It's not goodbye, it's see you later

It's hard to believe I have already been home for three weeks, and I am currently writing this blog post while lying on my bedroom floor in Simsbury.  I have put this off for so long because I felt I needed some time to reflect on everything, let the whole being home thing sink in, and come to terms with the fact that I am really not going to back to Granada anytime soon.

Still, though, I did not tell Granada goodbye.  If there is one thing I learned in Granada, it's that you are never really saying goodbye to something, whether it be a place or a person.  I know I'll see Granada again someday; I can't not go back! Of course, that is only one of the many lessons I learned over the last four months. There are many more, which I'll get to later.

Despite the alternate universe, not-real-life aspect of Granada, being home has its perks.  I can take long showers, sleep without the sounds of a baby crying and my señora cleaning the kitchen at 2 AM (including throwing pots and pants at the wall, or at least that's what it sounded like), I can walk around with bare feet in the house (!!), exercise without being cat called, and I have all the food I like (without salt and oil) at my fingertips. I have seen a decent number of my friends, although Julie refuses to see me because she "doesn't want to leave the 203" (just kidding Julie, but you are a loser), gone to Rhode Island and the beach already, unfortunately resumed my lovely job at the YMCA's rock wall, forced Carly to make me dinner, and gone to the concert at the famed Meadows (I mean, hey, I'm home, so why not pretend it's high school again?).

There are certainly things I miss. I can't exclaim the undeniable cuteness of Spanish babies with Lindsey since she is in Chicago, and there are also no Spanish babies here (although I confess, we maybe send pictures of cute babies we see to each other. The whole taking-pictures-of-babies-we-don't-know thing might be frowned upon in America, so don't tell).  I also can't go out to tapas whenever I please, especially not at the cheap price of 2 euro a drink plus free food.  My Spanish speaking is at a minimum in Connecticut as well, although I did practice with my wonderful Mexican friend Checo the other day, and I was shopping a few days ago among a large throng of possibly Puerto Ricans and understood everything they were saying (of course, eavesdropping is frowned upon as well, but I like to call it practicing my language skills).  I am painfully bored at home, actually, and I'm realizing that I have mostly outgrown Simsbury. I mean, it's a great place, and it's a beautiful town, but what is left here for me? My friends aren't coming home this summer (for the most part), my parents have work or something (I actually have no idea where my father goes, but I think he might stare at a wall in his office, answer a few e-mails, drink coffee, and then come home feeling "accomplished"), and my high school job at the YMCA is not conducive to my ADD (I do not actually have ADD, but I do not like sitting and staring at a rock wall for hours on end).

My friend Carolyn from the program posted a quote that sums up exactly how I feel: "There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered." -Nelson Mandela

I am the same on the outside (minus this lovely tan everyone is jealous of, and a few added pounds), but I feel as though I have changed on the inside.  I am a more positive person now, upbeat about life, and mostly completely happy (except for when I realize I have real responsibilities at home...ugh).  When I was in Israel last summer, I remember Gary saying something that stuck: the hardest thing about going home a changed person, with tons of new experiences, is trying to explain your experiences to other people. This was true about Israel, and it is even more true after returning home after four months away.  Will my friends and even my family ever understand Granada and everything I did when I was in Europe? Probably not, but that's okay. It's special because its my own experience, and I don't think it needs to be fully explained.  Sure, I have funny and meaningful stories from my trip, but I will never be able to accurately explain the emotions I felt at certain times, or how looking at something beautiful each and every day (such as the Sierra Nevadas surrounding Granada, something I never grew tired of) made me feel a kind of happiness I have never felt before in my life.

All of this being said, I think everybody needs to go abroad, or at least travel, at some point in their lives.  Then, they will understand what I mean.  I was terrified to leave. Absolutely, 100% scared out of my mind.  I did it anyways, because I knew somewhere inside that I had to do it, not because someone else wanted me to, but because I wanted to do it for myself.  I was the most selfish I have ever been for the last four months. If I wanted to go somewhere, I went, without consulting my parents, my friends, or anybody's opinion.  I often have a problem (if this is a problem) of being too selfless, of always trying to help other people before helping myself.  In Granada, I learned to put myself first, and it no longer matters to me what people think of this attitude.  Before you can help others, you need to help yourself. I always knew this, but I never followed it. Now, I can say I do.

My friend Chelsie, who I knew of before Granada (she is my friends' roommate), became one of my good friends on the trip.  During a long conversation on a bus ride home from Nerja, we were talking about relationships, happiness, and most of all, life.  Something about being abroad makes you have deep conversations like this, and she mentioned to me that I would make a great psychologist (by the way, thank you for the compliment Chelsie!). I have always thought this as well, but decided to explore history, political science and Spanish instead.  Who knows now, though? The possibilities are endless. The one defiant statement I remember making in high school to my guidance counselor is that in my life, I want to help people.  I don't know where my future is taking me, but now I know that I can pretty much do anything. Being away taught me that there are not many limitations and, as lame as it sounds, I need to do whatever makes me happy.

So, if you travel sometime in your lives (which you should!!) I give you a word or two of advice: be alone, completely alone. The only way you'll learn about yourself is if you put yourself in a situation where you have to solve problems by yourself.  Of course, there are always people to help you (and don't forget that!), but there were so many times in Granada where I felt completely lost. Yes, it sucked at the time. But I wouldn't trade the slight tears, minor breakdowns, and confusion for anything. I was lost on a Munich subway for half an hour, confused by myself on a London bus, sort of freaking out both times (but also excited that I was on a real adventure), but now doing things alone doesn't bother me one bit.

I am determined to not lose the lessons I learned in Granada now that I am back in the United States.  I haven't yet, so I think that's a step in the right direction.  I want to be happy, have fun, value my family and friends, and most of all, not worry about useless nonsense. As the Spanish say, no pasa nada (basically "don't worry about it.").  I gained so much from four months abroad, and I would never trade any of my experiences for anything (yes, even landing in the hospital-that was an experience in itself!). I like to think I am now an improved version of my former self.  I am unbelievably grateful for the opportunity I had, pretty much using Europe as my personal playground for an entire semester.  Thank you everybody for following along and reading this (even if you just skimmed!), and I hope you all know that you were a part of my journey as well. I thought of all of the important people in my life each and every day, and I hope someday you all get to experience and see everything I did.

I suppose that's it. My next adventure brings me to Washington, D.C. on Sunday for my dream internship at the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. I probably won't keep a public personal blog, but I will be blogging for the museum, so I recommend you check that out! :)

This isn't goodbye, it's see you later.

Lauren

The video my director made of her pictures. There's a bunch of me playing soccer, go figure right?: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2uNNoGJ7jM&feature=youtu.be

At the very beginning in January, watching the sunset

The graffiti done by a professional. U.S. graffiti can't even compare

My favorite view of the Sierra Nevadas, and Lindsey of course! :)

Most of the UConn group at the Alhambra

Watching the sunset on our final night. Everybody was nice and tan and definitely not wanting to leave our city. So glad I met some of the best people over the last four months, and even happier I'm taking everyone back to UConn with me! :)

Nearing the end...

This is going to be a quick little update, because I am procrastinating on packing and such, but I have THREE DAYS left here. Three days! How is this happening? It hasn't hit me yet, though.

