try them in case I end up liking one of them. My host dad will prompt me: “Pruebalo!” Try it! I say, “No, Fernando, I really don’t like olives.” Then my host mom will chime in: “No, but these are different than the other ones. You will like them.” I look at them for a minute before reluctantly plucking one from the bowl. I even more reluctantly put it into my mouth, and then try to chew and swallow it as fast as possible. They make my head hurt and I usually grab some bread to get the taste out of my mouth. The most recent kind they had me try was filled with anchovies. They were surprised when I didn’t like it. I wasn’t. I went through a week or so when my host mom was making me bocadillos with mortadello, or olive loaf, which in short is a type of ham that is ruined by the olives that are interspersed throughout it. I had to claim that it was upsetting my stomach, which it really was.

I do actually like a lot of the food that my host mom cooks, and one time after I told her that, she gave me the name of the blog where she gets many of her recipes from. It is called Cometelo, which in Spanish means “Eat it yourself.” All of the recipes are in Spanish, but don’t forget that you conveniently have a translator (aka, the writer of this blog) if you see anything you like and want to understand what it is saying. That will be the true test of my fluency.

Miscellaneous things

Here are some random details about my life that I thought you might find interesting!

When I first got here, Sam Smith’s “Stay With Me” was the theme song for practically every Spanish soap opera I saw advertised.
Most of my peers’ homestays (including mine) do not have printers. Instead, we have to go to a local copisteria or papeleria, where we pay on average 10 cents per sheet printed.
While it is usually warm year-round, days when it is cloudy, cool, or rainy hold up the laundry process. All clothes are line-dried here, so if you need something to be clean/dry and it is cool or rainy, you are out of luck.
The other day, my host parents sent me a short video of Sevilla via WhatsApp, which my host mom had me watch three times in one sitting. She kept asking me if I could understand the music lyrics, and I told her I needed to listen more carefully. She would restart the video, and then talk her way through it, so I could never hear the words enough to understand them. About the video, my host mom said when I show it to my American friends, “Van a flipar.” They are going to…flip? I looked up “flipar” and it doesn’t translate, so I’m assuming they take influence from English. I thought it was the funniest thing in the world. (I’ll be sure to show you this video.)
Speaking of language, my host dad told me the other day that his foot was “dormido.” I asked him to clarify once or twice before realizing that they use the exact same expression in Spanish that we do in English to describe the phenomenon of their limbs being “asleep.” It doesn’t sound like it would be a revelation, but it took me a few seconds to figure it out.

Well, this post ended up having only three sections, and what I have learned from the Spanish people so far, I am not surprised that these sections mainly consist of me talking about socializing and eating. That is what life seems to be about here, and I’m not complaining. Join me next time for another adventure (expect some news about Semana Santa!).

Location: Seville, Spain

You Can Call Me… Grape?

How would you feel standing up in front of a group of Koreans and telling your life story???

Monday night, that’s exactly what I did.

Perhaps now is that time when you are sitting there wondering how I managed to get myself in this situation. I’d say that’s a fair question.

Well… it all started when I joined the – don’t laugh – traditional Korean drum and dance club. It’s called pungmul -풍물. Have I ever played drums before? No. Do I have any rhythm? I’m white… so no. So why did I join? I joined for a few reasons. 1) I never had the chance to learn Korean drum, so what better place to learn than in Korea?! 2) It’d be a fun skill to say I learned while abroad 3) This could be a great chance to meet and interact with local koreans at my university. And lastly, 4) WHY NOT?!

One of the traditinal drums: 장구 – Janggu

From the very first club meeting I went to, I knew I made the right decision. The people there were so kind and fun, I immediately felt welcomed. And that’s saying a lot, considering hardly any of the club members speak English (and we all know I hardly speak any Korean). But the best part is it doesn’t matter, most of the meetings I just spend the time laughing and learning the instruments. We can still joke around and enjoy each others presence, and I’ve really enjoyed every meeting so far.

We had our first performance this past weekend! We went around to multiple restaurants in Sinchon 신촌, a popular area for young people that is located near our university campus, and played for the restaurant owners. From my understanding, this tradition comes from when 풍물 players used to go to farms in the olden days and play for farmers to bring them good luck in their harvest. We play for the restaurant owners to bring good luck to their business. In return, they gave us free food and drinks (!!!!!).

Where there is free korean food, you will always find Paige.

When I showed up for the performance, I had no idea it was going to be such a big ordeal. Our club has about 10-15 consistent members, but for this performance, we teamed up with other universities and played, so that there was around ~75 people. And at first, I was literally the only non-asian. My friends from my program are Korean-American and Chinese-American, but they could still blend in. But me? Whiter than white? It was the first time I was really aware of my whiteness, as strange or shocking as that seems. It was the first time I was really reminded that I was a minority, and it was… an interesting experience to say the least.

We lined up in parade form, and played all around 신촌. The drums aren’t exactly quiet as you can imagine, so it wasn’t long before people would turn to look at us and take out their cell phones to record. It was so much fun!

We ended the night by heading over another popular young area in Seoul, called Hongdae 홍대. There we found a spot in the street and put on a full performance. Afterward, all of the university students went out and ate and drank together! With the help of my good friend soju, I was able to actually hold some conversations in Korean, which I count as a success!!! The entire experience was one I’ll never forget.

That’s all good and fun, but now may be the time you’re wondering why I had to get up in front of everyone and tell my life story?! Get to the point already!!!

In this club, everyone goes by their nickname. They don’t call each other by their real names… ever. And in order to get a nickname, you stand up in front of all the members and tell them your life story. Your family, your friends, your dreams, your failures, your ideal man or woman, your favorites books and movies, etc etc etc. The whole ordeal takes about an hour, but it was SO much fun! Through all this, you really get to know each member. Then, at the end, potential nicknames are thrown out and everyone votes!

My nickname is 포도! Literal translation is Grape, but it comes from ‘포장되지 않은 진실된 도음” Which basically means someone who is sincere and pure in all their help, since I am someone who really enjoys volunteering and hope to work for an NGO one day. I absolutely love it, and when I was given the nickname, I truly felt like I was part of the club.

