Thursday, August 12, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Granada: the fruit of southern Spain
Granada, Spanish for pomegranate, was my first stop on my travels after Alcala. I had been looking forward to visiting Andalucia for awhile; Carrie, my best friend who studied in Sevilla for a semester, had told me that Andalucia was what most people think of when they think of Spain. Granada is full of gypsies, flamenco, Spanish guitar, is the capitol of tapas and Muslim influence in Spain. Carlos had also recommended if we see any other city in Spain for it to be Granada. So, I decided that instead of only having a day trip from Sevilla, to spend my first night in there.
Due to some late bus-ticket-buying, I had a shorter time in Granada then I had originally planned....something I really regret. This has been my absolute favorite city (other than Madrid, of course) in Spain. Segovia comes close, but the rocky hills painted with white houses and winding streets, all overseen by the monstrous Alhambra leaves little to be imagined.
To visit the Alhambra, you must first buy your ticket in advanced, which includes a specific ticket to the Palacios Nazaries. There is only a thirty minute window in which you can go into this area--the highlight of the Alhambra. When I arrived in Granada, it was about 100F at about 2pm (Granada is one of the hottest places in Spain), and I decided to try walking to the center. After 20min of walking in the blistering sun, I checked my book and realized the bus station was about 4km outside of town--way too far to walk during midday. I turned around, went back to the station, and got a taxi. Usually I try to avoid taxis, because the bus is so cheap and walking provides a great way to explore the city. But as my time was quickly approaching to enter the Palacios Nazaries, I decided to hurry.
The Alhambra itself took about 30 minutes to walk to (all uphill, but luckily under the shade of a forest). Navigating around the grounds was even more difficult, but eventually I found the ticket booth (of course they had trouble finding my booking) and entered the Palacios Nazaries (of course I entered the wrong place with 5 minutes left in my time frame, and had to forfeit seeing that area altogether to rush to the right place).
The Alhambra is the largest Mosque in Europe and was the residing place of most of the Muslim leaders during their nearly 800 year presence in Spain; it is the culmination of all Arabic culture in Spain. It was absolutely breaktaking---the delicate handcrafted designs, the arched doorways, and intricate gardens were hypnotizing. But perhaps the best aspect of the Alhambra is the view of it you can have from either Generalife (the main gardens) or from El Mirador de San Salvador, directly uphill from my hostel and across from the Alhambra landscape. I purposefully planned my trip to this spot at dusk to see the wonderful views, and it was worth the pain. Gorgeous. When I get to post pictures, youĺl be blown away. Amazing.
Even though I didn´t really get to explore the Albayzin (Arabic neighboorhood), I still enjoyed Granada tremendously; it will be the first place I visit the next time I come to Spain (because there will be a next time). There is still so much left to be seen. One thing I´ve noticed about traveling is that confusing transportation, a bad hostel, or a walk in the wrong neighborhood all have the potential to alter your opinion of a city for the worst (like Valencia, and as Iĺl explain later, Barcelona to a degree). Despite all the difficulties I had in Granada, it is still one of my favorite places, which to me reveals how lovely the city really is. It was still capable of enchanting me even though it was a rough trip.
Due to some late bus-ticket-buying, I had a shorter time in Granada then I had originally planned....something I really regret. This has been my absolute favorite city (other than Madrid, of course) in Spain. Segovia comes close, but the rocky hills painted with white houses and winding streets, all overseen by the monstrous Alhambra leaves little to be imagined.
To visit the Alhambra, you must first buy your ticket in advanced, which includes a specific ticket to the Palacios Nazaries. There is only a thirty minute window in which you can go into this area--the highlight of the Alhambra. When I arrived in Granada, it was about 100F at about 2pm (Granada is one of the hottest places in Spain), and I decided to try walking to the center. After 20min of walking in the blistering sun, I checked my book and realized the bus station was about 4km outside of town--way too far to walk during midday. I turned around, went back to the station, and got a taxi. Usually I try to avoid taxis, because the bus is so cheap and walking provides a great way to explore the city. But as my time was quickly approaching to enter the Palacios Nazaries, I decided to hurry.
The Alhambra itself took about 30 minutes to walk to (all uphill, but luckily under the shade of a forest). Navigating around the grounds was even more difficult, but eventually I found the ticket booth (of course they had trouble finding my booking) and entered the Palacios Nazaries (of course I entered the wrong place with 5 minutes left in my time frame, and had to forfeit seeing that area altogether to rush to the right place).
The Alhambra is the largest Mosque in Europe and was the residing place of most of the Muslim leaders during their nearly 800 year presence in Spain; it is the culmination of all Arabic culture in Spain. It was absolutely breaktaking---the delicate handcrafted designs, the arched doorways, and intricate gardens were hypnotizing. But perhaps the best aspect of the Alhambra is the view of it you can have from either Generalife (the main gardens) or from El Mirador de San Salvador, directly uphill from my hostel and across from the Alhambra landscape. I purposefully planned my trip to this spot at dusk to see the wonderful views, and it was worth the pain. Gorgeous. When I get to post pictures, youĺl be blown away. Amazing.
Even though I didn´t really get to explore the Albayzin (Arabic neighboorhood), I still enjoyed Granada tremendously; it will be the first place I visit the next time I come to Spain (because there will be a next time). There is still so much left to be seen. One thing I´ve noticed about traveling is that confusing transportation, a bad hostel, or a walk in the wrong neighborhood all have the potential to alter your opinion of a city for the worst (like Valencia, and as Iĺl explain later, Barcelona to a degree). Despite all the difficulties I had in Granada, it is still one of my favorite places, which to me reveals how lovely the city really is. It was still capable of enchanting me even though it was a rough trip.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Leaving Alcala
On my last night in Alcala, we all toasted to meeting each other and getting to know Spain...myself with a 3E bottle of rose champagne. I retired earlier than anyone else that night, unfortunately, because I had to wake up at 6AM in order to catch the trains, meet my bus on time, and adequately prepare myself for the beginning of my journey.
At 7:30, Igor rushed through my door, ¨Keri! Its 7:30!¨....great I had overslept. Fortunately, I had packed my luggage previously and didn´t have to do much in the morning, so it was an easy get away. And.. Carlos, our IPSF guide once we arrived in Spain, had stayed the night. He offered to drive me to the bus station, which gave me plenty of time before my bus departure at Avenida de America, the main bus station in Madrid.....except that in all my rush, I had forgotten that my bus was from Estacion Sur (about a 15 min ride by metro). Since I had my handy Madrid Metro guide on my iPod (best decision I ever made), I still got to the station in time. How is it that you can be prepared as ever when you need it least..and when you really need it, you´re least prepared?
At 7:30, Igor rushed through my door, ¨Keri! Its 7:30!¨....great I had overslept. Fortunately, I had packed my luggage previously and didn´t have to do much in the morning, so it was an easy get away. And.. Carlos, our IPSF guide once we arrived in Spain, had stayed the night. He offered to drive me to the bus station, which gave me plenty of time before my bus departure at Avenida de America, the main bus station in Madrid.....except that in all my rush, I had forgotten that my bus was from Estacion Sur (about a 15 min ride by metro). Since I had my handy Madrid Metro guide on my iPod (best decision I ever made), I still got to the station in time. How is it that you can be prepared as ever when you need it least..and when you really need it, you´re least prepared?
Guernica
One of my "day trips" from Madrid included a visit to the Reina Sofia museum...the home of the works of more modern Spanish artists, such as Miro, Dali, and Picasso. While I do consider myself a connoisseur of art, I especially enjoy Spanish art. I've found that Miro and Dali have a lot to offer in the entertainment arena, even if only for a few minutes, as with the Great Masturbator or The Enigma of Hitler by Dali. Miro entertains me more with the simplicity and character of his art. Picasso on the other hand, is presented as a well practiced, perfectly crafted assassin, as his many attempts at creating a perfect piece of art, his Guernica, are displayed quite proudly and make up most of the Picasso exhibit at the museum.