Tonight we have our final dinner with our professors and señoras.  Maybe it will hit me then, but I don't know. My room is currently a mess, with piles of my clothes that are being donated, shoes that are broken, and things that are making it home with me. My bags are heavy and full already, and even though my dad brought home all my winter clothes in April, I am going to have to check an extra bag. Oops.

It got HOT here suddenly. Apparently this always happens, because according to the Spanish spring does not exist here (they think 70 is cold, but then suddenly 80 is summer...).  Yesterday I went to the beach in 85 degree heat, and today it's supposed to be 97.  I am going to watch a bullfight in Sevilla tomorrow, and it's going to be 95 degrees! Water, water, water...

The heat here is very different from Connecticut, since it isn't humid. My skin feels like it is going to fall off because it is so dry.  My whole body actually hurts, probably because my bed is a rock and my pillow still has metal springs on it. I'm ready for my real bed with my comfy pillows and peace and quiet (there is a baby in the apartment next door, and an elementary school next to the complex that has recess every morning around 9:30).


As for my Spanish speaking skills, they are greatly improved. I can carry on full conversations and can understand almost everything. The only thing that I am a little weak on is my vocabulary, because there are so many words I don't know. I mean, I know the basics, but having a large vocabulary in your second language is extremely difficult! I got frustrated last night because I took a taxi to my friends' house, and he brought me to the wrong place, and proceeded to talk to me in broken English as if I did not understand Spanish.  He said to me, "one euro, please." Come on. Un euro, por favor. I am not an idiot.

These are the things I get annoyed about now, which is certainly better than the nonsense I worried about in the past.  Sometimes I feel as though the Spanish do not even try to understand someone learning the language, and I end up feeling like an idiot. I went into Corte Ingles to buy flowers for my director, and I said, "Donde está los flores?" (Where are the flowers?) The man looked at me and said, "Comida?" (Food). I responded, "No, no, flores. Como un flor que personas compran para sus amigos en un ocasion especial?" (No, no, flowers. Like a flower that people buy for their friends on a special occasion?).  He stared at me again. I played charades, and he finally goes, "OH! Flores, si." (Flowers, yes). Uhh...that is the word I said in the first place! I still can't roll my R's, so maybe that was the problem, but STILL! It's incredibly frustrating sometimes, especially when you have spent four months trying to get really good at a language.

On the other hand, I am able to answer people's questions when they approach me on the street ("Hay una salida en el parque en el otro lado?"=Is there an exist in the park on the other side? To which I was able to answer correctly) and I can easily ask for directions now when I get completely lost (still happens way too often).  Ordering food is a simple task (which was once a nerve-wracking and heart pounding activity) and going shopping is now fun, rather than completely confusing. I have made big strides.

I also got an A in history! This is good news, because that's the one class that counts for my major. I got a great grade on my last paper, which was hilarious to me since I learned the majority of what I wrote about on wikipedia. Speaking of, wikipedia.org has truly saved me this semester. Who says it isn't a scholarly source? Ok, ok, maybe next semester I should not use it for my two history classes and political science classes...

I am off to pack and get ready for our fancy shmancy dinner. More pictures to come, of course, and hopefully one more blog post, but for now here are a few pictures from the last few days:

Lynn in front of a painting (that looks oddly like our literature teacher...) next to school 

My director, Lay, and me! Plus the flowers I purchased after a struggle with the Corte Ingles worker... 

My Señora's daughter Elena and me. She does not live in the house with us, but she lives in Granada too and comes over for lunch a lot. 

Kobe and I looking oh so thrilled at the beach :)

Hasta Luego!

Lauren

Final Exams?

I only have one more exam until summer! Not that these exams were stressful or hard or even time consuming, but I still like to exclaim the arrival of my favorite season.

My friend Amanda is a hilarious individual (and is also my Jew buddy), and I have been known to laugh really hard around her to the point that 1. my stomach hurts 2. i almost pee my pants and 3. i need to leave the room so i stop my uncontrollable laughter.  I can't even explain half the reasons why I laugh, but even looking at the faces she makes during class is entertaining.  There was also what I refer to as the Salmon Incident in Madrid, where Amanda and I ordered salmon that was more bones than fish.  She related the meal to dissecting owl pellets in middle school, and proceeded to mash it all up. I lost my appetite, but at least I was laughing. There was also the time we wandered through Toledo listening to "I Want it That Way" by the Backstreet Boys and belting out all of the words. I'm sure everyone in Toledo absolutely loved us.

So, knowing the hilarious-ness that is Amanda, her finished literature exam was truly something. Take a look:

All of the people that made the homage were poets. They all wrote in the style of Luis Gongora, a language very hard to understand, full of metaphors. Gongora was a Baroque poet.  Poets are Cernudo, Garcia Lorca, Alberi, Jimenez, and many more. During the Civil War, the members of the Generation of '27 were killed, exiled, or decided to stay in Spain. Garcia Lorca was murdered in the war. Additionally, all the poets wrote in honor of Gongora. Picture: Seville!! "I love Gongora! Me too! I am going to write a book for Gongora!"

I think we were supposed to write more, maybe. Also, maybe we were supposed to elaborate. And maybe the material we were supposed to write about was on four or five classes. And possibly, pictures weren't supposed to be a part of the exam.  But it doesn't matter. Amanda wins with her charm and personality, because our teacher absolutely loves her, but who could blame her? I guess I love Amanda too, despite my sarcastic attitude with her. 

Besides, the exam could only raise our grades. What's the point of trying? (Yes, I am aware that both of my parents are teachers and that they are reading this. Don't worry, mis padres. I didn't draw any pictures on mine and I tried to write relevant things. Of course, these "relevant things" were based off of the ever-so-reliable wikipedia.org, but pretend that is a scholarly source).

I did a little souvenir shopping today in the Arab shops in Granada, and maybe if I really really like you, I got you something! But if I didn't, I probably still like you...I just ran out of money.  The countdown is on with seven days remaining. It's a bittersweet countdown, though. I like my friends and my Señora oddly loves me (clearly she does not read my blog, not that she knows English anyways), but I am ready for American food and friends and family.  Or, should I say, United States food. Here in Spain if you say "American" that can mean any of the Americas, from North America to Central America to South America.

Granada, I will say goodbye in one short week.

Anyways, nothing else to say. Tomorrow after my exam, I plan on celebrating with a small (very small) shopping trip. :)

Lauren

Good times with great people

I could not think of a decent title for this blog entry, but I believe the lame one I came up with is fairly self-explanatory.  Although I did not get to go see Allie in Alicante, Chelsie, Karonica, Lindsey and I had a great weekend in Nerja.  Nerja is about an hour and a half from Granada, and is a cute little beach town that reminds me a little of Cape Cod.  The beach was nice (and topless, yet again) and we managed to squeeze one terrific and sunny beach day in before the rain came on Saturday.  I am tan! And I am probably heading to Salobreña (another beach town) on Thursday or Friday for one last day trip.  How lucky am I?

Chelsie and I jumping at the beach! She is a dancer, so check out her form and compare it to mine...

Of course, I also have an exam tomorrow, but my professor told us not to study for it.  The exam can only raise our grade, and I have had a feeling all semester that she doesn't actually read any of the things we write anyways. My motivation is at an all-time low.  Next semester will certainly be a rude awakening, but I'm hoping Emi and Carly's crazy science major tendencies will force me to study as well.  Exams here are mostly only a formality, and I just want them over so I can go to the beach, shop, and explore Granada before I leave in almost one week. (!!)