Aren’t we the cutest club you ever saw????

(((Credit to the lovely Ashuka Xue for the pictures in this post! Thanks for the memories girl)))

Location: Seoul, South Korea

G’wan Donegal!

To preface this post, I’d like to first explain the title of my post. In Ireland, especially at sporting matches, it is common to hear the crowds yell “G’wan!” (AKA, “Go on!”) followed by the team or county they’re supporting. I heard a lot of this when my friend Mary and I went to a Connacht Rugby match on March 1st – we joined in the crowds yelling “G’wan Connacht!” as if we’d lived in Galway all our lives. Even after the match, the phrase stuck with us, so if we were happy about something, we’d yell “G’wan Connacht!” Alternatively, we started using the phrase as an affirmative or an expression of praise, as well. For instance, one of our conversations might ensue as follows:

Mary: Do I get a medium order of fish and chips or a large order?

Maddison: Go with a large. You’re in Ireland, so why not?

Mary: You’re right, I’ll order a large.

Maddison: G’wan Connacht!

(I’m fairly certain this exact conversation has taken place between us multiple times.)

G’wan Connacht!

So, to continue with my post… as you can tell from the title, we have changed our “G’wan Connacht!” phrase (which we still use sometimes) to “G’wan Donegal!” Why? Well, this may be a bit of a long story, so prepare yourselves.

There are several different accents within Ireland, as many of us study abroad students have realized. The subtle (and not-so-subtle) differences appear as you meet new people from all over the country. Many people we’ve met at school and in town hail from County Donegal, on the north west border of Ireland. Donegal borders Northern Ireland but is still part of the Republic of Ireland, making it a unique county. It is the second largest county within the Republic and also boasts one of the most interesting accents. It wasn’t difficult for any of us to fall in love with the unique sound of the accent – speaking with an individual from Donegal could turn the most loquacious conversationalist into the best listener.

Because of our interactions with individuals from Donegal, my friends and I had a little running joke about Donegal because we liked the accent so much. When I visited a sporting goods store to buy a Galway GAA jersey, I had to try on the Donegal one just for fun!

It suits me better than it should, right?

Well, all of this fascination boils down to one obvious conclusion: we needed to go to Donegal. My friends Mary, Nicky, Amara, and I took an early morning bus from Galway to Sligo, and then spent a bit of time exploring Sligo before we caught the bus from Sligo up to Donegal. The views on the trip were incredible – the mountains in Sligo are unlike any I’ve ever seen before.

Gorgeous, huh?

Once we arrived in Donegal Town, I fell completely in love with the place. The quaint town centre, called “The Diamond” is filled with shops, tea houses, pubs, restaurants, and chippers. As soon as we got off the bus and oriented ourselves, we decided to stop in a tea house, called Blueberry Tea Room. We filled our stomachs with the most amazing lunch dishes and plenty of tea before heading out into town to do some exploring.

Within the town centre itself, we visited Donegal Castle, which was an amazing experience due to our ability to explore, learn, and interact with the castle and grounds.

Donegal Castle!

The beauty of the exterior was only heightened when, at night, the Castle was lit up by a green spotlight against the darkening sky. But some of my favorite parts of the castle were inside – the intricate fireplaces, the gorgeous wooden dining tables, and the stone stairs, rooms, and passageways were mysterious and fascinating. The O’Donnell’s, who owned Donegal Castle, sure were lucky to be surrounded by such beauty! I had a lot of fun exploring – there seemed to be surprises everywhere we turned!

Me with deer antlers just behind my head

Oh deer!

We also stopped in Saint Patrick’s Church, where we all admired the beauty of the building and said a prayer. After that, we stopped in a small sweater shop, where we befriended the elderly man who owned it. Mary bought a beautiful light blue sweater, Amara bought a gorgeous teal sweater, and Nicky bought a lovely green infinity scarf. Since I already bought a sweater at the Blarney Woolen Mills, I didn’t allow myself to splurge, but I’m glad my friends all found things they liked! Little did we know that their decision to buy warm clothing would definitely pay off the next day.

Saint Patrick’s Church

We partook in the pubs, the chippers, and even did a bit of shopping in the town before heading back to our lovely B&B, called Ardlenagh View, which was only a five minute drive from town. Our hosts, the Mulherns, were so welcoming and kind – traits we noticed in many people we met in Donegal. Their B&B was absolutely stunning, as it was surrounded by beautiful mountains, valleys, and the breathtaking Donegal shoreline.

After a good night’s rest, the four of us awoke to a scrumptious Irish breakfast with plenty of tea to keep us awake for the day. As we packed up our things and got ready to check out, we noticed the sheep that filled the field just beyond the balcony of the B&B. I jumped at my chance to ask if we could go see the sheep – a prospect which our hosts, Tony and Eileen, found immensely entertaining. They gladly granted us permission to see them, and soon enough, both Eileen and Tony were watching us out the window, happy to see how much fun we were having. I even got the chance to make one of my dreams come true, as I called some sheep. If anyone is in need of a shepherd, you know where to find me.

After we said goodbye to our sheep friends and our wonderful hosts, we headed back into town on a pleasant Mother’s Day. In America, Mother’s Day falls in May, but in Ireland, it is celebrated in March. Luckily for us, the Donegal Bay Waterbus was sailing on Mother’s Day, and we were just in time for the 11:00 AM sailing. Because it was a chilly day, the four of us were the only ones on the top deck of the boat in the open air – everyone else opted to stay warm in the inside of the boat. Needless to say, as soon as we established ourselves at the top of the boat, we threw extra layers on and bundled for the remainder of our sail. Nicky and I even indulged in a pint of Guinness to warm up a bit while we all took pictures of the ridiculously incredible views. Donegal is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen in all my life – the beaches, the mountains, the water, the ruins and castles, the people, the culture – it all paints a picture of what life should be like and how it should be lived.

Sail away, sail away, sail away…

As we were sailing, I noticed shapes bobbing up and down in the water – upon closer look, I realized some seals had come to say hello! I yelled to the other girls to look at the seals, and to my surprise, Mary wowed us all with her seal call. The rest of us just stuck to waving to our new friends! We saw more seals on the beaches we passed – they seemed curious, so we waved to them as well!