The real draw to the Reina Sofia is, in fact, Picasso's final and perfectly crafted Guernica, the quintessential Spanish masterpiece. Not only does it represent the modernisms and intricacies of Picasso's finest work, but the suffering by innocent individuals and the rawness and reality of fascism, socialism, and dictatorship to a real population of people. It was, and I believe will remain to be, the only work of art that will move me in such a way. A once in a lifetime opportunity....
The real draw to the Reina Sofia is, in fact, Picasso's final and perfectly crafted Guernica, the quintessential Spanish masterpiece. Not only does it represent the modernisms and intricacies of Picasso's finest work, but the suffering by innocent individuals and the rawness and reality of fascism, socialism, and dictatorship to a real population of people. It was, and I believe will remain to be, the only work of art that will move me in such a way. A once in a lifetime opportunity....
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I've been around the block or two...
The past week and half has really been a blur. The last week at the pharmacy was interesting, but I'll write an update about everything I learned in Alcala later (hopefully). Other than that, a lot has happened since my last post.
The last week in Alcala, I had realized I had put off every single day trip I wanted to make from Madrid until the last minute. One of them was to Avila, this ancient roman city in Spain, with the most well preserved fortress walls in Spain and one of the best in Europe. The town was beautiful and the walls--mesmorizing. The town had quite a bit of charm to it, but as there wasn't much else exciting to see, it made an easy day trip.
Next was Segovia. I had been absolutely dying to see Segovia since I studied it in class (who knows when that was...). First on the itinerary was the roman aqueducts. I was impressed by the architecture, and since I'm some what of a history buff (as I've recently learned), it was thrilling. But... As beautiful as they were, they pailed in comparison to the other popular sight in Segovia---the Alcazar.
Have you ever experienced a truly breathless moment? I'm sure most parents will say "of course," and tell some sob story about when their children were born (which we all appreciate :) ), but as I have never had children, I can safely say that upon reaching the top of the tower of the Alcazar, I was left truly breathless for the very first time. Now, in all fairness, I had just climbed up a 156 staired tower, which came with it's very own disclaimer to the unfit. Nevertheless, even though I was alone, I couldn´t help but release an ¨oh my god ¨ when I reached the top. The views were absolutely gorgeous, undefinable, and unrelatable. Pictures don´t do justice, and neither do words. The only way to understand it is to experience it. The rest of the Alcazar was amazing as well, having many stories from the 15th century of the Catholics Monarchs, or as its much easier to say in Spanish, los Reyes Catolicos (Isabel de Castilla and Ferninand de Aragon...the monarchy during the launching of Christopher Colombus' adventure, the end of the Reconquista--or the end of the Muslim reign in Spain--and the Inquisition, in my opinion, the most interesting rulers in Spanish history).
Another day trip included Toledo, which the Hungarian girls I studied with guaranteed was the best town in Spain. However, Igor, Dejan and myself were quite disappointed after that description. Toledo is known as the religious capitol of Spain, because Muslims, Christians, and Jews lived there harmoniously for the longest period than any other area in Spain. The whole town is built on a hill, each street changing from uphill to downhill in an instant. The most disappointing aspect of Toledo was that at any moment, you could walk by ¨an important monument" and not even recognize it...to such extent that we had to pass by ¨THE mesquita (mosque)¨ before noticing it at all. To say the least, I prefer almost any other Spanish city over Toledo...but don´t let that affect your opinion. As I´ve slowly learned, history and culture is what you make of it, and you make of it what you want. Others may find Toledo a hidden treasure among the small and winding streets, while others prefer the broad and obvious streets of Segovia. To each his own.
The last week in Alcala, I had realized I had put off every single day trip I wanted to make from Madrid until the last minute. One of them was to Avila, this ancient roman city in Spain, with the most well preserved fortress walls in Spain and one of the best in Europe. The town was beautiful and the walls--mesmorizing. The town had quite a bit of charm to it, but as there wasn't much else exciting to see, it made an easy day trip.
Next was Segovia. I had been absolutely dying to see Segovia since I studied it in class (who knows when that was...). First on the itinerary was the roman aqueducts. I was impressed by the architecture, and since I'm some what of a history buff (as I've recently learned), it was thrilling. But... As beautiful as they were, they pailed in comparison to the other popular sight in Segovia---the Alcazar.
Have you ever experienced a truly breathless moment? I'm sure most parents will say "of course," and tell some sob story about when their children were born (which we all appreciate :) ), but as I have never had children, I can safely say that upon reaching the top of the tower of the Alcazar, I was left truly breathless for the very first time. Now, in all fairness, I had just climbed up a 156 staired tower, which came with it's very own disclaimer to the unfit. Nevertheless, even though I was alone, I couldn´t help but release an ¨oh my god ¨ when I reached the top. The views were absolutely gorgeous, undefinable, and unrelatable. Pictures don´t do justice, and neither do words. The only way to understand it is to experience it. The rest of the Alcazar was amazing as well, having many stories from the 15th century of the Catholics Monarchs, or as its much easier to say in Spanish, los Reyes Catolicos (Isabel de Castilla and Ferninand de Aragon...the monarchy during the launching of Christopher Colombus' adventure, the end of the Reconquista--or the end of the Muslim reign in Spain--and the Inquisition, in my opinion, the most interesting rulers in Spanish history).
Another day trip included Toledo, which the Hungarian girls I studied with guaranteed was the best town in Spain. However, Igor, Dejan and myself were quite disappointed after that description. Toledo is known as the religious capitol of Spain, because Muslims, Christians, and Jews lived there harmoniously for the longest period than any other area in Spain. The whole town is built on a hill, each street changing from uphill to downhill in an instant. The most disappointing aspect of Toledo was that at any moment, you could walk by ¨an important monument" and not even recognize it...to such extent that we had to pass by ¨THE mesquita (mosque)¨ before noticing it at all. To say the least, I prefer almost any other Spanish city over Toledo...but don´t let that affect your opinion. As I´ve slowly learned, history and culture is what you make of it, and you make of it what you want. Others may find Toledo a hidden treasure among the small and winding streets, while others prefer the broad and obvious streets of Segovia. To each his own.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Matadors, matadors.
After some nagging from the parents, I'd realized going a whole week without posting an entry is just unacceptable. While I had been making some notes on what to write about, I had an experience today which skipped immediately to the forefront.
If you think of Spain, chances are bullfights are one of the first things to pop into your mind. I knew that while I was here, I just had to experience one. What others thought to be grotesque or inhumane, I have always excused for the benefit of tradition and culture. Since I was very young, I've been quite fond of animals (some may even say obsessed) but have never found enough reason to become vegetarian, join PETA or some other extreme ideology, detached from normal human behavior. In other words, I had been looking forward to witnessing the most reknowned Spanish sporting event. After rushing into Madrid by train, afraid we would miss the deadline for buying tickets, we bought the cheapest tickets (only 5E) expecting to have rather crappy seats. Ticket prices range from great seating to the nosebleed section, and come in two sides, sombra (shade) y sol (sun)...just another way to really understand the consitency and potency of the heat in Spain. Since the show started at 8:30pm, the sun was not a problem, and our 5E tickets turned out to be great seats.
The taurino begins by a handful of matadores walking around the ring, preparing for the "show" (which, as I've come to understand, is its main purpose). Four or five novilleros (novice matadors) with bright pink capes chase the toro around the ring, as this is the point where the bull has the most energy, and I imagine, would be too much for only one matador. After several minutes, two men enter on horses which have been fully dressed in protective gear (on one side at least) and blindfolded (I expect horses wouldn't behave well around a charging bull). At some point shortly after this, the bull decides that the horse is some kind of threat--and rightly so. During the first show (there are four, at least; we left after three), the bull came to attack the horse, and of course, horse-lover that I am, got extremely nervous. The bull's horns and horse's gear were stained with red blood, and the horse fell to the ground, while the rider attempted to push the bull away with, what I had thought, was an ordinary stick. After several minutes of severe devastation and surprise of horse brutality, I realized that the blood belonged to the bull--not the horse, who had been adequately equipped to protect itself. I always feel more strongly for horses than people in movies, but in this scenario, I was extremely relieved that the horse had not been injured. Apparently those long, "prodding" devices wete extra long spears. From what I could tell, this was the first round, the first attempt to weaken the bull.
