Madrid Part 5

BECAUSE I WROTE SO MUCH ABOUT MADRID IT IS POSTED IN INSTALLMENTS- YOU SHOULD START READING FROM PART 1 :)

We headed back on the metro in order to catch a bus out to Xanadu, a mall with an indoor skiing/snowboarding mountain. My boyfriend is an avid snowboarder, he even teaches kids how to ride, so he really wanted to check it out. Since the amusement park had pretty much been a failure, we figured a trip out to the mall on our last day in Madrid could possibly salvage some of our time. I have never been snowboarding or skiing before because I am very accident prone. I didn’t think it would be a good idea for me to start now, in a foreign country and a few days after my medical insurance had expired. But I told him that if he wanted to get in some boarding time I could wander around the gigantic mall for a little while. Ultimately, he decided not to board, seeing the course from the outside and snapping some pictures was enough. We decided to grab some dinner in the food court. There was a huge donut stand in the middle of the food court that my boyfriend couldn’t ignore. He pretty much demanded that we get a half dozen. They did look pretty good and there were some interesting flavors. Some of the donuts were called “americano” which apparently means cream filled. Don’t worry Mom, we ate the donuts after we’d already had dinner. I had a banana one, which for some reason didn’t agree with me as about an hour later I threw it up. Perhaps some chemical in the flavoring did me in. I don’t really believe in those claims of something as awful for you as a donut being 100% organic.

The mall was oddly calming. As much as I hate shopping, malls remind me of my childhood as there wasn’t much else to do for fun on Long Island. It amazed me at how there were no differences between the mall in Madrid and the malls from my childhood. Despite the geographical and chronological differences, a mall is pretty much constant. Americans might have the reputation of being overly materialistic consumers, but I think consumerism is a facet of any modern society in the developed world. I did take notice of how every store had signs in the windows advertising their sales. (The signs often had the word for sale in five or six different languages, just in case there was any confusion.) Signs of the economic depression are evident in Madrid, as Spain has an unemployment figure at least three times that of the U.S. So people were shopping, but perhaps they were being manipulated by the apparent money that could be saved by “acting now.” At any rate, the rest of the evening consisted of me waiting outside of stores with bored husbands as my boyfriend shopped around for clothing that he doesn’t need. He has a problem and I enable it.

Soon enough we were back on the bus to Madrid, tired and stuffed with mall food. All I wanted to do was get back to the room, pack and then go to sleep. I knew that we would have to settle out the payment with the hostel that night. We had tried to pay by credit card when we checked in, but we were told to just do it later. Every time I talked to the people that worked at the hostel it was in Spanish. I felt compelled to speak in Spanish because it was such a small hostel and the workers were clearly locals. In the end it probably would have been better if I’d at least spoken a little bit in English. I had been uncertain of their English comprehension, but when an issue with the money came up they clearly demonstrated that they had no problems with the English language. The day before I had asked if my boyfriend could pay for the room with his credit card, even though they had my credit card information because I had booked the room. The woman told me that we would have to pay in cash because the credit card machine was broken. I had read online that she might do this, that they don’t tell you beforehand that they only take cash- and it’s only when you are already there that they tell you the real story. We had spoken in Spanish, but she had been clear- at least in my mind. She said that we had to pay in cash, that it was necessary. I told her okay and that was the end of the conversation. We were ticked off because my boyfriend was pretty much out of cash, but could afford to put the charge on his no/low interest credit card. If he paid for the room we would be almost even with the money we’d spent for the trip. We decided that we would check one last time if we could pay with the card before I went to the ATM and did the massive withdrawal. I really don’t like having that much cash on me at one time, so I didn’t want to take the money out until it was absolutely necessary.

So we came back that last night and I asked if there was any way we could pay by card. I also wanted to make sure that they were going to charge me the correct amount of money, the price they had quoted to me in the confirmation email back in early December. She was very short with me, telling me in Spanish that the machine was broken, that I knew this and that I had to give her the money right now. ¡Damelo! (give it to me) she yelled. I told her I had to go get the money from the ATM and she was like freaking out that I didn’t have the cash on me in that moment. At least there was no argument over the price, but still- she had no right to yell at me like that. I went back to the room and told my boyfriend what had happened. He was upset that she had yelled at me. I asked him to come with me to go to the ATM that was across the street. I tried to take out the full amount but it was more than the ATM’s limit, so I took out the limit and added the rest from the little amount of euros I had left. (Since London was my next stop, I didn’t want to be carrying around a lot of a currency that wasn’t valid.) The second we opened the door to the hostel upon our return the woman shouted “You have the money!” and came running. It was all English after that. I gave her the cash, she counted it and said thank you. I didn’t want to speak with her anymore.

But my boyfriend had things to say. The entire time he had been quiet, barely interacting with the staff- always letting me ask questions and such, seemingly because of the language thing. He told the woman that it was rude not to tell people in advance that they can’t pay by credit card. Of course she didn’t like this. She told him that it was all the same to her if someone paid by card or by cash and that it was my fault because I should’ve told her the day before that we needed to pay by card, that she could have called up the credit card company and asked for a manual charge, something like that. She said that I told her cash was no problem and thus she hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t want to fight with her. I just wanted to get out of there, get back to the room and lie down. My head was spinning in anger. It frustrated me that if only I’d pushed a little further we might have been able to use the card and I wouldn’t be out hundreds of euros. (I still have plenty of money, but it sucks to not have money that you were counting on.) I was adamant that she hadn’t told me of any option to use the card, but like I said I didn’t want to argue. My boyfriend had some more words for her, even as I pulled on his arm telling him that we should just leave. Once back in the room I was crying and telling him that it wasn’t my fault. He didn’t think it was, he was just upset that I didn’t defend myself. I guess part of what held me back was the question of whether or not the misunderstanding was because the conversation between the woman and I had been in Spanish. Maybe if I had spoken in English I could’ve pressed harder and found this option of using the card? Eventually I calmed down, but it hurt me a lot that I was being blamed for something.