Our seal friends!

We enjoyed sailing and singing some Irish songs that were played through speakers to the four of us chilly passengers up top! We even did some dancing on the boat, which I’m sure the captain found amusing. It was a great boat ride and we all really enjoyed ourselves!

Dun na nGall! (AKA, Donegal)

Afterwards, we visited the ruins of the Donegal Friary, where we admired the old architecture and walked around the cemetery. To my surprise, I found headstones marked with the surnames Martin and Gallagher, which are two of my family surnames! I was overwhelmed with excitement – I knew from what my great aunt told me that the Martins and Gallaghers from our family were from Donegal, and it looks like she was right! I couldn’t wait to email Aunt Esther to let her know about my discovery. Up until that moment, I had felt a particular draw to Donegal, but seeing the prevalence of my family surnames in the cemetery there made me feel an even deeper connection.

Sitting among the beautiful ruins.

After our visit to the friary, we were ready to refresh with some lunch and tea. We stopped in a quaint cafe, chatted with some locals, and then took a taxi to the nearest beach, called Murvagh Beach. It was a cold day, but the sights were still incredible. Walking along the shore brought me such peace. Hearing the seashells crash against each other as the waves carried them in and out was captivating. I couldn’t have been happier with our decision to explore such a pretty place.

The heavens opened up and shone down on Donegal.

As we all walked along at our own pace, we lost track of time – it wasn’t too long before we were all separated and enjoying our solitude. Breaking away from the business of daily life to experience natural beauty is one of the most therapeutic experiences… which isn’t a difficult thing to do in Ireland. I walked along the shore and collected interesting seashells, but eventually I met up with Mary and Nicky who had climbed to the top of a cliff which marked the end of the sandy beach and the beginning of the rolling hills just beyond it. Needless to say, I climbed right up there to meet them!

The view from the top!

Nicky went to find Amara, so Mary and I sat on the cliff and had some deep life discussions. It felt as if we were on top of the world – in every direction, we saw beauty, and we did our best not to take a second of it for granted. Naturally, we took pictures of us sitting on the edge of the cliff with beautiful Donegal in the background.

Me sitting on the cliff edge with the beach in the background

Taking it all in.

We didn’t want to leave Murvagh Beach by any means, but we knew we had to get back into town and eat dinner before catching our bus back to Galway. Before we left the beach, however, all four of us stood on the cliff and took a few group photos to remember our amazing trip to one of our favorite Irish counties!

Me and my friends posing with Donegal in the background

Never forget Donegal!

G’WAN DONEGAL!

Location: Donegal Town, County Donegal, Ireland

Munich and snowboarding the Alps

I can officially leave Germany happily – not only have I fulfilled my goal of seeing the peaks of the Alps but I also RODE the peaks. This past weekend my roommate and I were originally looking to ski locally at a small mountain in the Black Forest. Upon texting our German friend, Matthias, he said, “actually I’m going to Munich this weekend and then heading south to Austria to ski the Alps, want to come?” YES!!

Taking the 6 hour car-ride to Munich, we arrived in the heart of Bavaria. Walking through the city, I loved how…GERMAN it was. One of the locals told us, that Bavaria is like the Texas of Germany and that whenever people think of Germany, they think of the Bavarian proud traditions of liederhosen, beer steins, and weisswurst. Sure enough there was tons of that! The locals greeted us with “Gruss Gott”, which I remember learning from my high school German class. It is equivalent to “Guten Tag” and is specific to the Bavarian region.

Where we stayed in Munich

Matthias is part of a German singing fraternity in Freiburg (very different from American fraternities and not affiliated with the Greek system). He has a sister singing fraternity located in Munich and after a quick call, they offered to house us for the weekend! Receiving our own room in the guesthouse of the home, we were so ecstatic for the great free housing. The brothers were extremely nice and cooked us an authentic Bavarian breakfast. Fresh weisswurst and soft pretzels with a delicious sweet mustard on the side – yummm. (Weisswurst literally means white sausage and was a spongier sausage that comes in a casing that you peel off once you cook them in water.) The brothers also showed us around all of Munich – we couldn’t have asked for better hosts.

The Alps

I love mountain range landscapes and I had been looking forward to the Alps for my entire trip. Clearest blue skies, breath-taking views, and peaceful massive mountains. I was in heaven. After waking at 4:30 AM to drive 3 hours to the Alps, I was re-awakened and revived by the crisp air and scenery. Being acclimated to the sub-freezing slopes of the American North-East, I was remarkably happy to find myself snowboarding without a ski mask and with 2 of my layers tied around my waist. I couldn’t help but exclaim “wow” every time I looked up at the mountains as I went down the slopes …hopefully no one heard me over the swooshing of the snow! Words just can’t do the whole experience justice…

After an exhausting and action-packed weekend, this was one of my favorite trips so far. The Alps were peacefully breath taking. Plus, I fell in love with Bavaria – can’t wait to come back to Munich at the beginning of May.

Location: St Anton am Arlberg, Austria

Morocco

I guess the last time I left you all, I was about to make my way out of Spain and into the incredible continent of Africa for the first time in my life. I am so excited to share my experience in Morocco with you, but first, here are the pictures from Granada that I promised (with captions!).

Granada

We made visits to the barrios of Sacromonte, Albaicin, and to the Alhambra, which is an enormous and ancient palace that used to house the Moors. We also ate some really great food and made friends with a really nice bartender named Maryann, who worked at a little cafe/restaurant near our Air BnB.

La Alhambra on the left, and the city of Granada on the right

panorama of Granada and Alhambra from Mirador de San Nicolas

another shot of Granada/Alhambra, this time from the Mirador de San Nicolas

gardens inside the Alhambra

breakfast of coffee and a bocadillo with Spanish ham

your typical Spanish breakfast: coffee and a bocadillo of Spanish ham, olive oil, and a light tomato spread

Morocco

Granada was absolutely lovely, but what I am about to share with you about Morocco was a completely different kind of experience. It was not what you or I would normally consider a “vacation,” and I’m glad it wasn’t.