Several minutes pass, the horses and their riders leave the ring, and a few matadors taunt the bull. The next step is to weaken the bull even more. A matador approaches the bull, but with two, medium length poles, and when within a short enough distance, stabs the bull in the shoulders. This is repeated, how ever many times necessary to weaken the bull appropriately. In a short time, the bull, more angry but less competent than before--probably having something to do with the handful of short spears hanging from his neck--finds himself alone with the main matador. This is when the art of the show comes into play. The shows we watched were of novillades, the novice matadors, and the gracefulness and almost dance like quality to their movements made it easy to imagine how entertaining and beautiful a real, experienced matador would be to watch. It almost makes you forget about where you are and whats going on around you....
The last phase is with the main matador, who carries a red cape. The majority (and the most interesting) of the taunting takes place in this phase. El toro is its angriest here, but less capable, from my observation, to do any serious danger. Instead of running at the matador from the other side of the ring and charging, the dance (or shall I say fight?) between the two is closer...more intimate. After elegant swishing of the cape and some close escapes for the matador, he approaches the side of ring where a fellow matador hands him a thin sword, marking the beginning of the end for the bull. Once the bull is too weak to provide a decent battle (show?) for the audience, his time quickly runs down.When he is at a good distant, the matador artfully stabs the bull between the shoulders. The rest of the matadors join the ring, and within a few short minutes, the bull is on its knees, dies, and the show is over. In the end, a team of donkeys pull the bull out of the ring (to prepare for the next slaughter) by pulling it with a hook whipped into the bull--but not before the winning matador slices off an ear of the bull he mastered. He takes a victory lap around the ring, where spectators, showing their appreciation, throw their hats into the ring. The matador proudly holds up the ear to show his success, the crowd waves bags, paper or anything else white, seemingly to represent the "surrender" of the bull, although I'm not sure what its true meaning is. Then its on tto he next show, which starts in only a few minutes.
To be a fan of Spanish culture means having an appreciation for this age old art and sporting event. It was an experience of a lifetime--something I'll never forget. However, this experience was not without its occassional vomit-relfex or gut instinct that you were watching something unnatural and inhumane--especially when the matadors deliver their bloody blows to the bull's back. The whole process seems to be driven by entertainment...each phase progresses only when there is little left to see at the bull's weakness level. By no means am I an animal rights advocate (at least for animals we eat on a regular basis...), but bullfights are, without a doubt, too much. On top of the instinctual gut reflex, there are Spanish men yelling "Matalo ya" (Kill it already!) and other crude comments, as well as the idea that some Spanish people come to these every year, or several times a summer (they usually are only from spring to early fall)--merely for a good show. To kill your food is one thing, but to kill for sport and a good laugh over an empanada and a caña is something entirely different. In the end, I'm glad I saw it...but once in a lifetime is enough....or maybe even a bit too much.
(Pictures to come shortly...those with weak stomachs may want to steer clear of them, although I did try to avoid taking any pictures I would regret having later.)
If you think of Spain, chances are bullfights are one of the first things to pop into your mind. I knew that while I was here, I just had to experience one. What others thought to be grotesque or inhumane, I have always excused for the benefit of tradition and culture. Since I was very young, I've been quite fond of animals (some may even say obsessed) but have never found enough reason to become vegetarian, join PETA or some other extreme ideology, detached from normal human behavior. In other words, I had been looking forward to witnessing the most reknowned Spanish sporting event. After rushing into Madrid by train, afraid we would miss the deadline for buying tickets, we bought the cheapest tickets (only 5E) expecting to have rather crappy seats. Ticket prices range from great seating to the nosebleed section, and come in two sides, sombra (shade) y sol (sun)...just another way to really understand the consitency and potency of the heat in Spain. Since the show started at 8:30pm, the sun was not a problem, and our 5E tickets turned out to be great seats.
The taurino begins by a handful of matadores walking around the ring, preparing for the "show" (which, as I've come to understand, is its main purpose). Four or five novilleros (novice matadors) with bright pink capes chase the toro around the ring, as this is the point where the bull has the most energy, and I imagine, would be too much for only one matador. After several minutes, two men enter on horses which have been fully dressed in protective gear (on one side at least) and blindfolded (I expect horses wouldn't behave well around a charging bull). At some point shortly after this, the bull decides that the horse is some kind of threat--and rightly so. During the first show (there are four, at least; we left after three), the bull came to attack the horse, and of course, horse-lover that I am, got extremely nervous. The bull's horns and horse's gear were stained with red blood, and the horse fell to the ground, while the rider attempted to push the bull away with, what I had thought, was an ordinary stick. After several minutes of severe devastation and surprise of horse brutality, I realized that the blood belonged to the bull--not the horse, who had been adequately equipped to protect itself. I always feel more strongly for horses than people in movies, but in this scenario, I was extremely relieved that the horse had not been injured. Apparently those long, "prodding" devices wete extra long spears. From what I could tell, this was the first round, the first attempt to weaken the bull.
Several minutes pass, the horses and their riders leave the ring, and a few matadors taunt the bull. The next step is to weaken the bull even more. A matador approaches the bull, but with two, medium length poles, and when within a short enough distance, stabs the bull in the shoulders. This is repeated, how ever many times necessary to weaken the bull appropriately. In a short time, the bull, more angry but less competent than before--probably having something to do with the handful of short spears hanging from his neck--finds himself alone with the main matador. This is when the art of the show comes into play. The shows we watched were of novillades, the novice matadors, and the gracefulness and almost dance like quality to their movements made it easy to imagine how entertaining and beautiful a real, experienced matador would be to watch. It almost makes you forget about where you are and whats going on around you....
The last phase is with the main matador, who carries a red cape. The majority (and the most interesting) of the taunting takes place in this phase. El toro is its angriest here, but less capable, from my observation, to do any serious danger. Instead of running at the matador from the other side of the ring and charging, the dance (or shall I say fight?) between the two is closer...more intimate. After elegant swishing of the cape and some close escapes for the matador, he approaches the side of ring where a fellow matador hands him a thin sword, marking the beginning of the end for the bull. Once the bull is too weak to provide a decent battle (show?) for the audience, his time quickly runs down.When he is at a good distant, the matador artfully stabs the bull between the shoulders. The rest of the matadors join the ring, and within a few short minutes, the bull is on its knees, dies, and the show is over. In the end, a team of donkeys pull the bull out of the ring (to prepare for the next slaughter) by pulling it with a hook whipped into the bull--but not before the winning matador slices off an ear of the bull he mastered. He takes a victory lap around the ring, where spectators, showing their appreciation, throw their hats into the ring. The matador proudly holds up the ear to show his success, the crowd waves bags, paper or anything else white, seemingly to represent the "surrender" of the bull, although I'm not sure what its true meaning is. Then its on tto he next show, which starts in only a few minutes.
To be a fan of Spanish culture means having an appreciation for this age old art and sporting event. It was an experience of a lifetime--something I'll never forget. However, this experience was not without its occassional vomit-relfex or gut instinct that you were watching something unnatural and inhumane--especially when the matadors deliver their bloody blows to the bull's back. The whole process seems to be driven by entertainment...each phase progresses only when there is little left to see at the bull's weakness level. By no means am I an animal rights advocate (at least for animals we eat on a regular basis...), but bullfights are, without a doubt, too much. On top of the instinctual gut reflex, there are Spanish men yelling "Matalo ya" (Kill it already!) and other crude comments, as well as the idea that some Spanish people come to these every year, or several times a summer (they usually are only from spring to early fall)--merely for a good show. To kill your food is one thing, but to kill for sport and a good laugh over an empanada and a caña is something entirely different. In the end, I'm glad I saw it...but once in a lifetime is enough....or maybe even a bit too much.