I can't believe this is almost over.  Part of the reason why this past weekend was so great was because I was completely and entirely myself.  Not to say I haven't been this whole semester, but there is a level of comfort that you can only get after spending a lot of time with people/friends.  Now, I feel completely comfortable with my friends here and there isn't anything I have left to hide from them (not that there ever was, but I hope you get what I mean).  I mean, now pretty much everyone knows about my slight OCD with my retainers (I can't sleep without them...) and how weird I am most of the time.

I am also sad to be ending this semester because I have gotten to spend so much time with Hannah. We barely ever get to see each other since she goes to Bucknell and doesn't live in Simsbury, and only manage to squeeze in a few hang outs/catch up sessions throughout the year.  She also so happens to be some sort of genius, and has saved my butt a few times with her fluent Spanish.  Luckily, though, podemos hablar en español ahora, vale? :)  Also, Hannah has scarlet fever or something ridiculous right now, so FEEL BETTER! I warned her about the Spanish doctors and their medicine, and told her not to let them leech her or something ridiculous, but she is apparently having better experiences. Hopefully she will be better to accompany me on my last few nights out in Granada!

One of my oldest and bestest friends :)

Currently, my Señora is annoying me slightly because 1. she moves around all my things when I go on trips for the weekend and 2. I didn't eat the entire potato she left me today, so she threw a mini fit. Sorry I am not hungry! But honestly, I got fairly lucky with her, even though she is old and decaying.  Listening to some other stories, I am more than grateful for the hot water and constant Wi-Fi I have in my house! Funny side note: Lindsey was unable to take a shower last week sometime because she walked into the bathroom, and found two LARGE plants taking up residence in her shower.  Why? Just, why? Apparently, her señora simply forgot to take them out of the bathtub. Oops!

I am a little ready to go home today, only because the UConn in Florence group got home today, and so did Lindsay. With everyone home and reuniting with their friends and families, I want to see everybody too! At the same time, however, going home does not seem like a reality. I don't think it's going to feel like reality until I am sitting in my house in Simsbury while watching Sportscenter and eating pancakes.  Then I will actually be home, and Granada will be part of my past.

That's a sad thought, actually. I don't ever want to forget the feelings I've had here, and I absolutely do not want to lose this feeling of absolute happiness with myself.  I hope to carry the things I've learned here, and the confidence I've gained, into this summer, next semester, and life after college (woa. now THERE is a scary thought, which I have been thinking about a lot lately since many of my friends are graduating this year).

The next chapter in my life, though, after a short 3 and a half weeks in Simsbury, will be a summer in Washington, DC, interning at the Smithsonian Museum of American History. I am unbelievably excited to have another amazing opportunity, and I am thrilled I get to live with Shannon, one of my best friends from high school.  As a girl who used to cry for home at summer camp (whether that camp was 5 days or 2 weeks), I sure have come a long way.

A big congratulations to all the graduating seniors today at UConn.  I will miss the ones I grew close with, and I wish I could've been there to celebrate the end of your college careers! :) Come and visit next year-my apartment is your apartment!

Also, a BIG shout out to my amazing soccer team for volunteering for the Special Olympics Husky Classic at UConn last weekend.  We participate in this event as referees/scorekeepers every year, and it's always a fun day.  I wish I could've been there as well, but I'm so happy so many of you turned out and helped a good cause! :)

men & women's FC UConn (well, some of them). I may have creeped this off of Facebook, but I loved it so much that I just had to!

So, I have 8 days from tomorrow and I am going to make the best of it.

Lauren

P.S. I managed to force myself to watch Mariano Rivera's rough fall, and his press conference afterwards.  I almost wanted to cry (him saying he wasn't sure if he was going to return felt like the end of my childhood!), but he said one thing that really stuck out to me: "If [the injury] had to happen like that, at least it happened doing something I loved to do...there's a reason things happen, and you just have to fight through it." He's 100% right, and that quote applies to everything in life, not just his injury.  The man is amazing, and the reason why he was most upset was because he felt like he was letting his team down. Now there is a professional athlete with his priorities in line.  There's a reason why he is my favorite! :)

Trece dias mas? Que triste!

I have only thirteen more days here! It is unreal. I can't believe it. I have a similar feeling in my stomach that I did when I was leaving the United States, except it's almost worst because I know when/if I come back here someday, it's not going to be the same. At least everything at home is still exactly the same as I left it (minus a few changes, such as a hopefully finished classroom building at UConn and Carly probably dyed her hair again).  I honestly never expected to feel this kind of attachment to Granada, since I was petrified to come here in the first place.  Despite Spain's strange idiosyncrasies and, to be frank, some of the strangest human beings in the world, I have grown to love this place.

Today I went to buy a new razor, because I left mine in Portugal. When I realized I lost my razor, I immediately panicked since people don't shave here, and I didn't even know if stores sold razors. They do. Praise the lord. Anyways, I was in line to purchase it and some lady cut RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, handed her item to the cashier, and proceeded on with her day. Are you serious? This, and variations of this, happen every. single. day. Spanish people can't form lines. Apparently, it is not in their culture.

I almost died laughing over the weekend in Portugal when Hannah, her friend Laura (who is my friend now too! She has been in Granada for the year, though), and Lindsey and I discussed Spanish medicine.  We related it to witchcraft, because honestly, I think the people here think herbs and magic spells can cure problems. One time I told my Señora I couldn't sleep, and she handed me a cup with 4 leaves in it.  ...Ok. Hocus Pocus. I fondly recalled the time the doctors at the hospital gave me a nice shot in my butt without warning (still do not know the purpose of that), and Laura told a story about when she cut her head open and was bleeding (obviously, since your head always bleeds a lot when you injure it) and the people at the hospital acted as though they had never seen something like that before.  Of course, Laura was fine (only a few stitches), but the dramatic Spanish reactions to things like that are absolutely hilarious (once you are feeling better, of course. It isn't so funny when you are in pain and you want to strangle all of the doctors for making your blood pressure rise even higher with every one of their fearful yells of, "OH MY GOD THIS IS SO BAD YOUAREGOINGTODIE")

Anyways. I even laugh now at my professors, who I do not think are qualified at all. This is a typical conversation I have with my literature professor after I get back a paper (with no corrections on it, of course):
Me: So, I know this is a good grade, but how can I do better?
Professor: Oh, well this is a good grade!
Me: Yes, I know, but there are people in the class who did better, so I want to know what they did differently.
Professor: This is a good grade!
Me: Yes, I understand. But how can I---
Professor: No, no. Hasta luego.

....Ok, thank you for your help.  I ended up reading my friends' paper, and she wrote at the beginning "In class we discussed so-and-so topic and..." When we compared the paper to her previous papers, we determined this small sentence was possibly maybe (who knows?) why she received a better grade. Of course, my UConn professors would shoot me in the face if I wrote that on a paper (should I try it in the fall? Probably not a good idea), but hey, guess I have to adapt, no matter how much it kills me.

I told my grammar professor I was going to fail the exam tomorrow, and she said I could pay her money for an A. I might do it.

Portugal, on the other hand, was a great time. Despite my efforts to keep this blog PG, I will say there was an unlimited sangria sailboat cruise. By unlimited, I mean that if I finished even half a cup of it, the leaders came around and filled up my cup. The rocking sailboat did not help matters. But we all had a great time, and Hannah and Lindsey were absolutely crazy and jumped into the frigid waters. Noooo thank you.