There has been a certain comfort in visiting the European highlights; though I didn’t necessarily know places like Portugal, Granada, and Barcelona before visiting them, I at least had an idea of what to expect. I knew that we would be relatively safe traveling on our own; I knew that we could easily navigate public transportation to get where we needed to go; I was aware of the social customs that should govern our behavior while visiting these places. The familiarity was comfortable, or at least comfortable enough so as not to overwhelm my travels.

For Morocco, I immediately felt like that this more or less guaranteed comfort went right out the window. We were told that the ferry from Tarifa (in Spain) to Tangier (in Morocco) might be rough. That we shouldn’t stray too far from the group once we disembarked. That when we walked through the outdoor market in Tangier, there might be bloody animals hanging from the roofs of the vendors’ stands (there were). That we should not drink the tap water or else we would risk getting sick (some did). That we should carry our passports on us at all times, because in many places, we could be stopped and asked for proof of our presence in Morocco. These warnings gave me some fear. It was with shaky legs that I followed our wonderful tour guide, Sarah, off the boat and handed my freshly-stamped passport to the imposing, uniformed guard in Tangier.

Our travel group on the bus. We were limited to one backpack each for our 4 days in Morocco.

CIEE (my study abroad program) decided to conduct our tour of Morocco through an amazing organization called Morocco Exchange. As I said, we were assigned to Sarah, who had been a Peace Corps volunteer for several years and now currently lives in Rabat, the country’s capital. We were lucky to have Sarah as our guide for many reasons, I think especially because she had an awareness of our naivety and of our touristy tendencies as Americans. But she combined this awareness with the experience of living alongside the Moroccan people and the understanding of their customs and behavior. Therefore she was able to acknowledge many of our misconceptions and gently present us with a raw understanding of how things really are in this developing country: that most houses don’t have access to hot water; that many women (girls) are forced to marry at a young age; that the illiteracy rates are high among both men and women; that children often must travel (alone) miles and miles to school on a bus early in the morning in order to attend school, and for this reason many of them drop out.

Sarah shared with us a touching story about her time serving in a small village in the Peace Corps. Her host sister, who was maybe 15 or 16 years old, was about to be married to a much older man. This sister was nervous and upset, and Sarah was trying to comfort her. Sarah classified this as both a high point and a low point of her time in the Peace Corps, and admitted that the memory always made her sad. She started crying as she was telling the story, and I think this was the point when I reflected on how real the experience was and how real the people in Morocco are and always will be, even if in the United States we can’t see or hear them.

We don’t see people sitting on the guardrails of the highways in the countryside, not because they want to go somewhere else but because they don’t have anywhere else to go. We don’t see children walking along deserted roads in the countryside, probably making their way back from school, which could be hours away from home. We don’t see the square miles of shanty towns, the groups of homes made from tin sheets and cardboard, around which often the government often builds walls so other inhabitants of the city don’t have to see the poverty. As is the case for so many of the things we do (or don’t do), it’s easier to construct barriers than to deal with the problem.

You may not be able to tell (I couldn’t), but this is an enormous field full of gravestones.

I don’t mean to convey that the people of Morocco sit around all day and think about how difficult their lives are, because this was absolutely not the case. In fact, nearly every Moroccan person I met seemed genuinely happy, not only to discuss their own lives but also to compare their life in Morocco to ours in the United States. One of the great things about this program was that, each day, we were able to sit down with a group of Moroccans–two groups of students from Rabat, one family from the rural countryside–and just talk. We talked about what their educational experiences had been like, what their views on homosexuality were, how dating and relationships function. These conversations were many things: they were sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes funny. But all of the time, they were informative and emotionally enriching.

In many ways, we (the members of our American group) were similar to the Moroccan students. We both expressed a yearning for quality education–for one group, it was more accessible than the other. We talked about travel–because so many Moroccans and North Africans seek a better life in Europe, it is much more difficult for them to travel north (ie, obtain a passport) than for us to travel south. Sarah reminded us on our last day that one of the Moroccan students who had accompanied us (and had served as our translator when we talked with the Moroccan family) wouldn’t be able to enter the Spanish enclave of Ceuta (or Sebta) with us because he lacked a “blue book.” Our passports are so much more valuable than we often realize.

I feel like I’m rambling. Let me tell you briefly about some of my favorite things:

That I was left breathless at the sight of hundreds of Muslims bowing together in prayer
The flawless hospitality of our host families, who provided us with more food than we possibly could have eaten in the 2 days we spent with them and many of whom offered us a place to stay should we return to Morocco
Being able to hear the stories of many Moroccans, young and old, and also the stories of Americans who have lived and worked alongside these Moroccans
How the presence of God (Allah) permeated not only the physical landscape in the form of mosques, but also the social landscape in the form of language (I heard the phrase “Enshallah,” meaning “God willing,” more times than I could count)

the “tucked away” mountainside city of Chefchaoen–our last stop

I don’t really know what you’re going to take away from this post, disorganized as it is. To be honest, I am still trying to make sense of my experience, though I enjoyed every minute of it. But between the time I returned from my trip and sat on my bed, exhausted and amazed, and now, two weeks later as I am writing this post, I haven’t been able to answer any of the enormous questions that Morocco put in front of me. Why have I been granted such a privileged life while millions of girls (and boys) in Morocco haven’t? Do I have a responsibility to help those who aren’t as privileged? Is there any such thing as “responsibility,” or is it just a way of justifying the process of imposing our own worldviews on others because we believe that our way is the best or only way? How will I ever be able to return to my “normal” life in the United States without that pull in my heart, telling me to remember all that I learned in Morocco?

This weekend will be the first that I haven’t traveled since…I think the end of January or the beginning of February. Wow! I am tired but have a good amount of travel still to go. It’s nice to be in Seville this weekend though, and I am slowly realizing that I wish I had stayed here for an entire year just so I could see everything I want to see and still have plenty of time to enjoy the city where I’m actually studying. I was hoping this weekend to have a chance to get to some of the museums but I forgot that the main reason I didn’t plan travel for this weekend was because I have midterms next week. I did, however, sign up for a hike in the Sierra Norte tomorrow, so I’ll be studying the day away today. Look out for another post soon about how things are going here in Seville (preview: they are going really well)!