(Pictures to come shortly...those with weak stomachs may want to steer clear of them, although I did try to avoid taking any pictures I would regret having later.)
Monday, July 19, 2010
My first taste of the Mediterranean
Valencia was full of experiences this weekend---good and bad. After a 4 hour trip by bus, in what was probably the most uncomfortable bus I've ever been in, we arrived in Valencia at 5am. I had planned out the way to the beach (30min walk, then the tram) so that we could watch the sunrise first thing in the morning. When we arrived to the beach, it was quite cloudy (I was just sure that instead of spending the weekend in "Sunny Valencia" as its known, it would be "Cloudy Valencia"...lucky I was proved wrong. After settling down on the beach, the others took a nap to finish the night of sleeping while I took my camera for some adventures. It was my first time to the Mediterranean coast, so I wanted to make sure I took home plenty of memories with me.
After everyone woke up, we headed to La Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias de Valencia--a complex of buildings, one of which is Oceanografik, Europe's largest aquarium. Of course I was dyeing of excitement because, if you didn't already know, my childhood dream was to become a whale trainer (something I blame on "Free Willy" and "Krats Kreatures")...and I'm still convinced that if at some point in my future I decide pharmacy is not for me, I'm moving to Orlando to play with whales. We had to use the tram and the bus to get to the aquarium, and this was the first time I realized that Valencia's public transport system left much to be desired. After asking a salesmen at the ticket office if I could use the same ticket for the bus and the tram (he said yes and was the rudest person I have encountered in Spain), the bus driver told us we couldn't us it. So then after figuring out how much it would cost, we made our way to the aquarium. I met some Americans in line for tickets who were studying in Toledo for 6 weeks; they were from Michigan and Ohio (I thought I had recognized a Minnesotan accent, but I guess I was a little off). It was nice to talk to some native speakers for a few minutes. The aquarium was tons of fun, and we got to watch a dolphin show as well. In all honesty, it wasn't anything I couldn't have done in the States, but it was still a blast (and I got some amazing pictures in the mean time).
After the aquarium, we made our way back to the center of Valencia, and I had my first paella experience. I've been waiting yeeearrs to have a REAL paella experience. And it was absolutely delicious. I had expected paella valenciana to be made with seafood, but surprisingly the most typical paella from Valencia is with beans and chicken. It tasted better than I had imagined and definitely reminded me of how much saffron I need to bring back from Spain (since its sooo expensive in the US). I also tasted the iconic drink of Valenica, Agua de Valencia, which is something along the lines of orange juice, champagne, gin and vodka. Deliciosa. I went to check into my hostel while the others got settled on the beach. They wanted to sleep on the beach, and my better judgement had told me not to. Plus some advice from relatives and friends...particularly from Carrie, my best friend who studied in Sevilla for a semester. She told me that Valencia wasn't that safe of a city, so it confirmed my previous decision. Luckily, nothing happened to my friends while they slept on the beach, but for the safety of mind (comfort and shower), it was well worth the 20 bucks.
Then we went to party on the beach and tried to visit the center to watch Flamenco in La Plaza de la Virgen....but unfortunatley, at that moment we had our second bad encounter with the tram system. We had missed the last tram to the center (because the schedules are so poorly shown at the stations), tried to take another line that brought us close enough to the center, but we ended up at a dead end and went back to where we started, with not enough time to make it to the show. We decided to stay on the beach and have a good time, which ended up being plenty of fun on its own. This is when I realized that Valencia is the most romantic city, by night, that I have ever been to. Palm trees, warm breezes, spanish guitar, soft lighting, the smell of gypsies roasting corn on the cob, and being surrounded my crowds murmurring slowly in Spanish. One great thing that I'll always appreciate about South(ern) Spain is how much slower they speak. I can't help but think about the slowness in which Southerners from the US speak as compared to the Northerners. In Valencia, they are much easier to understand, and now I can't wait to visit the real Southern Spain, Andalucia, in August.
Valencia also recognizes the language Valenciano, which is a dialect of Catalan, a language very simlar to Spanish and French and gets most recognition in Barcelona. I was interested to see that most every street sign, advertisement, public notice, and menu includes Valenciano, while I heard no one speaking it. Igor and I both asked taxi drivers on separate occasions if anyone from Valencia actually spoke Valenciano. They said that everyone speaks Spanish and everyone understands Valenciano, but neither of them knew what percentage actually speaks it. In Spain, keeping the distinct languages of each region is very important, but I can't imagine keeping a language alive if no one speaks it..seems fruitless in my opinion.
Saturday night we spent partying on the beaches, and Sunday was spent for sightseeing. Zuza and myself went on a tour of the Cathedral, which houses what many consider to be The Holy Grail. It was incredibly intersting to me to be in the prescence of something that Jesus himself was even believed to have touched. Absolutely amazing. We also trekked through El Barrio del Carmen, but as it was Sunday at siesta time...there was little to see. This area is the culture, bohemian center of the youthful Valencia at night, but during the day seems much like a ghost town. For the rest of the day, we relaxed and sunbathed on the beach. I was surprised to see that it was topless beach (not nude...just topless) and that any girl from the age of 2 to 82 feels comfortable going topless. It was definitely an experience for me, but it was easy to get used to. The Spanish seem to be very comfortable with themselves, and toplessness seems to be something to you do out of comfort and not sexuality. After a nice walk along the very crowded beaches, I browsed the gypsy market along the beach and enjoyed some paella del marisco (seafood paella), since it seems to be the most "ideal paella" in the States. It was absolutely delicious, even though I had to enjoy it by myself...no one else cared for seafood enough to join me in the restaurant. Even though I'm unafraid to dine alone, even in the States, it was fairly obvious that this is not common practice in Spain (who dine mostly to converse with friends and family) as everyone seemed to think I was crazy. However, I wasn't about to let some sensitive stomach'ed Europeans keep me from my paella del marisco experience.
The last and most frustrating experience with Valencia's public transport system was Sunday evening. We missed the last tram to the center, although I had asked a gentleman on the tram if it would pass through Pont de Fusta (our stop) and he said yes. Unfortunately we ended up at a station where we had no idea where we were, with only an hour before our bus departure. Luckily, I had written down two numbers for taxis in Valencia. I called one, asked for two taxis for seven people, and only one showed up. After frantically deciding what to do with the remaining four after the other three had headed off to the train station, I called the other taxi number for a second. Ester (one of the Hungarian girls) and Oliwer (Polish guy) wanted to ask a stranger to take us to the station in his car, but once again my better judgement stepped in to say "Nooo I prefer if we didn't." I think both of them were extremely agitated with me and thought we would miss the bus by the time the second cab came. I told him we were in a hurry to catch a bus and asked if there was plenty of time, and he assured me that there was. Luckily, we made it to the bus station with about 30 minutes to spare, but the whole public transport experience in Valencia definitely made me realize that over-preparation is nothing to scoff at....Everyone was extremely thankful for my attention to detail and preparedness on this trip. My new motto for travelling abroad is "When in doubt, write it out"....
*Just a side note: Most Europeans eat pizza with ketchup. They were all quite surprised when I told them that I had never seen anyone eat pizza like that. Gross. I guess pizza is more famous in America for a reason.....
After everyone woke up, we headed to La Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias de Valencia--a complex of buildings, one of which is Oceanografik, Europe's largest aquarium. Of course I was dyeing of excitement because, if you didn't already know, my childhood dream was to become a whale trainer (something I blame on "Free Willy" and "Krats Kreatures")...and I'm still convinced that if at some point in my future I decide pharmacy is not for me, I'm moving to Orlando to play with whales. We had to use the tram and the bus to get to the aquarium, and this was the first time I realized that Valencia's public transport system left much to be desired. After asking a salesmen at the ticket office if I could use the same ticket for the bus and the tram (he said yes and was the rudest person I have encountered in Spain), the bus driver told us we couldn't us it. So then after figuring out how much it would cost, we made our way to the aquarium. I met some Americans in line for tickets who were studying in Toledo for 6 weeks; they were from Michigan and Ohio (I thought I had recognized a Minnesotan accent, but I guess I was a little off). It was nice to talk to some native speakers for a few minutes. The aquarium was tons of fun, and we got to watch a dolphin show as well. In all honesty, it wasn't anything I couldn't have done in the States, but it was still a blast (and I got some amazing pictures in the mean time).