The hotel, which I figured would be some dinky place comparable to a Motel-6, was actually a 4-star hotel with a kitchen, a huge bathroom, and two big beds.  I'm not complaining. It was rainy-ish and cold the whole weekend, but we got some sun, and I played soccer on the beach! Most importantly, the trip leaders (all men in their 20s, which is suspicious, but again I am not complaining) were muy, muy guapo, and most of all, did not seem Spanish (read: I did not once question any of their sexualities). I missed boys who don't shave their legs (yes, you read that correctly. The number of men I have seen here with bare legs is absurd and actually un poco disturbing. Which brings me to a question: If men here shave their legs, why don't women shave their armpits? ...I don't know why I think about these things).

This is probably not what my father wants to read. Dad, I had a really fun time on my trip and I didn't spend a lot of money and it was all very educational.

There. Okay so moving on, Portugal was beautiful and my favorite part was this place called the end of the world. Apparently, before Columbus came to America (and spread diseases and killed people and was a bad person and took people in as slaves...Sorry. Every time people here exclaim the triumphs of Columbus, I really want to throw that in. But that would be disrespectful, since Columbus is kinda Spain's claim to fame. So I shall write my thoughts about him in my blog instead), people thought this was actually where the world ended. It was too breathtaking for me to capture on my camera, but I tried.  Hannah thought it wasn't that impressive, but what does she know? (She also obsessively stalks my blog...Hi Hannah!)

Zee end of the worrrrld! 

rain clouds in the distance

So...that ends my international travel experiences for the semester. I can't even comprehend where my favorite place was yet, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to answer that question.  Every place was unique and had qualities that I liked and didn't like. I can't choose just one place! I will say though, Rome is not somewhere I want to return. It was dirty and busy and sketchy (I just named all the qualities of NYC, but I love New York, so I don't know what made Rome different...maybe it was the sketchy Egyptian drifter roommate).  I'm glad I went to see the history of it (and to eat the food), but it certainly wasn't a beautiful place, which is what I tend to look for in places. Florence, on the other hand, was the first place I truly loved in Europe.

In other news, I have decided to stop taking the bus in Granada because 1. I need exercise and 2. These people do not wear deodorant. Please, picture being on a very crowded bus without air conditioning on a warm day... Enough said.

These complaints are minimal, however. After I complete and fail my grammar exam in 15 minutes tomorrow, I am off to the beach (about an hour away) for a few days with Lindsey, Chelsie and Karonica. I am hoping for good weather, a tan, and a relaxing time!

I'm sure I will write in here at least one more time, but for now, think of me enjoying my last thirteen days in the magical place of Granada.

America, I hope you are getting ready for me (read: Mom, please remember to stock the fridge).

Lauren :)

Beach paradise and only three weeks left.

I am exhausted in every way possible. Traveling, not sleeping well, going to bed too late, and having a jam-packed schedule will do that.  That being said, I wouldn't give up these next three weeks for anything.  On Friday I am going to Lagos, Portugal with Hannah, her friend Laura, and Lindsey on a bus trip from Granada, which I am really looking forward to (despite the forecast for rain!).  The weekend after, I am hoping to go to Alicante, Spain to see Allie, but I don't know if that is happening yet.  Even so, it's absolutely crazy I only have three weeks left! Yesterday was my last flight within Europe (on the lovely Ryanair...) and I am sad my traveling adventures are coming to an end.

This is my last full week of classes as well, which brings mixed feelings because 1. it means the semester is almost over but 2. I am also happy about that because class here is honestly a miserable and frustrating experience.  Sometimes I wonder if my teachers are even qualified to be teaching me things, because they stand in front of the class and recite facts, with absolutely no critical analysis of the material. I could read wikipedia and be more informed about the topics, but hey, I guess the classes are easy enough. It's most frustrating for me because I have a lot of things to say, and I have been taught to draw connections between classes/what I've learned in the past, but they don't like that here.  I was actually talking to some people who are studying in Sevilla over the weekend, and they are having the same problem at their university.  I don't get it and I don't fully understand how this country runs efficiently sometimes, to be honest.  In what other place is it acceptable to take a five hour break for lunch and a nap? No where. The people here claim that the siesta time is necessary in the summer because it's hot outside, but I'm pretty sure it is just as hot in Las Vegas, Florida, heck even Connecticut sometimes, and you don't see us taking long breaks from 12-4 or 5 pm.  But hey, I guess Spain has been around for awhile, so apparently they are doing something right, even though I may never figure out what it is.

It's interesting to me as a history/political science major to think about the time that Franco was the dictator of Spain.  Spain essentially lost 36 years during his reign, as Franco restricted the people´s rights and isolated Spain from the rest of the world.  As a result, Spain is seemingly behind the times now.  Women are just starting to play a bigger role in society (and are still thought of as inferior by the older generation), very few people speak English (especially in Andalucia), and as a whole, the country is very old fashioned (again, Andalucia especially).  My Señora in particular still thinks Franco was a godsend, and many of the older generation believes Franco did the country good because while he was dictator, the economy was strong (as it usually is during a dictatorship, but whatever).  It´s interesting to see this perspective, because to me supporting a dictator seems absolutely ridiculous, but it is eye-opening to hear the (sometimes completely strange) things people say here (such as my friend´s Señora, who said ¨I miss Franco. When he was in charge, the homosexuals didn´t have rights.´´...WHAT! Come on.)

Speaking of the role of women (which was the topic of three of my socio politics classes-please someone shoot me, especially because the same facts were repeated over and over), I hate the way men here treat women.  I have never been more conscious of being a woman, and I realize now how amazing the United States is when it comes to treating both genders equally. The women here legally have the same rights and opportunites as men, but the way men treat women (in my opinion) is completely disrespectful (don´t get me started on the Spanish male stereotype that soccer is stricly a sport for men, and men only).  To put it bluntly, the men here are absolute pigs.  Here is a perfect example: Yesterday I was walking to class, wearing a dress that almost reached my knees and was 100% covering me.  However, it seems as though Spanish men have never seen bare legs before (most girls wear tights at all times, but hey, I sweat a lot so no way am I doing that when it is 75 degrees), because they yell and taunt and flirt with any girl whose legs are not entirely covered.  I´m sorry, but I didn´t realize I was going to Saudi Arabia.  Anyways, I was walking down the street and two men on a motorcycle literally STOP next to me and do the typical Spanish male sound when they see a decent-looking female: ´´Ch-ch-ch-chhhh!´´ I turn and glare at them, because that sound is annoying and dumb and they sound like a cricket of some kind, and the man WINKS at me then proceeds to MEOW. Yes, meow. Like a cat. What! I did not realize that making animal sounds is attractive to women. I wish I had been quick thinking enough to woof back at him, but I was a little too confused and shocked. Why are you meow-ing? Also, unrelated, but why are you wearing a purple scarf?