I stayed up way too late and was overly emotional that my boyfriend and I had to say goodbye again. We’d had our ups and downs together during our time in Rome and Madrid, and I’d just started feeling like we were getting to know each other, how we’d both changed in our time apart. He had to leave early for a train back to Barcelona so we said goodbye at 4:30am and I went back to sleep soon after that. At about 9:30 there was loud knocking and I thought that they were barging in my room because I had overslept and missed the check out time of 11am. But it wasn’t knocking on my door, rather they were doing some sort of construction on the floor upstairs. That made me even more thankful that I was leaving Madrid in only a matter of hours.

After a hot chocolate at a wonderful coffee shop around the corner, I headed to the airport on the metro. I was upset. I felt really burnt out. I started to think that leaving London until the end of my European adventure was a bad idea because it was the one place that I had always wanted to travel to- I can’t remember not wanting to go to London. I had saved the best for last, but I didn’t feel like my mind or body could handle anymore traveling. I was a bit miserable in the airport, especially when my flight was delayed and I realized that I hadn’t bought a postcard in Madrid. The only souvenir I get myself is a postcard from each place I visit and I had forgotten to get one for Madrid. It made me angry. I had to walk all the way to the furthest section of gates of the departures area before I found a newspaper stand that had a few postcards. They weren’t very appealing, but I picked the least offensive one and got in line in order to board my flight to London.

The flight was okay, but I was still overly emotional. I wrote down some random thoughts in my moleskin journal and had that lovely experience of water droplets ruining the page. I was able to calm myself in the airplane bathroom. I even slept a little bit.

I just prayed that I would have a good time in London, that somehow I would be able to regain some energy and get my mind into a good place.

Luckily, that is exactly what happened.

nikki

Madrid Part 4

Towards the end of the week in Madrid we found some non-touristy things to amuse ourselves with. My boyfriend and I are big fans of improvisational comedy. He’s in a formal troupe and does all sorts of shows. I’m a casual player. I’ve really missed having improv in my life. There is no way I can do improv in Spanish so I’ve been without it for a long time. But we found out that there was an improv show going down in Madrid and decided it was worth it to check it out even if we couldn’t understand what was going on. When we arrived at the theatre we were given slips of paper with an instruction at the top to write a phrase that was appropriate for… well something, but I didn’t know what the last word of the instruction meant! So I wrote a random phrase in Spanish and my boyfriend wrote something in English. We knew that the performers would use the slips of paper as inspiration for their scenes. As the nature of improv is to go with whatever happens, to never question your first instinct, whatever we wrote would be made appropriate. I was very nervous that I wouldn’t enjoy the performance, that my frustration at not understanding what was being said would take all of the fun out of it for me. I didn’t understand how my boyfriend could be excited to see a show in a language he doesn’t know. I saw the show as a test of how far my language comprehension had come, if my Spanish knowledge and love for improv could come together for an unforgettable evening.

Well I definitely passed the test. I’d say I understood about 75% of what was said, and another 10% was understood through the context of the scene and the physical actions the performers employed. For the most part I was able to laugh along with the Spanish audience. My improv critic returned and I could even evaluate the performers’ skills or lack thereof. I could even imagine how I would respond differently in the scene! I was so happy that we had taken the chance on the show. It was a fabulous evening in that I got a taste of a hobby that has long been withheld from me and I was given undeniable evidence that my language comprehension has vastly improved. It might seem at times like I had it too easy in Barcelona, that there was so much English around that I didn’t really have the opportunity to learn the language to an appreciable extent. But I’d have to contend that just having my classes taught in Spanish really helped my language skills. However, being able to do something fun because I “know” Spanish was an amazing experience. It is fantastic to see that what I have been struggling with in the classroom actually has real world consequences. It’s not like calculus or the history of Soviet Russia, where you are constantly asking “When am I going to need to know this?” There are practical reasons for studying Spanish, as it can help you get ahead in the professional world, but there is also the motivation to be included in another segment of the population- even if it is only in a passive way. I need to continue to challenge myself when I get back to the U.S. by watching television shows in Spanish and keeping up with the language exchange group- in general taking advantage of any opportunity that I might find. As frustrating as this process has been and will continue to be, that improv show demonstrated the possibilities of knowing another language, how I can benefit from this knowledge. It made me want to commit further to my language studies so I can continue to enjoy things that were previously inaccessible because they were broadcast in Spanish. Something I need to do is find an effective way to learn vocabulary. You can study grammar all you want but if you don’t know what the words mean, you can’t communicate. I’d say at least 65% of what I didn’t understand was due to a vocab deficiency (or possibly slang that I’m not aware of, which can also be learned).

We visited el parque de attraciones (literally, attraction park) which is an amusement park in Madrid. It is easily accessible by metro. It was really strange to be able to see the roller coasters from the metro station. The park was pretty small compared to your average Six Flags, but there were a few rides that looked delightful (and by delightful I mean terrifying). We were quick to get in line for the impressive looking roller coaster that shoots you pretty much straight up. My boyfriend had read about the coaster online and was psyched to ride it. Because it was January (cold) and there was the threat of rain, there weren’t a lot of people in the park. Lines were really short, which made us happy because we figured we’d be able to get on more rides in a short period of time. But for this kick ass roller coaster there needed to be 12 riders (to fill the entire car) before the ride would run. I’ve never encountered this before. I’ve been on several roller coasters with just my boyfriend, and even a few just by myself. But the big sign above the room where you wait in line said in both Spanish and English that we would have to wait until there were enough people to fill the car. We waited for a good 15 minutes before there were finally 11 people, and we convinced the ride operator to let it run. It was definitely worth the wait.