Location: Rabat, Morocco

Dear America, Take Note.

As the second week of classes are coming to a close, it’s hit me that I’ve been in Korea for nearly three weeks. THREE WEEKS. How can so much happen in three weeks? How can three weeks feel like three months? (in a good way, of course)

In my three weeks in Seoul, I have noticed that Korea just gets it. There are some parts of this culture that make so much sense I can’t believe America hasn’t jumped on board.

DEAR AMERICA, TAKE NOTE.

1.) Call Bells
Call bells are REVOLUTIONARY. Truly. Imagine this, dear Americans: you go to a restaurant. You look at the menu. Everyone decides what they want. Then… you press a button on the table. A waiter appears within seconds, you tell them the order, they disappear. Soon your food is brought out. Everyone eats. Everyone is happy. But WAIT! Someone needs a refill. And… you press the button again. Boom, waiter. Boom, refill. So simple, so easy. This way, you don’t have a waiter interrupting your conversation every few minutes to check on you. And this way, the waiter doesn’t have to plaster on a fake smile and act as if they really care about you and your dinner. (Added bonus: Korea isn’t about the tip life. It’s actually insulting if you give a tip.)

2.) Street Food
I could write an entire blog post declaring my love for street food. No, I could write an entire NOVEL dedicated to my love for street food. Street food is truly something special, friends.
Practically anywhere you go in the city of Seoul, there are little stands all over, all bearing some of the greatest food you will experience in Korea. And all for around $1-$3. Does it get any better than that?!

Pictured above: Ice cream waffles, Fried chicken and fries, and 호떡 (hotteok) so good it will singlehandedly convince you to move to Korea (호떡 are mini pancakes with filling that will change your entire life)

3.) Karaoke
Forget all you know about karaoke, because Korea’s karaoke is not only different, but way better.
In America, many people associate karaoke with you in a crowded room or bar, rolling your eyes as someone clearly intoxicated stumbles their way to stage and sings some slurred, earsplitting rendition of “Oops I Did It Again.”
But in Korea? They have 노래방. Literal translation: Singing room. You and your friends can actually rent a ROOM, equipped with TV, fun lights, microphones, and couches. You can also get drinks if you wish. Not so that you can down them in hopes you won’t hear the next painful karaoke stranger, but so that you can drink them and have a fun time rocking out to your favorite songs with your friends. It’s one big party, and you can spot about twenty 노래방 places on one street of Seoul. They’re everywhere.

4.) Sharing Culture
My personal condolences to any germaphobes who travel to Korea. Sharing culture is huge here. It’s very common to go out to eat and order one bowl of something, and everyone eats out of it. I’ve become so used to trying everyones food and tasting everyone’s drinks that I don’t know how I’m going to adjust back in America when that’s not really a thing. The best thing about sharing culture is dinners tend to be pretty cheap. You can end up having a bill of around $30 for a group of 7 or 8 people. And you don’t end up eating as much as you would back home, because you’re sharing it with everyone. Here are some pictures from some (crazy delicious) meals I’ve split with others…

5.) Cheap Textbooks
I have a total of eight textbooks right now. And you know how much I spent overall? $170. For eight textbooks. $170 back in the States can’t even buy me a pdf file of one textbook. The struggle is all too real.

6.) Dessert Cafes
This is probably one of my favorite things about Korea, and I’m sure those who know me reading from back home are just shaking their heads and saying “Oh Paige…” But listen! Dessert cafes! You order your yummy dessert, share said yummy dessert with friends, and sit and talk for the next few hours in this cute, cozy cafe. Doesn’t that just sound like paradise?!

So America, I hope you were listening carefully. I expect these all to be happening when I return in June. 🙂

(Gotta give credit when credit is due… all food photos credit to Anne Feller! aka one of my fave people to discover Seoul with)

Singing for Strangers

On Tuesday, February 23rd, I attended a Hudson Taylor concert at the Black Box Theatre, which is just a short walk from my apartment. For any of you who don’t know, Hudson Taylor is an Irish band, formed by two brothers from Dublin, Alfie and Harry Hudson-Taylor. I’ve been a fan of their music for years, but they aren’t very popular in the United States. When I found out that they were playing a gig in Galway back in the fall of 2014, I bought tickets as soon as I could (which meant waking up early on a school day and ordering them on my phone… at the time, I wasn’t in the right time zone for getting them at a decent hour!). Whenever I had anxieties about leaving home before coming to Ireland, I would remind myself that I had tickets to Hudson Taylor because I knew there was no way in the world I would ever miss that!

Three of my friends joined me: Amara, Kaity, and Kelly. We got ready at my apartment before heading over to the venue early, but on the walk over, we got caught in a torrential downpour that made straightening my hair completely useless! But we laughed it off and took a photo of ourselves to remember how we had been soaked by the Irish rain… and definitely not for the first time!

Two friends and I soaked by the Irish rain

Rain soaked, but still glad to be seeing Hudson Taylor!

Arriving early was definitely a good thing, as the concert was general admission, or standing room only. The four of us were delighted when we entered the theatre and walked straight up to the front to claim our space. We couldn’t have been any closer – front row was better than any of us had expected. Needless to say, I was over the moon.

There were two opening acts, one of which was a band called Southern composed of a brother and sister from Belfast as well as a drummer and bassist from England. They were really great and I definitely hope they gain popularity. Below is a video of a song they performed at the concert:

After Southern finished, there was a period of excruciating anticipation while the stage was set up for Hudson Taylor. In the interim, I tried to guess which of the brothers would be directly in front of us on stage, and I decided it was going to be Alfie because the microphone was shorter and Alfie’s instruments were eventually brought out and placed on our side. And soon enough, my prediction came true.

Alfie Hudson-Taylor

Alfie took his place just in front of us as he, Harry, and their band started the concert with a high energy performance of “Just A Thought” – a song I’ve been singing so much that by now all my housemates should know the lyrics from memory.