Later that night, Lindsey and I went to get tapas and a man working at the restaurant greeted us with the usual Spanish greeting: ´´Hola, guapa!¨ (hello, pretty).  This is actually a normal greeting in Spain, so I have grown accostumed to it, even though I think it´s sort of creepy.  However, this man took it a step farther, telling me I was beautiful with my flower in my hair, and that Lindsey and I were the two prettiest girls to come into the restaurant all day. When we left, he told us we had to come back again, and we should bring our friends next time, all with this creepy ¨come with me I have candy´´ smile.  I told my Señora about this, and she said that it was a bit much, but acting in that way is standard in Spain.  Maybe this would be flattering if Lindsey and I had low self esteem and hadn´t been used to getting yelled at by random men for the last three months, but at this point it is absolutely annoying. Do we look interested? No. Maybe now I should mention he was in his 30s (with obviously spiked and gelled hair, but that´s besides the point). Would this be acceptable in the United States? No, and it doesn´t happen often there either (here, it happens just about every day).  Let´s just say I am ready to experience the less direct American men again (who ever thought I would say that, seeing as how almost every guy at UConn bores me to death).  But hey, if any of you out there are looking for a confidence booster, come to Spain. Every boy here will call you pretty (but they might meow, woof, ribbit, or moo at you as well, who knows). :)

However. I had an amazing weekend in Palma de Mallorca.  The island was gorgeous, with white sand and blue water beaches.  Ally, Alyssa, Ari and I stayed in an apartment we found online for a very cheap price. If I had known about the website Alyssa found the apartment on earlier in the semester, I totally would have tried to find apartments in other cities.  The website is airbnb.com, in case anyone is planning on going abroad. You can use it in the United States, too!  It was perfect to have our own area, kitchen (not that I cook. I am a disaster in the kitchen), and sleeping areas without the accompaniment of strange people in a hostel room. I would definitely recommend looking for cheap apartments when traveling!

I got a little tan, relaxed a lot, but I am still so tired. I am on a school computer right now and don´t have my pictures, but I will upload some soon. I also went to the Alhambra yesterday (finally... I mean it´s in Granada and is Spain´s most visited attraction, yet somehow I hadn´t gone yet) which was beautiful.  I don´t really know what more to say about Palma, but if you get the chance to go, do it!!

Oh, wait, did I mention the beaches there are topless? Typical for Spain, but a little shocking for me at first. I´m pretty sure you could walk around naked here and nobody would care. Actually, I think you could do just about anything and nobody would care. I don´t really get it because the whole country is so relaxed about rules and regulations, but my Señora freaks out if I have bare feet in the house. They have some weird superstitions...(such as you will be automatically sick and dying if you go outside with wet hair, and if you have a sunburn, you NEED to go to the hospital, as Lindsey found out yesterday. No, she didn´t go, but her Señora was quite convinced that medical attention was absolutely necessary).  All of the crazy beliefs and superstitions certainly make for some funny stories.

Hasta luego, I have grammar class and I guess I should maybe probably go to it...

Pictures to come soon!

Lauren :)

Only the good die young

Before I arrived in Granada, I thought many times, "I am going so far away, where nobody will know me and Connecticut will barely be a thought in my mind."

I was completely wrong. The number of strange connections and coincidences that have happened here is unreal (ex: seeing a girl from my temple walking down Granada's main street).  The most shocking one, however, is not a happy coincidence at all.

During what I thought was many years ago, a young and beautiful woman named Suzette Berrincha lived with my Señora in Granada.  The first night I was here, my Señora told me about her, accompanied by a picture, and sadly mentioned that she had passed away.

I figured this happened years ago. My señora has had students stay with her for years, and for some reason I assumed this was very far in the past. Again, I was wrong.

A week or so ago, Suzy was mentioned again and I grew curious. Who was she? Where was she from? How old was she? I decided to google it, and the answer I found shocked me.

It turns out Suzy passed away just this past November, was in Granada in Spring 2009, and was brutally murdered by her ex boyfriend.  Furthermore, she was from West Hartford, which is only a 15 minute drive from me.  She went to Hall High School, and I know many people from there.  I contacted my friend Adanna who went to Hall, who told me that she knew Suzy from cheerleading, and also passed along the name and e-mail of one of Suzy's close friends.  I just gave Suzy's friend's e-mail address to my Señora, who was extremely excited to talk to someone about her memories of Suzy.

The whole thing is a little spooky for sure, and another girl in my program knew someone who was close to Suzy as well. I can't believe the number of connections, but I am so glad I looked up Suzy's name online and was able to connect my Señora with someone from West Hartford to talk about their memories.

My Señora has a framed picture of Suzy along with the pictures of her family members. It is clear they were close, which makes everything even more heartbreaking. Suzy was absolutely beautiful. I have a feeling that if she were still alive, or if I had been here when she was, we would have been good friends.

I wish her family and her friends she left behind the best, and I am so sorry for their loss.

Granada has connected me with so many different things, and presented so many reasons for me to value my life. For that reason alone, this is the best thing I have ever done.

The God that is Lionel Messi ...and other things

Time is moving way too quickly. How is it already Wednesday, and how is it possible that I am leaving here in less than a month? My flight home to leaves at 4:50 PM on May 15 from Madrid, arriving at JFK at 7 PM U.S. time. The fact that I had to check and see when my flight home (yes, home) is makes me a little anxious.  Seeing as how I was incredibly nervous to come here in the first place, it amazes me that going back to the United States makes my stomach turn a little.

Yes, I admit it, everybody was right: I like it here. I cried my way through the first week and a half, and things slowly got better. Of course I have my bad days, especially when my Spanish abilities randomly disappear, but I realized over the weekend during my program's trip to Barcelona that I actually really, really like Spain.

I am going to be honest here. I was not entirely happy the last two and a half years of my life. Heck, the second half of senior year wasn't all that great either, so we could actually make it three years.  Lots of things happened, which I won't go into specifics about, but the last few years have been made up of monumental changes, a lack of knowing what I wanted to do with my life, and the realization that everything isn't as easy anymore.  It seemed as though one thing would happen after another, and I could never be fully happy (although don't get me wrong, I did have great moments and have met a ton of amazing people the last few years!).  Sometimes I would pity myself (which was dumb, and I hope to never do that again), but I made it through, and I see this abroad experience as my reward.  I am fully and completely happy with my life, myself, and the people who play big parts in my life.  Being here has reminded me of how lucky I am to have the greatest, most caring friends and a supportive family. I know people always say these things, and then later forget that feeling and start taking everything for granted again. However, I am going to try very hard to not take anything for granted again.  I want to be happy and I am happy, and most of all being in a foreign country where I have to speak in a different language has given me the confidence to fight through anything that may come my way.  I mean, I still get lost every single time I try to go to soccer practice, so being back at UConn will be a piece of cake. It's impossible to care about what people think when you mess up a foreign language more than five times a day...you just have to laugh at yourself!

On another note, I think I am losing my hair. Don't be surprised if I come back bald, because my hair is seriously falling out. I don't understand why and the only answer I can come up with is that the air here is super dry.  I have other things that aren't so good: I have gained a few pounds, which is to be expected, but I hate being out of shape, my face is breaking out for some reason, my clothes are almost all completely ruined (my Señora is not incredibly gentle with my clothing), and I will return home with probably only two pairs of shoes (not counting my soccer cleats).  I also have not slept more than 6 hours a night since ooh, around January, so I am a walking zombie at times.  But, despite these small inconveniences, I am having a great time.

On a brighter note: my Spanish is significantly better, I have made several new friends, I want to live in Barcelona someday (along with London, Switzerland, and Florence...looks like I am going to have to marry rich), and most of all, I have fallen in love.

...I'm serious.

His name is Lionel. He is cute, about 5'7", and plays soccer. I guess he is pretty good or something, because I found a video of him on youtube:

Apparently he is a big deal here in Spain.