If the stupid rule wasn’t in place, we would have gone on again immediately, but we didn’t want to waste time waiting when there were other rides we wanted to experience. The next roller coaster had small cars of only 4 people and he was running plenty of them with only 3 people. Due to the lack of wait, people were going on many times in a row- which just made the cars continue to run. It was a good system.

But the situation was ridiculous when we tried to go on the next roller coaster. We ran to join the line as the car had just pulled into the station and people were getting on. But of course just before us the car had filled up and there were no more seats. We would have to wait for the next car. There was only one other person waiting to ride when the car came back to the station. No one returned to ride again. We were waiting and waiting and finally the ride operator came out, turned his back to my boyfriend and I, and told the girl behind us in line in Spanish that the ride wouldn’t go without a full car- 24 people. I immediately turned around and asked him to repeat the number of people, in case I had heard him incorrectly, but I hadn’t. It also ticked me off that he deliberately only addressed the girl behind us, assuming that neither my boyfriend nor I understood Spanish. I wouldn’t expect him to say it in English. But he should have addressed everyone that the message pertained to! It seemed insane that we would have to wait for that many people to magically come along. It was very frustrating as we stood shivering in the cold as small groups of people would come up to the line, realize the situation and just walk away. If no one stayed, the coaster would never run! It took almost a ½ hour before there were enough people. The guy was a definite stickler for the ridiculous rule as he refused to run it five minutes earlier when there were 22 people. The ride itself was very disappointing after such a long wait. We were in the front row, because we surely weren’t going to settle for anything less after the wait. But as we flew through the air, we were stung in our faces by what felt like bb pellets. It had started to rain.

Once we were off the ride we put up our umbrellas and went back to the first roller coaster because we wanted to get to ride it again before it started to really pour. It took a little while, but eventually we did get 12 people in line and got the ride operator’s attention. He came out and told us that the coaster would not run in the rain. It was really only drizzling at the moment. My boyfriend and I have been on a ton of roller coasters in rain much heavier. The operator said something about the ride not being able to operate if the tracks were wet. Of course he said this in Spanish so I had to translate for my boyfriend, who didn’t take the news very well. We both concluded that it was complete b.s. and tried to go on other rides, but it seemed that they had all closed. Even the damn ferris wheel was abandoned. This really upset me because a ferris wheel can be romantic and I figured it would be nice to go for a little ride with my boy. There is no reason whatsoever that a ferris wheel can’t run in a little rain. The entire park was deserted and we regrettably left the park- after having gone on 5 rides. The entrance fee was 30 euros per person… so you do the math. My boyfriend said that he was still happy that we came because he had really wanted to ride that one coaster, but I knew that we were both a little bitter about the situation. We figured that the park used the rain as an excuse to close down completely for the rest of the day, which in our minds cheated paying customers out of the experience they paid for.

Madrid Part 3 (New Years!)

So I tried to concentrate on the intangible aspects of our time in Madrid. I will definitely remember what it was like to countdown to midnight on New Year’s Eve in Puerta del Sol! We were actually a little concerned that we had missed it as we walked home towards Puerta del Sol on the night of the 30^th and there were tons of people in the square partying it up. We were confused, but after repeatedly checking our calendars and seeing that New Year’s Eve it was not, we decided to just go to the hostel. As midnight hit we could hear the screams and shouts in the square from our room. We went outside to see what else was going on, but things were dispersing by the time we got out. We had no idea what had gone on until I looked up “celebrations in Madrid December 30^th” in google and was informed of “nochevieja falsa”. “Nochevieja” is often a way of saying New Year’s Eve. Thus the night before New Year’s Eve was fake New Year’s Eve- an excuse for the Madrileños to party two nights in a row. The websites said that nochevieja falsa is pretty much the same as nochevieja except there aren’t fireworks or as many spectators.

The others in our hostel could not believe that we were going to bed before 1am, especially during the holiday festivities. Spaniards usually don’t leave for a night out until after midnight and party it up until 5 or 6 in the morning, usually depending on when the metro starts running again. I don’t think I’ll ever live that kind of lifestyle. Honestly, there wasn’t much for us to do at night because we don’t drink and aren’t willing to pay ridiculous cover charges to stand in a room full of people with music blasting so loud your ears ring for days afterward. It especially didn’t make sense to us to party and go crazy the night before the real thing. Doesn’t doing it twice take some of the fun out of it? I was happy that we hadn’t seen what had gone on that night because it would have taken all of the surprise and wonder out of the actual celebration the next night.

The real New Year’s Eve bash was a little like Halloween as so many people had on crazy wigs in every color and hairstyle you could think of. My boyfriend and I didn’t wear anything special. However, we did take part in the tradition of eating 12 grapes at midnight, one for each stroke of the clock. For some reason, this was different to me than dressing up in a crazy outfit. Even though I’ve never eaten grapes at midnight on New Year’s Eve before, I knew I would do so as soon as I planned to be in Madrid for New Years. Everyone that knew of my travel plans reminded me to eat the grapes and I had been a little worried that I wouldn’t be able to find any in the stores so close to the holiday. Much to my surprise, grapes were actually plentiful. Many stores sold 12 grapes in individual containers marked as 12 uvas de la suerte (12 grapes of luck) for a ridiculously expensive amount and there were people selling ziplock bags of 12 grapes hours before midnight right in the middle of the square.

