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 :)
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Thursday, April 19, 2012
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.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
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!
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!"
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. |
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!"
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
*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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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| "Work Sets You Free" |
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.
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| Never again |
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| A scene that would normally be beautiful but it's just...not. That's kind of how the whole camp was. |
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). |
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
Monday, April 9, 2012
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!
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.
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!
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| Dad and I and a nice view! |
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.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
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.
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.
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...).
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
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.
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| Lots and lots of people, but that was about it, along with some chanting and singing and alcohol consumption |
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| Cristi and I reunited! :) |
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.
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| 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. |
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| Soooo much chocolate. |
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| Chillin' with the Alps and Lake Geneva :) |
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| Sunset! So beautiful. |
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
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