Okay, maybe he might be the best soccer player in the world, and maybe I have a little schoolgirl-like crush on him, but hey, I think I have a chance!

More seriously, Lionel Messi is absolutely unreal and by far the best soccer player I have ever watched.  Fischer always praises my crossover move (that I probably do too often), and I'm hoping that if I watch Messi enough, maybe mine can rival his (ha ha ha, right).  Also, when I marry him, he can buy me houses in all the places I want to live! Yes mom, he is a nice Jewish boy, I promise...(ignore that he crosses himself and points to the sky after he scores a goal).

Anyways, Barcelona is a unique and beautiful city that I plan on visiting again someday.  Parque Güell, a park designed by the architect Gaudi, is colorful and bright and I didn't want to leave.  My friends and I took a ridiculous amount of pictures there because we loved it so much, and I definitely want to go back in the future.  Later that night, a few friends and I watched the Barcelona game at a bar called "Obama." Yes, really. They even had a Obama statue at the bar!

Sitting in Parque Güell and loving it! :) 

Chillin' with the president in Spain...yep.

Overall, the trip was a great time, mostly because I got to spend time with the entire UConn group (minus Amanda and Ally).  The only weird thing was that in Barcelona, they don't speak Spanish.  Instead, the people speak Catalan, which is a combination of Spanish, French and Portuguese. It sounds weird and looks weird too, but luckily if you speak to people in Spanish or English, they will answer you in either (oh what I would give to be trilingual...)

Alyssa, Ari and Ally invited me to Palma de Mallorca this weekend (an island off the coast of Spain, next to Ibiza) and, despite my busy traveling schedule, I decided to go with them.  I am excited to go because I have heard so many good things, but most of all I am excited to sit on the beach (if weather permits)!

I want to spend the next three and a half weeks truly enjoying my time left here. I don't want to forget anything, and I don't want to miss out on anything either! I am so lucky to have this opportunity and it actually stresses me out a little to think about all things I want to do before I go back to the United States. Don't get me wrong, I am excited to see all of you so soon and to be back somewhere more familiar, but for now, I am trying to take advantage of everything here! :) I am sad, however, to miss the birthdays of many of my friends. Tom, Deedee and Michelle, happy almost birthday and I'm so excited you'll all be 21 by the time I get home! :)

I found this quote last night, and it describes a lot of the feelings I have right now (plus, Granada is very Arab-influenced, and there are lots and lots of gypsies):

"The bridge will only take you halfway there, to those mysterious lands you long to see. Through gypsy camps and swirling Arab fair, and moonlit woods where unicorns run free. So come and walk awhile with me and share the twisting trails and wondrous worlds I've known. But this bridge will only take you halfway there. The last few steps you have take alone." -Shel Silverstein

Sometimes, to become comfortable with yourself, you have to do things alone, take chances, and see new things.

Hasta luego, everybody! Barcelona is playing tonight in the Champions League vs. Chelsea, and I have to support my man. Barcelona is also playing Real Madrid Saturday, which is the Spanish equivalent of Red Sox vs. Yankees. So, I leave you with this part of the FC Barcelona song (the English version, because I certainly do not know or understand that funky Catalan!):

"Players, Supporters
United we are strong.
We’ve achieved much over the years,
We’ve shouted many goals
And we have shown, we have shown,
That no one can ever break us.
Blue and claret blowing in the wind
One valiant cry
We’ve got a name that everyone knows:
Barça, Barça, Baaarça!"

*Deep Breath* End of my spring break travels

I would like to start this blog post by saying I think my Señora has put me on a diet.  For lunch the last week, I have only been fed soup and some (very old) lettuce. For dinner tonight, I received a tiny little Spanish tortilla (like an omlette) but with nothing in it (usually has potatoes) and beets. When I asked for a little more, she handed me a slice of ham.  Who said you gain weight when you go abroad?

Anyways, back to my trip.  I promised myself I would write this before I go to Barcelona on Friday with my program, so here it goes...

I ventured out of the hotel for my uplifting (?) trip to Dachau with the impression that getting there would be easy.  It was only 7 stops on Munich's SBahn, and I wouldn't have to change trains. Simple.  Until I got to the train station.  I followed the signs, walked down to the train and suddenly I was on the platform.  "Wow, that was almost TOO easy," I thought. Then I realized what I thought was a problem: I hadn't paid for anything. There hadn't been a turnstile. What?

After wandering around the train station looking for a place to buy a ticket, I found a machine. It was entirely in German. I asked the girl next to me for help, and she answered me in Spanish. Thank god I speak that language now.  She helped me buy a ticket. It was the wrong ticket. I started to tear up a little. I walked back to the hotel to check on my dad. He wasn't back yet.  It was 1 pm, they said he'd be back by 11 AM, where WAS he?!?! I cried again because I thought he had internally bled to death.  I called the hospital. They only spoke German. I screamed my father's name into the phone. Somehow, I was connected to the right person. My dad was alive.  This was a good first step.  Back to the train station...

I was determined this time. I almost quit, but then I was like, "Come on, your ancestors were probably tortured and murdered and worked to death at a concentration camp, and you're going to skip going to said camp because you can't figure out how to use the metro?" I like to guilt trip myself-it is one of my specialties.  After a confusing interaction with a male train station worker who had nails longer than mine (and way better manicured), I did indeed buy the right ticket.  Apparently, though, in Munich, you do not need to buy a train ticket because nobody ever checks them. You can essentially take the metro for free.  I guess if someone catches you it's a big fine, but that almost never happens.  How silly. Stressing for no reason is another one of my specialities.

Going to Dachau made my trip completely worth all of the stress.  It may be weird to say I enjoyed a concentration camp the most out of anything (besides staring at the Alps), but I did.  When I got off the train, I had no idea where to go.  There were no signs, either, and I obviously had forgotten directions or a guide book because I like to wing it (side note: I told the customs man this while trying to enter England. He was not pleased).  Then I heard a blessed sound: HEBREW! Jews are near! We have a bond! Also, I figured if they spoke Hebrew, they probably maybe possibly also spoke English. I decided to try it. I was correct-they were a nice Israeli couple and spoke Hebrew, German, Spanish and English. Perfecto.  I love meeting other travelers, so fun. We got on a bus which took us right to the camp, and immediately I was struck by how desolate the area was.  I had missed the morning tour, so I opted to buy a headset thing instead, which was fine.

As I walked to the entrance of the camp, I imagined how the prisoners had to walk this same route on the way to their probable demise (whether mental or physical).  Of course, they didn't know what awaited them, as the gate to Dachau reads: "Work sets you free." Of course, the Nazis were lying about that, which gave false hope to the poor prisoners of Dachau.

"Work Sets You Free"

Dachau was the first Nazi concentration camp, and all of the others used it as a model.  Contrary to popular belief, Dachau was not a death camp.  Instead, it functioned as a work camp for the more "fit" prisoners (which consisted of not only Jews, but also priests who were against Nazi ideas, which I found interesting) and as a holding place until they moved prisoners elsewhere (usually to death camps such as Auschwitz).  Obviously, thousands died there due to disease (there were many typhoid epidemics), over work, torture, and straight-up executions with guns.  By the end of the war, the Nazis overcrowded Dachau since other camps had been evacuated by that point.  As a result, the barracks which were supposed to hold around 200 prisoners held around 2,000 by the time the U.S. liberated the camp.