After the aquarium, we made our way back to the center of Valencia, and I had my first paella experience. I've been waiting yeeearrs to have a REAL paella experience. And it was absolutely delicious. I had expected paella valenciana to be made with seafood, but surprisingly the most typical paella from Valencia is with beans and chicken. It tasted better than I had imagined and definitely reminded me of how much saffron I need to bring back from Spain (since its sooo expensive in the US). I also tasted the iconic drink of Valenica, Agua de Valencia, which is something along the lines of orange juice, champagne, gin and vodka. Deliciosa. I went to check into my hostel while the others got settled on the beach. They wanted to sleep on the beach, and my better judgement had told me not to. Plus some advice from relatives and friends...particularly from Carrie, my best friend who studied in Sevilla for a semester. She told me that Valencia wasn't that safe of a city, so it confirmed my previous decision. Luckily, nothing happened to my friends while they slept on the beach, but for the safety of mind (comfort and shower), it was well worth the 20 bucks.
Then we went to party on the beach and tried to visit the center to watch Flamenco in La Plaza de la Virgen....but unfortunatley, at that moment we had our second bad encounter with the tram system. We had missed the last tram to the center (because the schedules are so poorly shown at the stations), tried to take another line that brought us close enough to the center, but we ended up at a dead end and went back to where we started, with not enough time to make it to the show. We decided to stay on the beach and have a good time, which ended up being plenty of fun on its own. This is when I realized that Valencia is the most romantic city, by night, that I have ever been to. Palm trees, warm breezes, spanish guitar, soft lighting, the smell of gypsies roasting corn on the cob, and being surrounded my crowds murmurring slowly in Spanish. One great thing that I'll always appreciate about South(ern) Spain is how much slower they speak. I can't help but think about the slowness in which Southerners from the US speak as compared to the Northerners. In Valencia, they are much easier to understand, and now I can't wait to visit the real Southern Spain, Andalucia, in August.
Valencia also recognizes the language Valenciano, which is a dialect of Catalan, a language very simlar to Spanish and French and gets most recognition in Barcelona. I was interested to see that most every street sign, advertisement, public notice, and menu includes Valenciano, while I heard no one speaking it. Igor and I both asked taxi drivers on separate occasions if anyone from Valencia actually spoke Valenciano. They said that everyone speaks Spanish and everyone understands Valenciano, but neither of them knew what percentage actually speaks it. In Spain, keeping the distinct languages of each region is very important, but I can't imagine keeping a language alive if no one speaks it..seems fruitless in my opinion.
Saturday night we spent partying on the beaches, and Sunday was spent for sightseeing. Zuza and myself went on a tour of the Cathedral, which houses what many consider to be The Holy Grail. It was incredibly intersting to me to be in the prescence of something that Jesus himself was even believed to have touched. Absolutely amazing. We also trekked through El Barrio del Carmen, but as it was Sunday at siesta time...there was little to see. This area is the culture, bohemian center of the youthful Valencia at night, but during the day seems much like a ghost town. For the rest of the day, we relaxed and sunbathed on the beach. I was surprised to see that it was topless beach (not nude...just topless) and that any girl from the age of 2 to 82 feels comfortable going topless. It was definitely an experience for me, but it was easy to get used to. The Spanish seem to be very comfortable with themselves, and toplessness seems to be something to you do out of comfort and not sexuality. After a nice walk along the very crowded beaches, I browsed the gypsy market along the beach and enjoyed some paella del marisco (seafood paella), since it seems to be the most "ideal paella" in the States. It was absolutely delicious, even though I had to enjoy it by myself...no one else cared for seafood enough to join me in the restaurant. Even though I'm unafraid to dine alone, even in the States, it was fairly obvious that this is not common practice in Spain (who dine mostly to converse with friends and family) as everyone seemed to think I was crazy. However, I wasn't about to let some sensitive stomach'ed Europeans keep me from my paella del marisco experience.
The last and most frustrating experience with Valencia's public transport system was Sunday evening. We missed the last tram to the center, although I had asked a gentleman on the tram if it would pass through Pont de Fusta (our stop) and he said yes. Unfortunately we ended up at a station where we had no idea where we were, with only an hour before our bus departure. Luckily, I had written down two numbers for taxis in Valencia. I called one, asked for two taxis for seven people, and only one showed up. After frantically deciding what to do with the remaining four after the other three had headed off to the train station, I called the other taxi number for a second. Ester (one of the Hungarian girls) and Oliwer (Polish guy) wanted to ask a stranger to take us to the station in his car, but once again my better judgement stepped in to say "Nooo I prefer if we didn't." I think both of them were extremely agitated with me and thought we would miss the bus by the time the second cab came. I told him we were in a hurry to catch a bus and asked if there was plenty of time, and he assured me that there was. Luckily, we made it to the bus station with about 30 minutes to spare, but the whole public transport experience in Valencia definitely made me realize that over-preparation is nothing to scoff at....Everyone was extremely thankful for my attention to detail and preparedness on this trip. My new motto for travelling abroad is "When in doubt, write it out"....
*Just a side note: Most Europeans eat pizza with ketchup. They were all quite surprised when I told them that I had never seen anyone eat pizza like that. Gross. I guess pizza is more famous in America for a reason.....
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
The Game of Lifetime
So Spain won the World Cup in soccer (which you should know already, unless you've been living under a rock) on Sunday evening, and we all went to Madrid to watch the game at the public viewing in La Plaza de Cibeles. It was amazing. Just like in Germany, its really uncommon to see the Spanish with such patriotism, but for very different reasons. There tends to be more pride for the autonomous community than for Spain, a result of years of oppression and cohesiveness forced upon them by Franco in the last century. Under his rule, only Spanish was allowed to be spoken while the languages and cultures of the different regions in Spain (specifically, the Basque country with Vasco, Cataluña with Catalan, and Galicia with Gallego). After Franco, everyone was so relieved to be able to support their specific heritage and culture that pride for their autonomous community was overwhelming. Meanwhile, they generally avoided pride for Spain as a whole as it reminded them of Franco, when they were forced to be "one spain" (the motto during his rule was "Una, Grande, Libre"---"One, Great, Free"). Spain has an incredibly interesting and complex history, demonstrated here, which is one of the main reasons I'm drawn to the country and its people.
During the final match, everyone forgot all about these formalities and for a change, they were one Spain again. It was incredible to witness something so rare, and I can't believe I was so luck to be here when they won their first World Cup. Before I left the States, I hoped I would be able to watch at least one game...never did I imagine it would come to this. If there is one thing I've experienced more of in Spain than anywhere else, its how to maneuver in HUGE crowds; La Plaza de Cibeles and Pamplona were crazy enough, but at the end of the match we had to leave in order to catch the last train back to Alcalá (or else be stuck in Madrid the whole night, which could have been amazing or awful, who's to say). Fighting through the crowd as everyone was trying to watch the team accept the trophy was nearly impossible. I've never been more squished in my entire life, but I led the group through it as best I could (there is just something about those situations where I have to be in control or I get verrrry frustrated). Even after we'd navigated our way through the mass of people, running against the grain to the train station proved to be just as difficult. Luckily we made it in time for the train---with only three minutes to spare.
I'll never forget the celebrations that night, or the next night, or the night after that. In fact, there is still some celebrating going on outside my window in Alcalá right now...