My boyfriend and I thought that we were being smart by buying a large bunch of grapes in the supermarket and just collecting the 24 we needed ourselves. But when the clock struck midnight we were foiled- the grapes had seeds in them! I’ve never seen anything but seedless grapes in the supermarket in the U.S. so I never even thought of the possibility of seeds. When speed of consumption is the goal, seeds are not advisable! I did my best to chow down on the grapes, as not finishing in time is considered bad luck. I swallowed the seeds and all, but still had three or four in my hand when the clock stopped chiming. I popped the rest in my mouth and swallowed hard, darting my eyes around nervously and hoping that no one else had noticed. But then I realized that everyone was too busy chewing on their own grapes to care about me risking choking in order to finish mine. My boyfriend was still eating grapes and delicately picking out the seeds when the fireworks and light show were going on. The light show was interesting, as the different names and flags of the countries in the European Union were projected onto the building that is called Real Casa de Correos because it was originally built as a post office, but is now the headquarters of the President of Madrid. (Spain’s governmental system is hard to understand and even harder to explain. Like Catalonia, Madrid is an autonomous community and thus has its own leadership.) Spain took over the rotating presidency of the European Union and will hold the position for six months starting January 1^st. I didn’t know that the presidency rotated and am still a little confused about it, in light of the recent election of that Belgian guy as the President of the EU. This website explains a little bit of how important this is for Spain http://www.eu2010.es/es/index.html

So I feel lucky that I got to see this special light show. I recorded a part of it and posted the video on my youtube account (nikkif610) if you are curious. It was really impressive. I found it cool that the names of each country were displayed in Spanish and then in each country’s native language so it was a multi-faceted international education. For example, Denmark is Dinmarca in Spanish and Danmark in Danish. It has always fascinated me how the spellings of places change in different languages. Sometimes it makes sense because of the different ways that letters are pronounced, such as how Philadelphia becomes Filadelfia in Spanish because the ph sound is an f in Spanish. (I actually have issues spelling words like photograph in English now because I am so used to the f being the ph sound!)

I am just so thankful that the weather held out as we all stood in Puerta del Sol waiting for and then reveling in the New Year. Hours before it was actually hailing as we watched the annual New Year’s Eve San Silvestre Vallencana 10km race. The amateur’s run was entertaining as lots of people ran in costumes. There were elves, cows, pigs, elephants and fake police officers. My personal favorite was Pac Man, with SpongeBob coming in at a close second. I can not imagine running with a big costume like that on your shoulders, especially in the rain and hail disgusting mix. I’m sure the crowd and general mood of the race would’ve been better if the weather had been more hospitable, but it was still an interesting experience to witness such a unique race. Streets were roped off to traffic, but there were no barricades to keep back the crowds. People crossed the path of the runners whenever they felt like it. It seemed kind of dangerous. It was so different than the Boston Marathon (the only other large scale race I’ve seen). People take the professional race seriously, but even during that race the crowd was dangerously close to the runners as they tried to keep up pace and pass through the people who should’ve been sticking to the sidelines.

For the most part my boyfriend and I did not have a hard time staying together. Even when it was pouring rain and the sidewalks were packed with people under umbrellas we were able to keep track of each other. But one night we got separated on the metro. They closed the Puerta del Sol station for New Year’s Eve starting at 9 o’clock and it was just about 9 when we were switching lines at the station. The train we wanted to switch to was waiting there when we got to the bottom of the stairs and I charged forth at top speed to make it on because I thought it was the last train of the night. I figured he was right behind me because he’s a runner (ran in last year’s Boston marathon in fact) but when I turned around he wasn’t right there. I stuck my bag in the door as it started to close, figuring it would open back up once the sensors noticed something in the way, but the doors didn’t open! As hard as I and some of the other people on the train with me tried to open the door it wouldn’t budge. I wrestled the bag free and the train left the station, and he was left on the platform alone. I could not understand why the doors wouldn’t open again. What if something more sensitive than a bag was stuck in the door?

I got out at the stop we were going towards and waited above ground for him, thinking that he’d have to walk. It was crowded outside the station as people were getting psyched for a night of merriment and I was nervous that we wouldn’t be able to find each other that easily. There was nothing I could do. The lack of means of communication was frightening to me. Of course we did find each other. It turns out that the train I was on was not the last and after a little he exited the station and we were able to go to dinner.

We went to a restaurant called Foster’s Hollywood that says that it has American food. It seemed like a poor man’s version of Hard Rock Café with the minimal American memorabilia of questionable authenticity on the walls. I’m fairly certain none of the waiters spoke English. It took me a few minutes to realize that they were asking us if we wanted the smoking or non-smoking section. Smoking section? I’m not that young, I can remember when there were smoking sections in restaurants in the U.S. My mother smokes, so our family often sat in that section. I remember people being a little angry when the tougher anti-smoking in public places laws came into effect, but eventually they were accepted and by now are considered normal. I don’t think such laws would ever work in Spain (or many other places in Europe). There just isn’t a demand for change. And yet in the restaurant we were told that we would have to wait to sit in the non-smoking section but there were plenty of tables available in the smoking section. It could’ve just been chance (we were in the restaurant early for dinner- only about 8 o’clock) but I’d like to think that the lack of smokers in the restaurant signals some kind of change towards a healthier society. I will never accept that smoking is part of someone’s culture. It’s a closed minded attitude, I’ll fully admit that. If you smoke my opinion of you plummets. I can’t help it. So it’s hard for me to respect a culture that promotes toxins. I know it’s tricky. Smoking isn’t illegal. People have a right to do it. But I can’t stand when someone else’s decision negatively impacts my wellbeing.

