la copa mundial!

It's happening in South Africa, the world's best athletes are there right now, and so are a swarm of angry bees...it's the World Cup! And in Spain, it may as well be a national holiday, because no one is really paying attention to anything else (like the painfully slow collapse of the economy). When there's a game that involves Spain, this city shuts down. It's 4 pm, do you know where your Spaniards are? In a bar, at home, wherever there's a TV. In banks, they bring in televisions so that they can watch the game, if they fall during work hours. And somehow, in this soccer/football crazed nation, Spain has yet to earn its first point (USA=2 points. Go figure). I wouldn't say the mood is dour, but there is a certain nervousness in the air. After all, Spain is one of the favorites. You can't be a favorite and lose to the Swiss. Puh-lease. So today, when Spain plays Honduras, I plan to be right there cheering on El Rojo. Why? Because the US isn't going to win (unless all the other teams suddenly come down with a short-lived but debilitating stomach virus), and if Spain wins, there will be a party. Not just any party. A party to end all parties. A let's jump in the fountain and run around like small children party. And that sounds like something I want to see. And if they don't win, everyone will start paying attention to the economy, and no one wants that.

sundays in la latina

Drinking all day is not socially acceptable...in America. Unless you're at barbecue, spending all day in the sun hanging out and kicking back copas would be considered an unhealthy relationship with alcohol. It's not a normal Sunday. However. This blog is about Spain, and as I am American, this is my perspective on all things Spanish, including the Sunday tradition of peeling yourself out of bed on Sunday morning (let's be honest, afternoon) and plopping yourself down on a terrace to drown your hangover with an ice-cold beverage. Many of us don't make it to La Latina, which is the place to be, since it's far and we're lazy. For those who do, as I did today, it is truly wonderful. After starting the morning off at the Reina Sofia Museum at the Photo España exhibition (a photography festival that takes over the city's museums and galleries the month of June), we headed south to La Latina, hoping for a spot in the sun. After a little bit of wandering down Calle Cava Baja (where there aren't any terraces, but a lot of fantastic tapas bars), we scaled the stairs of El Viajero and scored a spot on the roof. After all the stairs, we were clearly hungry, so we proceeded to eat sepia a la plancha (grilled octopus) and drink tintos de verano (red wine mixed with lemon Fanta) for the majority of the day. I've got the sunburn to prove it. Exhausted after so much exertion, we, along with all the other madrileños crawl our way back to our apartments, curling into bed and falling asleep, full, tan, and slightly buzzed. Oh, Sunday.

end of an era

It's now June, the last month of my contract for this year and the end of my stay in a Spanish school. And no, I do not have anything planned for next year. But this isn't about next year, it's about my school. Stay with the subject. So anyway. This is the moment I have been looking forward to and dreading all year. Looking forward to it because it's the beginning of summer, and dreading it because it's the beginning of unemployment. Yikes. And while I imagined I would have a lot of feelings, I didn't think I would miss working in preschool, i.e. the children. That may be a terrible thing to say, but at least I'm being honest. Working with children is exhausting. "Abi, can I go to the bathroom? I have boogers! Look at my shoes! I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE!!" And so on. So I was surprised to find that I feel a little sad leaving those buggers. I will miss the little ones singing Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance" to themselves, and telling me that "Me duele la tummy!" They are adorable despite themselves. And they are quite a self-esteem booster. Everyday, I'm told how pretty I am. And then hugged. I feel that doesn't happen in the workplace. I'm not ready to leave preschool!!

speaking the spanglish

Hanging out with Americans here in Madrid feels like cheating, since the real reason we all came to Madrid was to learn Spanish. And of course, when put together, we all speak in English. Well, to a careless bystander, it may sound like English. But, all of us know that we have infused our English with little Spanish ticks or slips into Spanish grammar. It's not something we do knowingly, but rather, with so much switching between the two systems, our mouths and brains slip into familiar patterns...in the wrong moments. The speaker of these ticks has no idea, however, until someone points out, "Do you know what you just said?" For example, Give me a lost call ("una llamada perdida"= a missed call). What's your direction? ("tu dirección"= your address). Yesternight, I didn't sleeped. ("anoche"= last night; and sleeped...I hadn't had coffee that day). For where do you go out in Madrid? (¿Por dónde sales en Madrid?=Where do you go out in Madrid?). These are the ones that come to recent memory, but I'm sure there are plenty more, both intentional and accidental. We'll go tapaearing, maybe grab some cañas and bocadillos if we still have hunger, y a ver, does anyone have the hour?