During the final match, everyone forgot all about these formalities and for a change, they were one Spain again. It was incredible to witness something so rare, and I can't believe I was so luck to be here when they won their first World Cup. Before I left the States, I hoped I would be able to watch at least one game...never did I imagine it would come to this. If there is one thing I've experienced more of in Spain than anywhere else, its how to maneuver in HUGE crowds; La Plaza de Cibeles and Pamplona were crazy enough, but at the end of the match we had to leave in order to catch the last train back to Alcalá (or else be stuck in Madrid the whole night, which could have been amazing or awful, who's to say). Fighting through the crowd as everyone was trying to watch the team accept the trophy was nearly impossible. I've never been more squished in my entire life, but I led the group through it as best I could (there is just something about those situations where I have to be in control or I get verrrry frustrated). Even after we'd navigated our way through the mass of people, running against the grain to the train station proved to be just as difficult. Luckily we made it in time for the train---with only three minutes to spare.
I'll never forget the celebrations that night, or the next night, or the night after that. In fact, there is still some celebrating going on outside my window in Alcalá right now...
Monday, July 12, 2010
Los Sanfermines en Pamplona
Wow this past weekend has definitely been one to remember! On Friday evening, six of us went the crrrrazy festival, los Sanfermines, in Pamplona. The most popular activity in the festival is el encierro, or the running of the bulls. Its usually attempted by los borrachos (drunks) who have "drunk muscles" at 8am. We arrived in two different shifts; Dejan, Igor and I arrived at about 2am after around 5 hours on a bus (or at a bus station), while Susannah, Oliver and Anna (the Polish crowd) left later and arrived at 3:30am. I expected there to be plenty of people still up from a night of partying, and we planned on joining them until the encierro at 8am (finding a hostel at the last minute in Pamplona is nearly impossible and would cost us allll of our arms and legs). However---I was not nearly expecting what we found. Hundreds upon hundreds of people were partying at full force throughout the night. We took a wrong turn into the streets where all the most happening clubs were located, and I never thought we would get out. Literally we just pushed ourselves (and other people) through the crowd. The streets and parks were full of trash; the Spanish are always well prepared to drink--most of them brought coolers with ice, wine and coke (for the kalimotxos) and left the trash right where they were (I imagine if this were Germany the bums would be loving all the free cash on the ground!). The worst about the whole thing was that the streets reeked of urine. All the streets were wet, and I preferred to imagine it was beer or kalimotxo, but as we walked down la Calle Estafeta (where we wanted to post up to watch the encierro) I could no longer ignore the obvious---within three blocks, there were at least 5 men peeing on the streets. And even though the streets were almost completely clean by 2pm that day (swept and watered down), there was still the distinct and overwhelming stench of hot piss. Quite disturbing.
We took our places sitting on a fence on la Calle Estafeta at about 6:30am, which is when most sources said you have to get there in order to even see the encierro. The streets became soo unbelievably crowded again (I was glad to be perched safely above it), then the street was cleaned and people were pushed out of the streets into the alleys. Unfortunately, even though we were right behind the fence which by now had been closed, we still didn't have a good view. There are three main areas to see the encierro--at the beginning where they run from one street into la Calle de Estafeta (dangerous because if the bulls are running fast, they can run into the sides), la Calle de Estafeta (not along the whole street, but only at intersections with other streets---this is where we were) and then where Estafeta runs into the la plaza de torros (the bullring, where the bullfights take place at 6m every evening of the festival--dangerous because of the slope or the path). We chose the safest place along Estafeta, but there were two fences between us and the street where police and emergency personnel stood. Needless to say, we didn't have a good view. I'd have to say that the encierro itself was pretty boring--I assume only maybe 2 out out of the 8 encierros during the festival every year get exciting (with angry bulls or rreally drunk runners). Witnessing the festivities was much more entertaining than the four minutes of watching people jog with some bulls. Either way, it was a blast, and I'm sooo glad to have visited one of the best parties in the world (probably of the same caliber as Mardi Gras or Carnival in Rio de Janerio---its all about letting loose and getting crazy). And it was well worth the trip.
We took our places sitting on a fence on la Calle Estafeta at about 6:30am, which is when most sources said you have to get there in order to even see the encierro. The streets became soo unbelievably crowded again (I was glad to be perched safely above it), then the street was cleaned and people were pushed out of the streets into the alleys. Unfortunately, even though we were right behind the fence which by now had been closed, we still didn't have a good view. There are three main areas to see the encierro--at the beginning where they run from one street into la Calle de Estafeta (dangerous because if the bulls are running fast, they can run into the sides), la Calle de Estafeta (not along the whole street, but only at intersections with other streets---this is where we were) and then where Estafeta runs into the la plaza de torros (the bullring, where the bullfights take place at 6m every evening of the festival--dangerous because of the slope or the path). We chose the safest place along Estafeta, but there were two fences between us and the street where police and emergency personnel stood. Needless to say, we didn't have a good view. I'd have to say that the encierro itself was pretty boring--I assume only maybe 2 out out of the 8 encierros during the festival every year get exciting (with angry bulls or rreally drunk runners). Witnessing the festivities was much more entertaining than the four minutes of watching people jog with some bulls. Either way, it was a blast, and I'm sooo glad to have visited one of the best parties in the world (probably of the same caliber as Mardi Gras or Carnival in Rio de Janerio---its all about letting loose and getting crazy). And it was well worth the trip.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
La Farmacia de Goya
I've spent almost a whole work week at the pharmacy now (if you count 4 hours a day a "work week," and so far I've learned quite a bit about pharmacy in Spain--although there is a lot I don't know. Since Elena is now at the IPSF congress in Serbia (or maybe she's doing an exchange?? I'm not exactly sure..), the pharmacy is the only place I hear a lot of Spanish. At times, its just too overwhelming. I generally understand everything the pharmacists tell me to do, but they are an extremely busy pharmacy right now; as they've explained it, they have a lot of pharmacists on vacation because its summer. So although I'd like to ask lots of questions to learn more and practice my Spanish, usually there's not enough time. Also, the pharmacy is connected to Dr. Goya's office, so there is a lot of business (patients done with their appointments walk right through the back of the pharmacy to the front door!! Thats one thing that would never happen in the States! HIPAA violations--although there is no real patient information to see, I'll tell you about it later) I only stay in the back--talking to patients is still overwhelming to me since madrileños speak soooo fast. Even when the pharmacists speak to each other, I don't understand most of it. After putting away the order, I pretty much just stand around until they have something for me to do. I'll get some medications for them or take out the trash---when I get really bored I just organize the generic meds and look at all the stuff they keep there. Its not exactly what I expected, but I'm still learning--and its only the first week, maybe things will get more exciting soon.
There are several big differences I've noticed so far. There is absolutely no counting of pills. Everything is prepackaged in counts of 10, 12, 20, 28, 30, 60 or 100, depending on the medications. There is also no real computer system--no patint profiles, no allergies listed, no patient information in general. Since they don't really have a private insurance business, computers are not as important I suppose (I guess medications are all just really cheap?? not sure, haven't figured out the details yet). The only way they know if they've given a medication to someone is by cutting off the barcode and taping it to the prescription. Which leads me to another point. There are no labels--so the patients literally just get a box saying what the medication is and (I suppose) the regular directions for adminstration. The directions written by the doctor are on the prescription, but the pharmacy keeps those. For me, it sends up a red flag. It seems like this system relies completely on patient compliance and the good ole' trust system. In the States the labels have everything--prescription number (I don't think they have such a thing as "refills" here), prescribing doctor, pharmacy, pharmacist initials, directions, date filled...everything. Also, what if there is a confusing dosing that is patient specific? I'm still trying to figure these things out. Something that seems weird to me is that male and female pharmacists have different uniforms. Males have lab coats like in the States, while women wear what looks more like scrubs--and I think nurses wear the exact same thing. Oh yeah---there are NO pharmacy technicians. Everyone in the pharmacy is a pharmacist, so there is no final check. You get the prescription, you go to drawer, get the box, take it to the register and check them out. Quite different.