I'll save the rest of the historical details, since it's easy enough to read them on Wikipedia if you are truly interested.  I will tell you my impression: I don't believe in ghosts. Never have.  But there were ghosts there, or spirits, or something. I don't know how to explain it, but there was something in the air. I felt like it's never sunny there.  When I started at the camp, it was grey and drizzling.  When I exited the museum after an especially chilling video presentation, it was sunny. But it wasn't a normal sunny. It was a dark sunny, which probably doesn't make sense, but it's the only way I can think to describe it.  Everything was silent, even if there was a baby crying or people talking. It was still silent somehow, but at the same time you felt like spirits were talking to you. It was surreal. In order to really understand the feeling, I recommend you visit a camp yourself. It's difficult to see, but it's important and something that I think everyone should experience in their lifetime if given the opportunity.

Never again 

A scene that would normally be beautiful but it's just...not. That's kind of how the whole camp was.

I walked around more, and the spookiest part for me was an area in the woods.  I walked back there thinking it was a reprieve from the rest of what I had seen, but it was worse.  This area was actually where the Nazis executed the prisoners.  When the U.S. forces liberated the camp, they buried the corpses they found as best as they could (there were apparently piles and piles of bodies upon their arrival), and the woods I was exploring was where a lot of them were buried.  There was a stone that read "Pistol Range for Execution."  Was I standing in the exact place where a Nazi had pulled the trigger, aimed towards the head of another human being? Were those victims possibly my ancestors? I didn't really want to think about that too much, so I walked away.

It actually disgusts me to think that some people believe the Holocaust never happened. As I was leaving the camp, I walked by an old woman sobbing her eyes out. She looked to be in her eighties, and was looking out at the camp with a look of desperation on her face.  I wondered if she was a survivor. I'll never know the answer, but I wanted to help her so badly.  On a lesser scale, that's probably how prisoners in the camp felt.  They wanted to help their family and friends as they watched them be tortured, overworked, and even executed, but there was nothing they could do to alleviate the situation.

Anyways, after a good three and a half hours reading almost every single sign at Dachau (hey, I am a history major, after all), I left the camp emotionally drained. I was also inspired to find out if my ancestors had been held there (I have since talked to my cousins about doing a genealogy of our family.  I am a history major, my cousin Carrie is a librarian, and my other cousin Emily is a genetic counselor, so we have almost all the tools we would need!  Hopefully we actually do this. I want to).

So. That was the end of Dachau. I feel like the rest of what I am going to say is going to sound bratty and insignificant, but I don't mean it that way. I don't really know how to follow up with happy, fun things, after writing about all those sad and depressing things, so just go with it.

I returned to the center of Munich and did what any girl would do after an emotionally draining few days.  I went shopping.  After buying a bathing suit and several pieces of jewelry that I don't need, I went back to hotel to greet my heavily bruised father.  He looked great! By great I mean two black eyes and a swollen nose, but otherwise...perfect.  We meant to get dinner in the hotel, but the turkey sandwich I ordered took over 45 minutes to make, and I had plans to meet my friend Keri to go to a beer hall.  I finally met up with her and went to the famous beer hall that I forget the name of, and we had a great time.  We also met other British travelers.  They were doing a charity program through their school which required them to hitchhike from London to Bulgaria in eight days. I hope they made it! I friended one of them on Facebook, so I'm hoping to hear news soon. :) They were amazingly nice people and we had a great time talking to them.  Also, hearing Europeans talk about college parties in the U.S. is hilarious.  They are all so eager to attend a famous "red cup party."  And, according to my new British friend Holly, if the cups weren't red, she would be angry.  Meeting friendly other travelers is so so so much fun. If anyone reading this is planning on traveling or going abroad in the near future, I recommend you talk to anyone and everyone who does not look creepy or frightening (look for people with HUGE traveling backpacks and speaking English).  You can learn so much from random people.  After these friendly hitchhikers started talking to us from a few tables away (asking where we were staying that night), I invited them to sit with us, and we spent the whole night with them laughing, talking and having a generally good time.

New British friends, plus me, Keri, and her friend Monica (top right).

The next day, my dad and I returned to Granada, which was uncharacteristically rainy and cold. Figures.  We explored the city a little, and once it started raining we sat in my favorite Irish bar, Hannigans, and thawed a little.  It was a decent end to an overall good trip, minus my dad's bruises.  I hope one day to go back to Switzerland, and I want to visit Auschwitz someday, as depressing as it may be.

I am actually falling asleep at my computer, and I need to restrain myself from eating the rest of my giant chocolate bar, so it's off to bed.  I hope everyone's having a good week! :)  I can't believe I come home in about a month, and I also can't believe I'm almost a senior in COLLEGE. I am SO old.

Love love love,

Lauren

Life and lemons, continued

Ok, so I don't even remember what I was talking about before. Switzerland? Munich? Yes I think that's where I left off...

My dad and I arrived Munich and everything was good. The first night, we went to a typical German restaurant and ate food that was bad for us while drinking beer that was similarly bad for us.  I decided I love street performers, especially ones who play the accordion.  I took videos but I am not technology inclined enough to know how to upload those, but maybe I'll figure it out eventually! Munich's center was really nice, although the area around our hotel was kind of shady and under construction and very, very dark.  This would become a significant issue later.

I had always wanted to go to Salzburg, Austria because Sound of Music was filmed there and Mozart was born there and such.  My choir in high school went my senior year, and I didn't go, but all the pictures were amazing and I wanted to see the city for myself!  So, the next day, my dad and I decided to go.  Salzburg (only an hour and a half train ride from Munich) was indeed beautiful, although I still wished I was in Switzerland.  My dad and I were tired, starting to get on each other's nerves (go figure...), and really wanted to have a good night's sleep.  Still, though, the views were beautiful and we went on the Sound of Music tour, which was interesting (minus an obnoxiously singing tour guide, but hey, what can you expect?).  It was interesting to see a new city for sure, even though Salzburg was a small one.  As we were leaving, a couple approached me and were speaking a combination of German and English, and since I looked super confused, the girl started speaking to me in rapid Spanish.  It took me a moment because 1. I was surprised to hear Spanish and 2. why is she talking to me? but then I realized she was telling me that if we bought tickets together, it would be cheaper.  So we did that, and she was for some reason shocked I was American.  She thought I was Spanish, and her boyfriend thought I was Italian (as does everyone).  I'll take it. On the plus side, I understood her Español and was able to answer her!

Dad and I and a nice view!

That night my dad and I enjoyed a nice AMERICAN dinner. Complete with cheeseburgers, fries, and large portions. The last time I had a real cheeseburger was the day before I left for Spain, so it was a big highlight of my trip (food is very important to me).  The walk home is when things went bad.  As I said before, the street was poorly lit, under construction, and generally sketchy.  I always walk ahead of my dad because he is slow and has a bad leg, and I suddenly heard a loud THUMP. I turned around and my dad was on the ground, since he apparently didn't see the curb and fell.  He was talking and all these German people were surrounding him, so I assumed everything was mostly okay.  Of course, then he started saying, "I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding!" ...Soo, long story short, my dad likes to break falls with his face.