Alfie and Harry Hudson Taylor performing right in front of us

Could we get any closer?

Fortunately for me, they played a bunch of my favorite songs, so I got to sing along very loudly. Because of that, I’ll include a Hudson Taylor music video for you to watch instead of the ones I took from the concert… I didn’t realize how loud I was singing until I could hear myself on the video when I got home. It’s equal parts embarrassing and funny, but it’s more pertinent for you to watch a video of Hudson Taylor, not Hudson Taylor featuring special guest Maddison.

The video I’ve included below will always hold a special place in my heart because it was filmed in Galway, not too far from where I’m living now. As of late, I’ve adopted it as my Galway theme song, so it’s frequently listened to on my iPod on walks to and from class. In fact, I had a conversation with a kid I met one night in a pub and we got talking about Hudson Taylor, and surprisingly enough he told me that he was there the day Hudson Taylor filmed this video. Apparently, he was asked to spot Harry and Alfie when they jump in the water at the end of the video. He could have been making it all up, of course, but part of me wants to believe it. Even if it isn’t true, it makes a good story, so I’m sticking to it.

I didn’t want the concert to end, but the guys did mention that they would be going to the Roisin Dubh pub afterwards if any of us wanted to meet them there. After singing, dancing, and cheering for hours, my voice was all but gone by the time the concert ended. I booked it out of the theatre with my friends in tow so that we could stop by the merchandise stand and then get to the Roisin. Luckily, I was already familiar with the Roisin and how to get there quickly, so Kaity, Kelly, and I made it there in record time.

The pub was packed when we arrived, as expected. It took us 35 minutes just to weave through the crowds to get up to the bar. After we all ordered drinks, we found a seat with a good view of the entrance so we could see if Alfie and Harry showed up. After the better part of an hour, a lot of people started leaving, probably because they were impatient and didn’t think the guys were coming after all. However, I was determined, so we enjoyed our drinks and our conversation, gleefully aware that the thinning crowd worked to our advantage.

Soon enough, I saw the band walk in the front door, so I assumed Alfie and Harry weren’t too far behind. But then, I thought it would make sense for Alfie and Harry to come through a back door if their band came in the front, so I told Kaity to hold our seats at the bar while I checked the upstairs area for Alfie and Harry. As soon as I reached the top of the stairs I ran into Harry, who was surrounded by girls… which made me cringe at the thought of being associated with fan girls, so I turned the corner instead and saw Alfie talking to a group of guys. But I ended up catching Harry and having a conversation with him before a group of guys came over and asked me to take their photo with Harry. I did and since I had asked Harry previously if I could get a photo with him, I thought one of the guys would take my photo for me. Unfortunately, though, one of them dropped their glass and it shattered on the floor, so Harry was ushered to another location before I could catch him for a photo.

Though I was disappointed about that, later in the night I ended up standing next to Harry and talking to the drummer from Southern, Eoghan. He was really nice and was also glad that I was having a Guinness, so we drank to that and to Southern’s successful performance that evening. I still didn’t manage to get a picture with Harry – soon after, he left the Roisin, but I was glad I got to talk to him.

Meeting Alfie was my favorite part, though. I just went up to him and said “Hi Alfie!” and we started talking. He was really friendly; he gave me a hug when he found out I was from America and had been wanting to see them for such a long time. He asked me my name and when I told him, he said that Maddison was a “lovely, beautiful name,” which, of course, made me melt! Alfie seemed really genuine – he even introduced himself to me and shook my hand (as if I didn’t already know who he was) and he kept using my name in conversation, which made me feel like I was having a chat with a friend. He also got a little bit emotional when I told him I wished that their show would never end. Similarly, he was humbled by the fact that I was American; it must have been amazing to realize that his music has a wider reach than expected. After a quick photo and one more hug, we said goodbye, though I didn’t want to!

Alfie and me hanging out at the Roisin Dubh

All in all, it was a great night that I will never forget. My friends and I might be going to see Hudson Taylor again in early May, but this time we’ll take more friends along with us. I’m sad that the concert is over, but I’m thankful I had the opportunity to see Hudson Taylor from the front row and meet them at a pub afterwards. Only in Ireland!

Until next time,

Maddison

Location: Galway, Ireland

The sights of Sevilla

For those reading some of the other posts on this site, everything being written is true: it is extremely difficult to keep up a blog while abroad. I’m glad I have made a commitment to the GeoBlog, since I am obligated to post with a certain frequency (I just spelled frequency like this: frecuency, similar to the Spanish equivalent frecuencia). But scheduling time to write is very hard, especially when I am trying to form relationships here with my peers as well as dedicate time to my Spanish familia. I apologize for not posting sooner but I plan to write again towards the end of this week.

I think part of what is getting me is the energy of this city and the people around me. There is an element of frantic desire to live and experience things, which I think the photograph above these paragraphs captures. I took this picture at a bar/cafe in el centro of Sevilla; I went with some friends there to get churros con chocolate (a type of fried dough, covered in sugar, which you then dip in the melted chocolate). The cafe-tenders were yelling and in a sort of purposeful frenzy. They seemed to be loving every minute and were joking and laughing with the many customers at the bar. “Proximo! Un cafe con leche! Vamos!” they called out. The customers fed off of the energy of the men behind the counter and laughed right along with them.

This is the energy that I become wrapped up in every day. I lose track of time and when I do have a few hours free, I feel the need to rest and recharge, probably due to my inherently introverted nature. But my friends in this program are eager to see and do everything they possibly can, as am I, and when the situation demands your full attention and participation, you find that you have the emotional and psychological resources to get your head in the game (so to speak). I think this is part of how you grow and mature.

But enough of this psychological mumbo jumbo! Here I list some of the things that have been occupying my time in the past week and a half, during which time I have not written a blog!