I'm also not quite sure yet how the controlled medications work. I've seen Concerta (Schedule 2--we have to monitor pretty much everything with this in the States) is in a regular drawer. But we did get Oxycontin in an order today, and I think there is a special place for it because it wasn't in the drawer later where it would've been. I'll have to ask about it soon---you know, when there are 2 minutes to spare. Many of the brand names are the same, while some are different or very similar. Generic names are the same except with A's or O's on the end of them, plus the manufactures name. For instance, you might see Simvistatina SANDOZ right next to Simvistatina MYLAN. Another thing that I think is quite common throughout Europe is that aspirin is still the most popular anti-inflammatory, analgesic and NSAID. From what I can tell, ibuprofen is only available with prescription. In the states, aspirin is primarily used for blood thinning, anti-coagulation purposes, while its analgesic use is pretty uncommon. I'm interested to learn more about why this is so different--I haven't even seen any Tylenol yet! I hope to learn more about their system in the next few weeks, because there is still a lot to learn.
There are several big differences I've noticed so far. There is absolutely no counting of pills. Everything is prepackaged in counts of 10, 12, 20, 28, 30, 60 or 100, depending on the medications. There is also no real computer system--no patint profiles, no allergies listed, no patient information in general. Since they don't really have a private insurance business, computers are not as important I suppose (I guess medications are all just really cheap?? not sure, haven't figured out the details yet). The only way they know if they've given a medication to someone is by cutting off the barcode and taping it to the prescription. Which leads me to another point. There are no labels--so the patients literally just get a box saying what the medication is and (I suppose) the regular directions for adminstration. The directions written by the doctor are on the prescription, but the pharmacy keeps those. For me, it sends up a red flag. It seems like this system relies completely on patient compliance and the good ole' trust system. In the States the labels have everything--prescription number (I don't think they have such a thing as "refills" here), prescribing doctor, pharmacy, pharmacist initials, directions, date filled...everything. Also, what if there is a confusing dosing that is patient specific? I'm still trying to figure these things out. Something that seems weird to me is that male and female pharmacists have different uniforms. Males have lab coats like in the States, while women wear what looks more like scrubs--and I think nurses wear the exact same thing. Oh yeah---there are NO pharmacy technicians. Everyone in the pharmacy is a pharmacist, so there is no final check. You get the prescription, you go to drawer, get the box, take it to the register and check them out. Quite different.
I'm also not quite sure yet how the controlled medications work. I've seen Concerta (Schedule 2--we have to monitor pretty much everything with this in the States) is in a regular drawer. But we did get Oxycontin in an order today, and I think there is a special place for it because it wasn't in the drawer later where it would've been. I'll have to ask about it soon---you know, when there are 2 minutes to spare. Many of the brand names are the same, while some are different or very similar. Generic names are the same except with A's or O's on the end of them, plus the manufactures name. For instance, you might see Simvistatina SANDOZ right next to Simvistatina MYLAN. Another thing that I think is quite common throughout Europe is that aspirin is still the most popular anti-inflammatory, analgesic and NSAID. From what I can tell, ibuprofen is only available with prescription. In the states, aspirin is primarily used for blood thinning, anti-coagulation purposes, while its analgesic use is pretty uncommon. I'm interested to learn more about why this is so different--I haven't even seen any Tylenol yet! I hope to learn more about their system in the next few weeks, because there is still a lot to learn.
Villa, Ramos, Velazquez and El Greco...Spain at its finest.
Well, you'd have to be living under a rock if you didn't know that Spain is in the championship for the World Cup--they're very first time in the finals. The match is this Sunday and we are all planning on going to La Plaza de Cibeles for a public viewing of the game after a day of tapas and canas with Carlos. Spain has already surprised me thus far, so I can't even imagine what Madrid will look like if they become World Champions! We watched the game last night in the same bar in Sol, the heart of Madrid, and it was an absolute riot. I loved seeing Madrid so alive and full of people. The metro and the campus was alive and full of people. In fact, I had a hard time falling asleep thanks to the chanting and partying going on outside my window. But its worth having a couple bad nights of sleeping for this once in a lifetime experience. All I can say is its perfect timing to be here :) As my Dad pointed out, I have visited 3 out of 4 countries in the semifinals---I think I am good luck to all this futbol. Soooo Viva Espana!
Before watching the game last night we visited El Museo del Prado in Madrid. It took over 2 hours to walk through, and after I saw my favorite Spanish artists, I was pretty much done with the whole thing. I had studied Spanish artists in my Culture of Spain class in undergrad and fell in love with Diego Velazquez. His art is very life-like, and even though its very realistic and naturalistic, he finds ways to make them interesting (like painting himself into them or adding unexpected dimensions). Most of his counterparts during the 17th century did mostly mythological and religous pieces, but Velazquez was invited to be part of the court for Felipe IV, so he did many royal paintings. My favorites from him are: "Las Meninas" (has many dimensions, interesting additions---like a puzzle everytime you look at it. I probably stood in front of it for a good 30 minutes), "Los Borrachos" (the drunks), "La Crucifición" (The crucifixion of Christ--usually once you've seen so many of these you've seen them all, but his is really brilliant and stands out above the rest in my opinion), and "La Rendición de Breda" (The surrender of Breda, where he painted himself, perhaps several times, into the crowds of Spaniards and the Dutch after a war---coincidence??) I was also looking forward to seeing Goya but was honestly not impressed by him. I was very impressed with El Greco, however, which was very unexpected. I especially loved his "loose hand" period, where instead of everything having very smooth lines, they're more jagged. It may seem more unrealistic to many, but to me its more real. Amongst so many other religous paintings, his six paintings from the "Retablo Mayor" stand out as elegant, moving, and focused (even though each is full of different images, there is still a focus--thats what I enjoy most about them). Visiting The Prado made me so much more excited to visit El Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, where works of more modern Spanish artists are. Ones I'm thrilled to see are Dalí, Picasso and Miro---AND this museum is home to "Guernica." I'll probably spend an hour in front of it....
Before watching the game last night we visited El Museo del Prado in Madrid. It took over 2 hours to walk through, and after I saw my favorite Spanish artists, I was pretty much done with the whole thing. I had studied Spanish artists in my Culture of Spain class in undergrad and fell in love with Diego Velazquez. His art is very life-like, and even though its very realistic and naturalistic, he finds ways to make them interesting (like painting himself into them or adding unexpected dimensions). Most of his counterparts during the 17th century did mostly mythological and religous pieces, but Velazquez was invited to be part of the court for Felipe IV, so he did many royal paintings. My favorites from him are: "Las Meninas" (has many dimensions, interesting additions---like a puzzle everytime you look at it. I probably stood in front of it for a good 30 minutes), "Los Borrachos" (the drunks), "La Crucifición" (The crucifixion of Christ--usually once you've seen so many of these you've seen them all, but his is really brilliant and stands out above the rest in my opinion), and "La Rendición de Breda" (The surrender of Breda, where he painted himself, perhaps several times, into the crowds of Spaniards and the Dutch after a war---coincidence??) I was also looking forward to seeing Goya but was honestly not impressed by him. I was very impressed with El Greco, however, which was very unexpected. I especially loved his "loose hand" period, where instead of everything having very smooth lines, they're more jagged. It may seem more unrealistic to many, but to me its more real. Amongst so many other religous paintings, his six paintings from the "Retablo Mayor" stand out as elegant, moving, and focused (even though each is full of different images, there is still a focus--thats what I enjoy most about them). Visiting The Prado made me so much more excited to visit El Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, where works of more modern Spanish artists are. Ones I'm thrilled to see are Dalí, Picasso and Miro---AND this museum is home to "Guernica." I'll probably spend an hour in front of it....