After the EMT-type man told us an ambulance would cost 530 euro, we opted to take a taxi to the hospital.  The EMT seemed to be highly qualified as well, since he had gages in his ears, low riding pants, and looked to be around 16.  He was also utterly convinced my dad's nose was broken, although I tried to explain that my dad's nose always looks crooked.  Very little English was spoken, minus the phrases "could be internal bleeding" and "don't speak very good English." Since apparently my study abroad experience includes tours of European hospitals, I was entirely thrilled to see another one.  The doctor at the hospital (who assumed my father was drunk) was a little weird but I guess he did his job okay.  The CT scan showed no broken nose (contrary to the radiologist's opinion, who said my dad's septum was broken which...no, it's just weird looking) and no other problems, but the crazy doctor felt my dad needed to be admitted anyways.  I spent the night alone in the Munich Courtyard Marriot, which is very nice if you are looking for somewhere to stay, but its a place that I hope to never return to again.  Hey, I always like being independent, so here independence was smacking me in the face (kind of like how the pavement smacked my dad in the face...ha ha get it? Ok, bad joke).  Like the good, perfect, sweet, kind, caring, amazing, beautiful, and intelligent daughter that I am, I went back to the hotel and got my dad's things for him.  A sweet, overly hairy, and possibly homeless man greeted me at the cot diagonal from my father's upon my return, as he asked me, "Is that fadda? Him, you fadda?" Uh...yes, that's my father. He then told me I looked very nice, and that he really wanted to speak to me more. Ohh, how I love overly forward, disgusting, and, most significantly, OLD European men.  I told him some choice words, none of which he understood. The nurse laughed, as if I was telling some funny joke (yes, all my jokes end in "leave me the hell alone").  She didn't understand either. I was in a really happy, joyous mood.

Ironically, the person who seemed to be the most content in this situation was Carl himself, even though he was bloody and was developing a large, attractive lump on his forehead. When I went to give him his things, he was joking around with the doctors and telling them all about his day in Salzburg.  They were asking him questions and he was answering them in his usual roundabout way, combined with hand gestures and laughter at his own (not funny) jokes. I was relieved he was being his (not funny) self. Anyways, I doubt the doctors cared about his day, or even understood what he was saying, but it was nice of them to humor him, which is way more than I ever do.

Ok so I did not mean to make the last two paragraphs so long, because really who wants to know details about my dad's bloody nose? The point is he was okay, no broken bones, although he had two black eyes, a swollen nose, a bruised rib, and general pain. He looked like he got into a really bad fight with Mike Tyson, minus the bitten-off ear.

The next day I woke up and decided I needed a nice, emotionally uplifting day. I decided the best place for this would be to visit Dachau, which was the first established Nazi labor camp.  Ok, maybe not emotionally uplifting.

...I am going to continue this on a new post, because I have divided this "vacation" into different parts in my brain, so it's only fitting to do so on here too. Plus, I have too much to say and I am going to start to bore everyone. I know everyone's on the edge of their seats, but try to contain yourselves.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Make Lemonade

This post title is courtesy of my mother, who told me this cliché after a very eventful trip to a Munich hospital.

Ok, yeah, let me back up a little bit.  The hospital visit came towards the end of my spring break (or "Semana Santa," as they call it here in Granada) and there were many fun things that happened before that.  I started my break two days early because of the Spanish national strike, which was scheduled for one day...the day my father's flight was scheduled to land in Granada.  About two days before, my dad texted me and said his flight to Granada was cancelled, which would leave him stranded in Madrid. So, I bought a bus ticket to Madrid for Wednesday night to meet him on Thursday morning.  Starting my spring break two days early wasn't such a bad thing, but where was I supposed to stay? Then I remembered two of my friends from high school, Cristi and John, are studying in Madrid! Cristi saved me and took me in like the little orphan that I was, and she even made me dinner! It was great to see her and John, since it had been a very long time since I saw both of them.  As for the national strike, I think it was a bit exaggerated. The street my dad's was on was closed for the demonstrations for part of the day, and there were large masses of people, but besides that it was only a lot of yelling and firecrackers.  Also, in typical Spanish fashion, the strike took a break around 1 pm for lunch and siesta. Really, Spain? Of course, once they returned to "protest" around 7 pm, the massive group of people turned it into a botellón. Oh, p.s.-A botellón is a giant area where you can drink outside and party. Granada had their biggest one a few weeks ago called "La Fiesta Primavera" (Spring Party) and it was madness (Spaniards brought their alcohol in gigantic shopping carts-the Spanish certainly know how to party!).  So, yeah, the strike was not 1. dangerous or 2. all that exciting or abnormal for Spain.

Lots and lots of people, but that was about it, along with some chanting and singing and alcohol consumption

Cristi and I reunited! :)

So, my spring break was off to an interesting start.  After walking up and down the main street in Madrid for 45 minutes, encountering an annoying postal worker at the Corte Inglés (department store), and searching for somewhere to ship our bags from, we found a place that didn't charge us an arm and a leg, and sent my father's large bags to my director's apartment in Granada (the budget airline we were flying doesn't allow you to check extra bags unless you want to pay hundreds of dollars).  We were off to the Madrid airport to board our flight to Geneva, Switzerland!  I had been most excited to travel to Switzerland out of everywhere, especially because my dad's two friends, Pierre and Deedee, live there and offered to host us for a few days.  I have always heard a lot about both of them, but had never actually met them.  They turned out to be the nicest people (just like my mom told me they were), and they have three kids (one of which is in school in Boston, and I hope to meet her eventually).  Pierre and Deedee's two sons were hilarious, and the one named George had bright red hair and I could not resist from calling him George Weasley.  He was okay with it, I think.

Switzerland as a whole did not let me down.  Right after Pierre and Deedee picked us up at the airport (after a nice little reunion with my dad, who had not seen Pierre since his wedding), they took us to a great French restaurant where I drank amazing wine and ate amazing food.  They live in Lausanne, Switzerland, which is right next to the French border, and is actually right across Lake Geneva from Evian, France (where the water comes from!). The next day, Pierre drove us around the area, and we went to a little town where people make cheese. I wish I remembered the name, but it was a cute and little Swiss town and I loved it.  We ate another amazing meal and then toured the Cailler chocolate factory. I have to say, the chocolate there is significantly better than Hershey's and I ate my weight in it, that's for sure.

My pretty food! Pierre said that the French consider the way the food looks to be just as important as how it tastes! I like that idea.

Soooo much chocolate.

That night I went for a walk around Lake Geneva with Deedee and her son Pierre (same name, it's confusing I suppose).  The area was absolutely beautiful, with the lake and the Alps right next to us.  I could have looked at the Alps and stayed in Switzerland forever I think.  My dad and I definitely did not want to leave, and now that I know people in Switzerland I hope to go back someday with my mom! She would have loved it, and I wish she didn't have to teach so she could've come with my dad (even though she is scared of flying).  Deedee and Pierre were the best hosts, and hopefully I will see them again soon! If you are somehow reading this (my dad meant to send you the link to my blog), muchas gracias por la comida, la cama, y su hermosa ciudad! (They speak Spanish, too...).

Chillin' with the Alps and Lake Geneva :) 

Sunset! So beautiful.

My dad and I got on a train Sunday morning en route to Munich, Germany, which I had always heard great things about.  Munich was less great than Switzerland, which I will explain later because Hannah and I are going to the Arab baths in Granada to get a massage. Yes, I am spoiled.

Oh, and before anyone worries, my dad was the one in the hospital because he fell, but he's okay with no broken bones and is safely back in the United States! I'll elaborate when I am back! Yes, I like keeping everyone in suspense...

Lauren