Madrid Part 2

My Spanish definitely helped us in a variety of different situations. For some reason we were still craving pizza after Rome and went on a hunt for a decent pizzeria. We found a place in a little alley that claimed to be “authentic Italian”. My boyfriend likes pizza but hates tomato sauce, so premade pizzas generally don’t cut it. The place advertised different combinations of ingredients, but also said that it makes them from scratch. So we figured we could ask for a pizza without sauce and with a couple ingredients that we both liked. He pushed me inside the little store so I could work my Spanish magic and order the unusual dish. You see, he wanted potatoes on it- and thus I got the guy to go next door and get some french fries to put on top of the pizza! I doubt he would’ve done that if I’d given him the order in English. I didn’t know that he’d have to go next door to get the fries, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked, but I’d like to think that my ability to communicate this customer’s desires helped create the lovely pizza that we devoured in our hostel room.

There are plenty of other examples of needing to use Spanish to get the attention that we deserved, such as when we needed to purchase a memory card reader. My boyfriend had some pictures he wanted to save on my computer so he could free up space on his memory card and take more snapshots of our travels but we didn’t have the cable to connect his camera with my laptop. We went to super pricey El Corte Ingles because I didn’t know where else would have the gadget. It took a little while as the place was slammed but I did get someone’s attention. (Even though it was after Christmas, people were still buying tons of gifts because El Día de los Reyes Magos (not sure how to translate it into English, literally it is the day of the magic kings) is January 6^th and lots of families exchange gifts at that point. But in between that craziness with gift-wrapping and teenagers whining about wanting the latest edition of an impossibly small digital camera, the saleswoman had a second to answer my questions. We bought one and when it didn’t work we had to return it. I was nervous about returning it because we had ripped it out of the box and attempted to use it. Would they believe us that it didn’t work? Theoretically anyone could buy a reader, use it to download what they want, and then return it to the store. But after a little explanation they had no problem giving us a full cash refund. That was a challenge for me, to fight for something in another language- especially when I would be hesitant to have the same conversation in English.

After that first afternoon, we didn’t have a single day without rain while we were in Madrid. Everyday my shoes would be soaked and I’d whine about being wet on top of being cold in our room. The awful weather made us seek refuge in a ton of museums. Individually they were fascinating, but looking back it’s hard to appreciate it all because it was just too much for the brain to absorb. My boyfriend and I took notes on things we found particularly interesting so we could reflect later on because at the time we were both too cranky on art overload to appreciate what we were doing in the moment. The Reina Sofia museum is free several nights a week from 7 until 9 so we went twice and probably could’ve used another two hour block- it’s that big. The first time we went all I wanted to see was Guernica, Pablo Picasso’s painting in response to the bombings during the Spanish Civil War. I’ve seen reproductions in books a dozen or so times, but I expected seeing it in person to be a moving experience. In general you are allowed to take pictures in the Reina Sofia, but before you go into the Guernica room (yes the painting has its own room, its that large in physical size and reputation) there is a big sign saying no photography or video is allowed. Of course this didn’t stop several people from taking pictures, even when they were yelled at by the museum workers. I guess the work meant a lot to many people in the room. Tons of people just stood there staring at it for a while. I looked and looked but it just didn’t click with me. Even after all the research I had done about bombings during the Spanish Civil War, I just didn’t get it. Maybe that was my problem; I’d seen so many literal representations of the death and devastation that an abstract painting didn’t do the tragedy any justice in my mind. I am still thankful that I had the opportunity to see the painting in person, but it wasn’t an experience like I thought it would be.

We quickly realized that a two-hour block (which was actually less when you figure in waiting in line and then getting kicked out 15 minutes before the official closing time) was not nearly enough to see what we wanted to see. We felt really rushed and I didn’t help anything by tripping off a ramp and slamming the entire left side of my body on the concrete floor. We were both in a bad mood when we left and when the food vendor around the corner from the museum pretended not to understand me when I asked for a potato I just lost it. I was so angry in general, and it was easy to just be mad at this guy. I clearly indicated I wanted a sweet potato, used the words from the damn menu even, and he just asked if I wanted the chestnuts. What the hell? It made me so frustrated that my Spanish failed me. It wasn’t good enough. My knowledge wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t fake being a native. I can’t blend in. I’ll always be seen as different and that just gets so damn irritating. I will definitely not miss being treated as something inferior based on what I look like, that’s for sure. Obviously I’m a bit over sensitive when it comes to this, but I hate how it makes me feel- to be judged on things I can’t control. I try to focus on the positive, on all the times that I did communicate successfully in Spanish and proved that I did know what was going on, but of course it’s the failures that stay with me.

One of which was not for a lack of trying. There was a tourist pass that you could buy that gave you unlimited access to the bus and metro within the city center as well as transportation to a handful of tourist interest places outside of Madrid. I had wanted to do a day trip out to Toledo, which was one of the places included in the deal. All I wanted to know was how to get to Toledo using the pass because the only way I could find was to take a Renfe long distance train, which the pamphlet explicitly stated was not covered by the pass. We went to the bus station that my guidebook said the buses to Toledo leave from and asked at the info desk but the woman just thrust a piece of paper at me with the name and location of a different bus station. I went downstairs and asked the guy at the metro information desk and he said he could sell me the pass but couldn’t tell me any information about it. He had no idea how you would get to Toledo using the metro system. I then asked the guy at the Renfe information desk because Renfe also has a short distance service that would be covered by the pass. He said that the only way you can get to Toledo on Renfe is the long distance- which the pass doesn’t cover. So all I knew was that there was a bus that leaves from another station that goes to Toledo. It frustrated me so much that even asking all of my questions in Spanish didn’t help me to get any information. We didn’t buy the passes, only to find out the next day when we got on the bus that the mysterious bus was part of the metro bus network and would’ve been covered by the pass-saving us some precious euros. I still don’t understand how the bus network is but is not connected to the metro in Madrid…