fun with arabic

If you've ever tried to learn a language, you're probably familiar with language podcasts. Who hasn't thought, I have a long commute in the subway/car/bus, and I can use this time in a productive way to better myself as a human being? So, you download some free podcasts, put them on your iPod, and begin to speak to yourself on the public transportation system. Depending on what language, this almost always guarantees you a certain amount of space (Arabic=the MOST space and the most nervous looks). Having a fair amount of experience with Spanish and French podcasts, I thought I knew what to expect when I downloaded some in Arabic. In varying levels of difficulty, the speakers would discuss daily situations like going to a restaurant or to the gym, and perhaps some current events that reflected a certain cultural aspect. I asked a friend who listens to a German podcast what the set up was like, and she told me there is always someone ordering beer. Work situation? Someone orders a beer. Discussion with a family member? That probably involves a beer, at least in German. You've gotta know your priorities. Well. I've been listening to these Arabic podcasts for some time, and I've gotta say, the situations are getting progressively more bizarre. It started out with a conversation about how one of the speakers was a fast eater and one was a slow eater. The next one was about a child asking for a piece (...of something) from his mother. The next one (and final one, that I have patience for), blows them all out of the water. Here is the transcript, no exagerations:
Title: Please Don't Praise Me

A: You are generous, good, and intelligent.
B: Please don't praise me, because I think that the devil will get inside my head and make me think that I'm better than other people.
A: Modest!

I understand that with Arabic, the different dialects make it a difficult language to teach, and it is inseparable, really, from political and emotional charged discussions/diatribes relating to Islam and relations between the Near East and West. I get that. However. How is that a beginner Arabic conversation?? What happened to counting? Can a girl get a podcast about ordering some food in a restaurant?

mom and dad and lisbon...and sarah??

So...the family vacation, part deux. I've already written about Lisbon. And vacation with the parents. So really, what more is there to talk about? The double-date parental vacation! What in the world is that, you ask? Only when you and one of your closest friends go on vacation to the same place, at the same time, and stay at the same hotel...and each of you is with your parents. Hurrah! So, with my parents, I did all the Lisbon-y things that you do: Go to Sintra to see the fairytale castles, go to Bélem to see the Monastery and the Tower and to eat the awesome pastries, walk around Lisbon and check out the fabulous food. Then, with Sarah, the plan was that we would go out, which we would have, had she not had pneumonia and had I not been a disaster with legs. Life happens. Anyway. We DID have one big group dinner, which was fun and bizarre simaltaneously. After living by yourself, without your friends knowing your parents or family structure, it's almost overwhelming for everyone to meet each other. It helps, for my parents at least, to put a face on this Sarah character, who bakes muffins and engages in bakery eating contests in far-off Italy. And it was great to meet Sarah's dad and step-mom, since I feel like I know so much about them. And of course, the food was awesome. Awesomely gigantic. My mom got some kind of pork loin, and it could have fed all of us. That's not an exageration. After eating as much as she could and giving away slices to everyone, she still had five slice on her plate. Five, thick, saucy slices. After rolling back to our hotel (Lisbon is very hilly), we awoke early the next morning, and said a bittersweet goodbye. It's great to see my parents, but it's always hard to say good-bye. Big BESOS!

mom and dad and porto

It's becoming a yearly event, the (almost) family vacation (just missing the bro!). We're making up for lost time, for the vacation-less saving for college years. Last year, it was London and Edinborough, this year, it was Lisbon and Porto, for a little southern Mediterranean flair. My parents spent a day in Lisbon before I arrived, checking out Sao Jorge's castle and wandering around the capital, something I had already done on my visit last July. When I arrived on Sunday, we caught a train and went north to the city of Porto, famous for its bridges and delicious port wine. Anxious to get out and about, we ventured from our hotel to get something to eat. I decided to follow the advice of my Lonely Planet guidebook, and we headed to Café Embaixador, a restaurant near the main square. Touristy, but we trusted Lonely Planet, and quite honestly, it wasn't bad and we got to experience Portuguese junk food. America and McDonald's always get blamed for the growing obesity epidemic spreading through Europe, but if you're eating a francesinha (the local sandwich) with any regularity, just start buying bigger pants. It's filled with cured ham, two different kinds of sausage and melted cheese, and then drowned with a tomato and beer sauce, only to be topped with...a fried egg. I believe the fried egg is optional, but since we were on vacation, we splurged. We split it between the three of us, and still couldn't eat it all. Then, we walked, to counteract the cholesterol. Up the hills, down the hills, we ended up next to the river with the setting sun hitting the old colorful buildings. Sigh. For dinner, after consulting both the New York Times travel section and guide books (sometimes, it's good to improvise, and sometimes, you need some advice), we headed to a place that quite litereally, resembled a cave. I felt quite at home eating some jamón "pata negra" (the good stuff), cured cheeses, and blood sausage (Dad: "Why is this so dark?" Me: "You don't really want to know."), which disgusted my mom a little bit. Personally, my goal on every trip/day. The next day, we awoke and after elbowing the Germans out of the way at breakfast, we headed across the bridge to drink some port. Luckily, alcohol consumption before noon is perfectly acceptable, so we went at it. Another day gone in a sweet-alcohol induced haze, we hopped on a train to Lisbon the next day. Not after enjoying a lovely seafood stew next to the Duoro river though. Vacation with the parents is the life.