Dinner in Sevilla, plus a trip to the discoteca

Last Saturday night, January 17, a group of us went out to the centro in Sevilla to celebrate our one friend’s birthday. It was a fairly large group–I think around 15 total–and because the restaurants in Sevilla are fairly small (especially in el centro, where cafes and bars thrive on the visits of small groups, not large ones) we had to sit outside. Luckily there were heaters, but oh my gosh. It was around 55 degrees with a breeze. Warmer than State College, but not quite summer weather, or even spring. Regardless, it was a nice dinner: I ordered a small bocadillo (sandwich) with smoked salmon and cheese, served with chips. Then we headed to a discoteca called Buddha (if you look it up online, it is actually called Kudeta, but for some reason everyone calls it Buddha).

We were stamped in and explored a little bit! Buddha has three floors, all playing great music, but a group and I decided to stay on the second floor (actually considered the first floor in Spain, and the rest follow accordingly), where they were playing some Spanish hip hop. It was about 1:30AM when we arrived, and we spent the next 4 hours dancing. One of the things that amazes me about the nightlife in Sevilla is how late it starts and how long it lasts. We were there until 5:30AM and there were people that stayed hours longer than we did. I have no idea how they have so much stamina.

Local Finds

One of the things that has been really fun in Sevilla is just walking around and seeing what kinds of things you can stumble upon. Restaurants, sights, cafes, artwork, you name it.

Ofelia’s Bakery

A friend in my intensive class discovered this before coming to Sevilla and it happened to be very close to the CIEE center in el centro. They sell cupcakes, brownies, coffee, all kinds of sweets. It’s tiny but wonderful. I bought an Oreo cupcake for my host mom and a carrot cake cupcake for me. Yum.

Apparently nameless tapas bar

We actually first saw the back of this tapas bar while walking along the river one day. We thought it looked really cool! Then a week later a few of us were on our way to buy bus tickets to Portugal (look for the post about my trip on Friday!) and we walked into the same place. We looked everywhere for a name but couldn’t find one. It seems like it is more of a building that houses many small vendors, each selling something different–wine, gelato, focaccias, etc. I’m excited to come here intentionally one day and spend some time trying different foods.

Various architectural sites

Sevilla is teeming with incredible architecture, even in places where you wouldn’t think to find it. After class one day I was walking around with a friend and we took a random turn down a street that looked pretty. We ended up in a pretty little park that didn’t have a name (seems to be a trend). We found a bench where we were able to sit in the sun and bask while watching the people and their dogs (plus many stray cats) pass.

Some other great things I’ve seen/done/been to:

a coffee shop/bar (the combo is pretty common here) called Mercado Provenzal, where they sell coffee that costs half of a Euro
the church (iglesia) where my host parents were married (doesn’t your heart swell?)
a local chain of coffee called Cafe de Indios (I think that is the right name)
another local chain for sandwiches called 100 Montaditos (where they actually have 100 different kinds of montaditos, or tiny sandwiches)

It’s that time again. Currently it’s 12:53AM in Sevilla and my bed is calling me. But, like I said, I’ll be writing again towards the end of this week, and I’ll have pictures of my weekend trip to Faro, Portugal. Hasta luego!

Location: Plaza Nueva, Sevilla

Mañana, Mañana

The past 10 days have been a whirlwind. It’s been a struggle to find time to post, but now that I’ve gotten into a pretty good schedule, I’ll be much more on top of things. For the first few days, I would immediately fall asleep whenever I touched my bed. The busy schedule is enough to leave you exhausted. Not to mention all of the walking around the city. And of course, the jet lag is real.

Here are some things I wish I had known before I left and have had to learn very quickly.

Luggage can and will be lost. Pack your carryon bag with at least one outfit and hygiene essentials. (No liquids more than 100mL allowed in your carryon bags, so be careful. Getting stopped at security is a hassle best to be avoided.)

Exhausted. Luggage stuck in London

What a way to start our trip. Our layover in Heathrow, London was short and I guess it took a while to transfer all of the bags from our first plane to the connecting flight to Barcelona. Half of our flight’s luggage didn’t make it. This included my suitcase and two of Lauren’s. It was surreal when the baggage carriage stopped turning, signaling that all of the luggage had been unloaded, and our carts were still empty. We were in a brand new country with none of our clothes. Great.

If this happens to you, do what we did. Go to the lost baggage claim and give them your boarding pass. Then, describe the suitcase that you had lost and provide an email where they can contact you when the luggage is located. If you provide your address, the airport will have the suitcase delivered as soon as it is located.

Lauren excitedly awaiting her luggage… that never came.

My suitcase came the next day, and luckily I had enough clothes inmy carryon to somewhat clothe me and Lauren until my bag came. Lauren didn’t have any clothes in her carryon, and her luggage didn’t come for three days. Someone told me that about 85 percent of luggage is delayed while traveling abroad. Be prepared.

2. People don’t work on the weekends, and most businesses are closed on Sundays.

Mañana, mañana is a saying in Spain that describes the work ethic of the people here. Everything is very relaxed, which is great. But it also means a lack of efficiency.

Our shower has been broken twice since we got here and it has been extremely difficult to get it fixed because it always breaks right before the weekend, where no one is around or willing to fix it. There is a lesser sense of urgency than in the United States, which is something that needs to be accepted.

We also found that all of the major shops, except for the cafes and restaurants, were closed on Sundays. Our day for being productive and crossing errands off our list turned into a huge waste of time when we took the train to Plaça Catalunya to find everything closed.

3. It is winter in Barcelona, despite the 60 degree weather.

If you walk around in a short-sleeve T-shirt in January, you will be stared at.

If you go out at night in a crop top and a skirt, no tights and no jacket, people will stare out of the windows and laugh at you. Because no matter how warm that weather is compared to Penn State, it is still winter. The temperature fluctuates enough that I would also recommend bringing your winter coat.

Bring a jacket to the bars and clubs that you don’t mind holding, or bite the bullet and pay for the coat check. Or, be the American that doesn’t mind the cold and ignore the stares. But you will stand out, and that isn’t always a good thing.

4. Cat calls are everywhere, and so are money scams.

You will be whistled at and called to on the streets if you are a girl. Just keep walking, it’s pretty harmless. One guy screamed in my friend’s ear when we were out in Tarragona, but that was just weird. You should never walk alone at night, even if you are a guy. There are particular areas you should avoid when it’s dark and it’s really important to know them before you go out, no matter what city you are studying in. In Barcelona, Las Ramblas becomes particularly sketchy at night if you are not in a group.