Toledo ended up being a nice break from the city as the weather was fair and we could walk up and down the streets at our leisure. The town is very old and used to be the capital of Spain back in the 1500s I think. Most of the buildings are thus very old and resemble castles. (See picture above.) I hated how jaded I felt as I walked around the town, as it reminded me of Sitges and Sevilla and a couple of other places that I’d already seen. It frustrated me that my mind was already starting to blend my experiences together, and something that would have fascinated me a few months ago was almost boring to me now. Despite the intriguing architecture and gorgeous views, I was not profoundly affected by our time in Toledo. I had been looking forward to it because I had read about how it was like stepping back in time, but when I was there I realized that I’ve already had that experience, several times in fact as I’ve traveled around Europe. Things are old. I get it. I still took pictures and some video because I know that after I return to the U.S. I will miss that history in the atmosphere. We went to the Museum of Torture and squirmed at the descriptions and physical remnants of torture devices. Outside of the museum, there was a display of a burlap sack over a mannequin that immediately made me think of those pictures of the prisoners from Abu Ghraib, with that whole torture scandal. I guess it is interesting to think of how in some ways we haven’t evolved that much over time. But again, in the moment, it was just too difficult to fully appreciate Toledo. It’s not that I’ve been taking my travels for granted exactly, just wasn’t dazzled by anything physical in Madrid (or Toledo).

Madrid Part 1

I love Madrid’s metro system. It reminded me of Paris’ subway, with all of the pretty colors and big informative signs everywhere. It was super easy to get from the airport to our hostel as the metro connects them both. My only complaint about the metro is that you have to pay an extra euro per ticket if you are coming from or going to one of the airport stations. The ticket machine did not do the best job in explaining this charge, so I asked the man behind the info desk so I knew I had it right. One euro per ticket plus another euro as the airport supplement fee. Wonderful. My conversation with him was the first time that I used Spanish since before Rome. I was surprised at how quickly I switched to what is slowly becoming my second language.

Our hostel was in Puerta del Sol, which is considered the center of the city by some. The Sol metro stop is where several of the different lines meet, so it was a little crazy when we first got off the train. When we finally emerged from underground, we were in the middle of a bustling little square with people, food and shops everywhere. After a little fiddling with the googlemap I printed out, we figured out where to go and found the hostel. The main door to the building was pretty fancy. There was a security system, so we buzzed the floor of the hostel and I must’ve been out of it from no sleep and traveling because my boyfriend heard a response and before I knew it we were buzzed in. The lobby of the building was impressive, as was the staircase leading up to the second floor where the hostel was. My hopes for the quality of the hostel went soaring. But then the door to the hostel opened and I had to quickly adjust my expectations.

It wasn’t awful. We had our own room as promised, which included a sink and small shower. The shower was literally in the room, something I’ve never seen before. It was freestanding with faulty glass doors that took some finagling in order to close properly and prevent water from spraying onto our belongings. We discovered that we had a little balcony, as an entire wall of the room was really a gigantic door that could be opened to expose the entire room to the elements. The amazement at the view (we could see the center of Puerta del Sol down the street) quickly wore off as we realized that pretty much any heat we had in the room would be lost through this opening. Even when the door was completely shut and bolted, you could still feel the breeze from outside. It didn’t help that the two small radiators in the room barely worked. I was cold whenever I was in our room throughout our stay. At night I slept under three blankets as well as sweatpants, long sleeved shirt and sweatshirt. With all of this and my boyfriend’s body heat it was bearable. I never considered myself a cold person, but for some reason the situation did not agree with me. The other unfortunate side effect of the balcony set up was that there was no natural sunlight when the door was closed (which it needed to be because it is freakin winter). It was very disorienting to wake up and have no idea if it was the middle of the night or noon. It made it hard to get out of bed because I wasn’t receiving any sort of natural signals that it was indeed time to start the day. I’ve always had some sort of window in my bedroom, always took this for granted. But now I realize just how important and beneficial windows are!

After all of the rain in Rome we wanted to take advantage of the clear sky in Madrid as long as it lasted. We walked randomly throughout the city, using a map only when deemed completely necessary. There are similarities between Madrid and Barcelona. Anyone could tell that they are in the same country. But Madrid felt colder, harder, more impersonal- which is saying a lot since I never felt comfortable in Barcelona! What struck me the most about Madrid was how much I had to use my Spanish, or rather how often people accepted that I spoke Spanish and responded to me in Spanish.

Usually in Barcelona (and also in Sevilla and Alicante) people don’t want to talk to me in Spanish because they can tell I’m not native and presumably don’t want to have to search for what I’m trying to say in the middle of grammar mistakes and mispronunciations. But in Madrid I always spoke in Spanish and I’d say 95% of the time people spoke back to me in Spanish. Everyday I had to communicate and use the language that I had just spent 3 ½ months trying to improve. I know for certain that I could not have communicated in Spanish like I did if I had gone to Madrid in the beginning of my time in Europe. I felt like I was constantly translating for my boyfriend. I’m sure some people spoke English, but I did feel like most were not comfortable with that language.

That first day we went into a sandwich/wrap place and were staring at the menu on the wall when the guy behind the counter asked us in Spanish what we wanted. When we didn’t respond right away he asked us in broken English if we knew Spanish and said that we probably knew Spanish better than he knew English, but he’d try to translate items on the menu if he could. I thanked him for his help, but it was awkward. I didn’t know how to explain that I “knew” Spanish but might still have vocab issues. What does it really mean to “know” a language anyway? It is so difficult to truly be bilingual. There will always be deficiencies in my Spanish knowledge. My New Year’s resolution is to do as much as I can to retain my Spanish skills and keep working at becoming more efficient and comfortable in the language. I don’t really know what “fluent” means anymore, as it seems an unattainable goal. All I can do is keep my knowledge up to date by practicing and seeking out more information. It’s not the race to a finish line I thought it was. I’m never going to get to the top of the linguistic competency mountain; I’ll just keep climbing higher and further away from ignorance.