People asking for money are everywhere in Barcelona. While it may tug at your heartstrings, this is where judgement and a bit of cynicism comes in. The first day on the train a young boy got on and put a pack of tissue on the empty seats next to us and one on our windowsill. Attached was a short paragraph and a picture of him and what he said was his daughter. The paragraph was asking for money to help feed his daughter and support their life together. I was so sad when I saw it, but the next day I saw at least three other men doing the same exact thing. Your money is limited while abroad and you don’t want to be the sucker that falls for the scam. Be aware.

5. Sometimes you just have to pay.

Sometimes you just have to pay a little bit more for a better experience. It’s hard not to be obsessed with spending money and the current exchange rate. (Although right now it’s the best it’s been in a while!) But it’s important not to let it stop you from experiencing all the great things that the city has to offer. This is the time to enjoy life to the fullest. Be smart with your money, but understand that this may be the exact opportunity that you have been saving for for all these years. It’ll never happen again.

Budgeting is important and saving money where you can is definitely a must. We try to find the cheapest bars and lunch spots. We’ve started going back to our dorm during our lunch break so that we don’t have to pay at a cafe or restaurant, even though it’s about a 20 minute trip. But, indulging every once in a while is part of the experience and nothing to feel guilty about.

Once we start traveling I’m sure that I’ll figure out some more tips for booking the cheapest flights and hostels. I hope this post was helpful!

The best lunch I have had in Barcelona from Mussols right off of Plaça Catalunya

Mushroom croquets and vino rosado with Lauren to celebrate the start of classes at the PETIT POT Bistro

Crab croquets, veal and potatoes from our dorm’s dining hall

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 4

HoAdfrenchures: Chapitre 4
Gra(c/th)ias // Bar(c/th)elona

This past weekend, the entire program took a (partially subsidized) trip to Barcelona, Spain. I’d change the title to Adspainchures, but it doesn’t have quite the same charm. We left Friday afternoon and returned Sunday evening. All said and done, I only got 6 hours of sleep for the whole weekend. (Worth it.)

On the bus ride, we were all chipping in our meager bits of Spanish. I realized I could say “Where is…?” but couldn’t remember the word for “bathroom.” The only Spanish nouns I had in my arsenal were “queso” and “azul.” Verbs were impossible and limited to Dora the Explorer episodes: “Vamenos!” I knew please, thank you, and you’re welcome (staple vocabulary in any language). Someone taught me how to say “sorry,” since I’m not graceful and constantly bump into people, but I never wound up using it because before “lo siento” could pass my lips, I had already said “D�sol�e!”

I was a little nervous about not knowing any Spanish; as it turns out, Barcelona is so flooded with tourists that the English was plentiful. All I really needed to know was the address of our hostel for the cab driver at 4 in the morning. (Of course, I was the only one who had bothered to learn it. I am always the mom of the group. You’re welcome.) 33 Passeig del Gracia, for anyone wondering. There was a constant refrain among our group of people saying “Grathias,” mimicking the way “c”s are pronounced. It sounds very different from any of the other Spanish I’ve heard. Many of the signs were also translated into Catalan, which has enough French in it that I could understand without having to read the English signs.

In fact, being in Spain made me realize how much I have begun to think in French. It took exposure to a third, different language for me to notice that, 90% of the time, my brain is functioning in French. While realizing this made me happy at the vast improvement of my language skills, it was also incredibly frustrating because, yeah, hi, not in France anymore, Marie– no one’s going to understand you.

The hostel was large and welcoming– the second floor was a huge hangout space with TVs, computers, drinks, and foosball. There was also a terrace (and accompanying top floor bar) which had an absolutely beautiful view.

We went to Parc G�ell, the Sagrada Familia, and, on the way home, we saw the Salvador Dali museum. The weekend was packed full of beautiful sights, high views of the city, and a survey of Antoni Gaud�’s unique architecture.

Both Parc G�ell and the Sagrada Familia were designed by the Catalan architect Antoni Gaud�, who also designed many houses in the city. More than simply buildings, Gaud�’s creations are standing works of art. They are incredibly intricate, featuring hand-done stonework and mosaics, incorporating a variety of mediums. His style is incredibly distinctive– you could identify a Gaud� house from a mile away.

I think my favorite thing about Parc G�ell was the way the architecture and planning flowed with the landscape of the hill. It didn’t fight against the slop; it used it to build a terrace. At the peak, showing Gaud�’s religious side, was a worn dual spiral staircase up to a cross, where you could see almost all of Barcelona and as far as the ocean.

We all saw Gaud�’s most famous work, la Sagrada Familia. Corinne, a Frenchwoman and one of the program directors, told me it was like Barcelona’s Eiffel Tower. It has been under construction since 1882 and isn’t expected to be completed until 2026; there are cranes and scaffolding in almost every picture I’ve seen of it. Gaud� died when the project was only one quarter completed, so you can see the distinct styles of all the different architects on each facet of the building. Walking around la Sagrada Familia is like walking around at least four different cathedrals at once.

While the attention to detail was almost absurd in its intricacy and the craftsmanship of the building is impeccable, I didn’t find la Sagrada Familia particularly pretty or aesthetically pleasing in any way. Each of the pieces would be beautiful independently, but thrown all together as if by hazard makes the building look confused, overcrowded, and at points a little tacky.

However, my favorite part about the trip was Barcelona’s nightlife. We coerced Corinne, the director, into going to the clubs with us both nights. As they say in France, “on fait la f�te,” (et on l’a fait, en fait!). All of the clubs were right on the beach, so that you entered into the building, went onto the patio, and exited no more than 100 feet from the Mediterranean sea.

Spain has pretty strict dress rules for their clubs, and two of our friends got turned away the first night because of their sandals. At 4 A.M. we watched the waves and soaked our feet in the ocean and wound up tracking back an ungodly amount of sand into our hostel room.

Thanks for an amazing weekend, Barcelona! (And sorry about the sand.)

Location: Barcelona, Spain

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Adfrenchures: Chapitre 4