A Roman Adventure

It’s unfortunate, but the first thing I will think of when I reflect on our time in Rome is rain. Granted it was very warm for December (warmest Christmas I’ve ever experienced) but I would’ve taken 20 degrees cooler if there had been clear skies. There was never a period of 24 hours without showers. Turns out my shoes are not ever remotely waterproof and the dampness did not help me recover from what was probably a mild sinus infection. (The last day or so in Rome I did start to feel better and I didn’t let the ickiness prevent me from doing anything during the journey. Thank god for Strepsils and two random doses of Tylenol cold and sinus that I found in the bottom of my bag.)

I have to say that the Rome airport was really dirty and depressing in the arrivals area. It took forever to get our bags and then the signs were confusing as to what train we had to take to get into the city. All of a sudden I was so shy and scared of talking to anyone because I know about three words of Italian. My boyfriend had no such tentativeness and slowly I learned to take his lead and just hope that whomever I was talking to understood English. Most of the time there was little misunderstanding as we stuck to the more touristy attractions.

That first night we went over to the Trevi Fountain and fought our way past the massive amount of people who were practically worshipping it despite the downpour. We did the whole I’ll take your picture if you take mine thing with another couple and got a decent snapshot without our umbrellas. We made 1 euro cent wishes in the fountain, which I thought was funny because it shows that we don’t believe too much in luck because we were only willing to part with a miniscule amount of money.

We wandered around for a long time trying to find somewhere to eat. Most places were not open as we were still operating on the American timetable for meals (much, much too early for Europeans). We found a stereotypical Italian restaurant with pizza and pasta that looked reasonable and ordered two relatively cheap meals. Bread was on the table and the waiter mumbled something that apparently was I’m going to bring you water if you don’t say no right now practically before we sat down. I knew that the water wasn’t free but by the time we realized that he was going to bring it, it was too late to say no. I wasn’t sure about the bread, but my boyfriend wanted it so I let it go. When we got the bill we were ticked off that the water (one small bottle) was 4 euros, the bread was 2 and there was a mysterious 4 euro charge. The bill was handwritten with clear numbers but then scribbles that supposedly identified the charges. I had to go up and ask the waiter (who was completely ignoring us by chatting it up with the bartender) what the 4 euro charge was and apparently most if not all restaurants have cover charges, no matter what you decide to eat you have to pay an extra charge on top of that. They make you pay for deciding to eat at their restaurant! What the hell is that about? This was on top of the 15 percent service charge that was explained on the menu. Needless to say we were careful to inquire about such hidden fees wherever we ate after that. What was worse was that the food wasn’t even that tasty or hot enough to thoroughly enjoy.

The room we booked was pretty classy for a budget hotel. It was in a decent location right next to the main train station. We got breakfast every morning delivered to the door and we didn’t have to worry about any loud parties from other guests keeping us up at night. I felt really comfortable there, which was great after getting back every night soaking wet. I’ve never appreciated the comfort of a private bedroom and bathroom more in my life! My boyfriend was mystified by the bidet and thought that there were two toilets. I still don’t quite understand the usefulness of the thing and did not try to use it. It makes me wonder why Europeans find it necessary and what it says about a culture that has an entirely separate machine to clean themselves. I think perhaps America is a little too sensitive about certain bodily functions and doesn’t like to design things related to them.

Because of the weather, Rome was mostly a museum fest. We went to the Pantheon, Vatican Museum, St. Peter’s Basillica, Roman foro, Musei il Roma, Roman Colleseum, Palatine Hill, Contemporary Art Museum, Macro Future, Zoological Museum, Surrealism Museum, and a couple other small exhibits. We are both creative people and enjoy thinking about other peoples’ creative outlets, but it was a lot for only 4 ½ days! Add to that the frustration of many descriptions only available in Italian and things did get tense from time to time. It annoyed me that in order to understand what we were looking at sometimes we had to spend more money to buy an audio guide in English. I guess I have no right to be angry that something was in the language of the country that I was in, but the inconveinence seemed ridiculous when you consider the percentage of international travelers that visit the museums. I think that a city that relies so heavily on tourism like Rome does should be obligated to provide certain services in English. Yay for my ethnocentrism returning. Although I will admit that there were times I could get the gist of what was written in Italian based on my Spanish knowledge. A lot of the words have the same Latin root and are thus similar in the two languages. At times I was successful in transmitting the message more or less to my boyfriend and felt satisfied enough that I got the idea of what was going on.

It was interesting to be in Rome at Christmas time. We visited the St. Peter’s basillica the day before Christmas Eve which ended up working out nicely because we beat a lot of the crowds. We saw all the tombs of the past Popes and I was surprised at the gathering of mourners at the tomb of the last Pope. His tomb was completely roped off and it was difficult to continue through the room. I saw a couple of people beg to touch the headstone and one of the security guards partially obliged by touching the stone and then allowing the people to touch his hand. It’s difficult for me to understand the significance of the Pope as I lack pretty much any religious background, but I did try to be respectful of something that so many other people hold dear.

We did return to St. Peter’s basilica for Christmas Eve mass. In order to go inside you had to have a ticket, but anyone was allowed to stand outside and watch the service on the big screens. We expected the crowd to be enormous and were convinced that we wouldn’t even be able to get in as we arrived at about 9:30 for the 10:00 mass, but apparently the rain and the time switch kept the crowd to a minimum. Unfortunately (in my opinion) they did not show the Pope getting knocked over on the big screens. All we saw was the security guards booking it down the altar and the camera quickly zoomed out. We didn’t know what happened until we woke up Christmas morning and turned on BBC news. Pretty freaking crazy, and yet no one outside suspected anything like that because the Pope was so composed during the two hour ceremony. I’d never seen a mass like that before so I was able to stay engaged more or less. I took some pictures and had to ask my boyfriend (a lapsed Catholic) some questions about what was going on, but in the end I was happy that we went. We wanted to go to the speech he gives on Christmas Day but ended up sleeping in too late. We watched it on TV but it’s not the same obviously. Of course the weather for the speech was wonderful, while the downpour as the clock struck midnight bring in Christmas was awful. It took two days for my jeans to dry after that.

There was one main Christmas market that we found that was pretty entertaining. There were this little witch figures everywhere and small brooms decorated with fake fruit and sparkles. Apparently the witch figure factures into Italian Christmas somehow. Two people explained it to me but I still don’t really get it. What I’ll remember the most about the market were the huge donuts that were sold at the end of every row. We had to eat one and even though I only had half I was impossibly full afterwards. Sugar overload! Combine that with all the pizza and gelato we had and I pretty much had to roll myself out the door and to the airport when it was all over.

Christmas Day started out fine as we slept in and watched the news. Around 2pm we went over to our hotel’s sister hotel where we were told we could use the internet for free during our stay. We had gone the day before to check our email quickly and had no problem. We both wanted to say a quick hello to our families for the holiday. We went over to the hotel, climbed up all the stairs and entered the room only to find the hotel staff having a little party and they told us that we couldn’t use the internet because it was a holiday. They said it was not working all day but you could plainly see that the computers were functioning. We were really ticked off, and reluctantly started our search for a connection. I had seen that there was free wi-fi internet in the main train station across the street so we tried to go there first. After much frustration and confusing we finally realized that we couldn’t connect to the internet because you needed an Italian cellphone number. So then we walked around in search of a place where you can pay to go on the internet. Finally we found one and they required a scan of your passport. My boyfriend was weary of this, but I offered up mine. So after wasting a couple of hours we finally were able to talk to our families through Skype. It was nice to say hello, but it also felt really weird to be away for Christmas. It just didn’t feel like a holiday without any special celebration. It was nice to be with my boyfriend and I am very happy that I wasn’t traveling alone at that point.

We did go somewhere relatively nice for dinner and I got the eggplant parmesean that I had been craving. We walked around for awhile looking at all the different offerings and found the Rome Hard Rock Café which was amusing. There was no way we were eating there because the food is just like what we can get in America and it is wicked expensive. Nevertheless, it was fun to walk through the restaurant and look at the random music related memorbilia.

We found a pastry shop/gelateria and I tried what was called a traditional sicllian cake. It was green with something like gingerbread or cinnamon and frosting inside. I liked it a lot, but felt silly justifying eating yet another sweet simply because the menu called it traditional. Oh the joys of being a tourist. They know just how to manipulate your desires.

The one thing I was really happy about was that there were so many shops and places to eat that were open on Christmas Day. I was so worried that the entire city would shut down after about mid-day on Christmas Eve, but it was still buzzing throughout the holiday so we didn’t feel too isolated. I have some great pics and video of Rome and once I am somewhere in which I can reflect on it I know I will have more positive things to say. I am so glad that I had the opportunity to go and will remember it forever! It was such a random place to go. I’ve never really wanted to go to Rome before, but it just seemed like a good place for Christmas.

The five days kind of flew by. We kept ourselves busy as Christmas Day was the only day we slept in. Despite the rain we soldiered on and never really got lost because the city itself isn’t that big and the metro is ridiculously simple (only two lines that cross in the middle- the station right by our hotel). The only time we did get lost was trying to find the last museum on our trip the very last night. For some crazy reason the museum was open until midnight so we put it at the end of our list of things to do and didn’t get out there until after 10pm. The location was off the map we had and suddenly we were in completely sketchy territory. However we found someone who spoke English and he gave us directions. They were difficult to follow, but in the end we found the museum and enjoyed it a lot. There was an exhibit about the 20^th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. It was interesting to see how other countries represent history, but I was pretty frustrated that the texts were only in Italian. It just makes me realize how much history I don’t know. In history classes in high school you never really make it all the way to the present and the cold war just sort of gets glazed over. There is so much about this world that I do not know as much as I should or at all. That’s what I’ve learned from traveling. Whenever I’m bored I should just start doing research about something curious I’ve seen and try to make myself a more globally informed person.

It was pretty late by the time we got back to the hotel after the museum due to a little confusion and trouble finding the metro station in the pouring rain. Maps really shouldn’t show the metro stop symbol in the middle of a park if the stop is actually two blocks over. We slept for maybe 3 hours and then it was off to the airport for Madrid. Our flight was really early so we had to catch the first train out of Rome at 5:52 am. We made it to the station at 5:45 and ran with all of our stuff to the second to last platform, making it into the last car with about a minute to spare. They recommend getting to the airport two hours before your flight when you are going within the European Union but I’m always paranoid about something going wrong and missing the plane. But we were again pretty fortunate with no travel delays or big airline snafus. Despite the incident with the guy trying to blow up the plane from Amsterdam to Detroit on Christmas Day (only two days before our flight) there really wasn’t much security. No matter how many airports I go to in Europe I’m still amazed at how laid back security is. What a shock it will be when I get back home…

We landed in Madrid on time and easily figured out the Metro in order to get to the center of the city, Puerta del Sol, where our hostel and all the New Year’s parties were…