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Ancora imparo
Kalimotxo is a new favorite drink of mine that is very popular here in Spain. Its half red wine and half Coke, sometimes topped off with some blackberry or cranberry juice--and the only way I've had it so far is from a 1 Liter plastic cup, haha. Carlos introduced it to us Thursday evening; we were winding down after a busy day in the bar next to our apartment. We took advantage of that time to learn a little about pharmacy education in each other's home countries. From what I've heard, most pharmacy schools in Europe are 4 or 5 years witha practicum of anywhere from 1 month to 6 months---with the exception of Serbia, which is 5 years of class and one year practicing (very similar to ours). Patient counseling education seems to be only an American requirement, although most of them believe it should be part of their curriculum as well. Also, I don't think the programs are as strict as far as schedules and advancing to the next year. For instance, Elena and Carlos are both on their 6th year of a 5 year program. Unlike in the States where you must take certain classes every year, in Spain they can choose; one year they could only take 3 or 4 classes and take it easy. If you fail a class, you can repeat it the next year and still continue in other subjects. In the states, you must take certain classes every year, with room for only about 10 hours of elective course through the three years of the didactic pharmacy program. If you get a D in two classes in a year, you cannot move to the next year, but must repeat those two classes the next year, joining the next year of students. Opinions of pharmacists seem to be similar everywhere--they're over educated for what they do, too much chemistry and too much knowledge. Its interesting to me that no matter what country you practice in, you're fighting more or less the same battles.
I'll learn much more about pharmacy after starting work tomorrow. On Friday, we all took time to meet the professors (and in my case, the pharmacy team) we would be working with. Fran (whom I assume is like the pharmacy manager) is very polite, speaks about 1,000 mph, and reminded me very much of the typical American executive. Luckily, when he spoke to me, he understood that he needed to slow it down. I understood most everything he said, but I'm sure I'll need to review the work routine tomorrow. None of the main pharmacists speak English, so my Spanish will definitely be necessary. Fran told me that my work schedule is 9:30am to 1:30pm (only four hours!!), and that if I come in late, or need to miss a Friday or Monday because of a weekend excursion, it didn't matter to him. He understands that the point of this program is not only to increase awareness and knowledge of pharmacy internationally but also to let the students enjoy the country they are working in. He also said that I can do pretty much anything in the pharmacy I feel comfortable with, but its up to me to get what I want out of this experience. Could this be any better???
After visiting the pharmacy, I went to the shopping center in Alcala--the other students had gone there earlier and then went to Alcala for some sightseeing. Then Carlos introduced to Spanish parties--about a bagillion gallons of kalimotxo, some excellent rioja (only about 7 Euros), music, and beer. During the party, Elena arrived with the next edition to our house--another girl from Poland who attends the same university as the other Polish student here (turns out only the girl is a student and her fiance just came along with her..sort of a strange idea to me, but then again, maybe its just a unique glimpse into the Polish culture). At the party, we shared stories from our countries, our lives, and our ideas about each others. To me, these are the times that are most crucial and the most interesting when traveling abroad. People can be so different, yet so similar at the same time--no matter where they are from. Some things are universal, some are quite isolated. Learning about other cultures really makes you look at your own culture....question it, validate it, or simply understand it as unique.
We spent the better part of Saturday afternoon walking around Madrid, and somehow I was deemed tour guide. Since I had been there for several days already, I knew the best sequence of the most important sites, but to my surprise, most of them looked to me to guide them on the trains and (especially) the metro, as well. Being the only native English speaker and also the only person having a substantial grasp on Spanish, I've fallen into sort of a leadership position. I enjoy the power and their trust to a degree, but if you know me but at all, you know I'd rather make everyone else happy than worry about what I want. This characteristic of mine was tested in Madrid as we were searching for a place to settle down and watch the Spain vs. Paraguay game. Elena had recommended a few bars, and after I had found them, they didn't seem to meet everyone's approval. So we spent almost an hour trying to find somewhere that made everyone happy--an impossible task. I was trying to let them choose, but I got fed up with all the whining and indecisiveness (probably just seemed that way because of the language barriers, but still frustrating). We gave up and went back to the first bar that Elena suggested.
By that time, we were all ready to sit down and enjoy some beers. The Irish pub we were in had almost no tables left when we got there, but by the time the game had started, we were pushing people out of the way to see the television. I still don't know much about soccer, and I'm learning more and more about it while I'm in Europe, but even I could tell that was an exciting and emotional game! It may have been the fact that I was in Madrid, or that the bar was crowded with loud and passionate Spaniards, but I've never gotten into a soccer game like I did that one! I'm thrilled that Spain will be advancing; it gives me at least one more opportunity to pretend that Yo soy espanol, espanol, espanol! Yo soy espanol espanol! (I'm Spanish). Maybe by the next game, I'll know all the cheers and can chant along side the madrilenos.
I'll learn much more about pharmacy after starting work tomorrow. On Friday, we all took time to meet the professors (and in my case, the pharmacy team) we would be working with. Fran (whom I assume is like the pharmacy manager) is very polite, speaks about 1,000 mph, and reminded me very much of the typical American executive. Luckily, when he spoke to me, he understood that he needed to slow it down. I understood most everything he said, but I'm sure I'll need to review the work routine tomorrow. None of the main pharmacists speak English, so my Spanish will definitely be necessary. Fran told me that my work schedule is 9:30am to 1:30pm (only four hours!!), and that if I come in late, or need to miss a Friday or Monday because of a weekend excursion, it didn't matter to him. He understands that the point of this program is not only to increase awareness and knowledge of pharmacy internationally but also to let the students enjoy the country they are working in. He also said that I can do pretty much anything in the pharmacy I feel comfortable with, but its up to me to get what I want out of this experience. Could this be any better???
After visiting the pharmacy, I went to the shopping center in Alcala--the other students had gone there earlier and then went to Alcala for some sightseeing. Then Carlos introduced to Spanish parties--about a bagillion gallons of kalimotxo, some excellent rioja (only about 7 Euros), music, and beer. During the party, Elena arrived with the next edition to our house--another girl from Poland who attends the same university as the other Polish student here (turns out only the girl is a student and her fiance just came along with her..sort of a strange idea to me, but then again, maybe its just a unique glimpse into the Polish culture). At the party, we shared stories from our countries, our lives, and our ideas about each others. To me, these are the times that are most crucial and the most interesting when traveling abroad. People can be so different, yet so similar at the same time--no matter where they are from. Some things are universal, some are quite isolated. Learning about other cultures really makes you look at your own culture....question it, validate it, or simply understand it as unique.
We spent the better part of Saturday afternoon walking around Madrid, and somehow I was deemed tour guide. Since I had been there for several days already, I knew the best sequence of the most important sites, but to my surprise, most of them looked to me to guide them on the trains and (especially) the metro, as well. Being the only native English speaker and also the only person having a substantial grasp on Spanish, I've fallen into sort of a leadership position. I enjoy the power and their trust to a degree, but if you know me but at all, you know I'd rather make everyone else happy than worry about what I want. This characteristic of mine was tested in Madrid as we were searching for a place to settle down and watch the Spain vs. Paraguay game. Elena had recommended a few bars, and after I had found them, they didn't seem to meet everyone's approval. So we spent almost an hour trying to find somewhere that made everyone happy--an impossible task. I was trying to let them choose, but I got fed up with all the whining and indecisiveness (probably just seemed that way because of the language barriers, but still frustrating). We gave up and went back to the first bar that Elena suggested.
By that time, we were all ready to sit down and enjoy some beers. The Irish pub we were in had almost no tables left when we got there, but by the time the game had started, we were pushing people out of the way to see the television. I still don't know much about soccer, and I'm learning more and more about it while I'm in Europe, but even I could tell that was an exciting and emotional game! It may have been the fact that I was in Madrid, or that the bar was crowded with loud and passionate Spaniards, but I've never gotten into a soccer game like I did that one! I'm thrilled that Spain will be advancing; it gives me at least one more opportunity to pretend that Yo soy espanol, espanol, espanol! Yo soy espanol espanol! (I'm Spanish). Maybe by the next game, I'll know all the cheers and can chant along side the madrilenos.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A lesson in Eastern European geography
Yesterday evening, after shopping las rebajas and touring El Parque del Buen Retiro, I waited for Dejan and Elena to come to the hostel. I ended up waiting about 2 hours..with the Metro still down, they had to take the train and a bus to get to the center of the city. After we met, Elena wanted to introduce him to tapas y canas, so we went to a restaurant (Cerverceria Cien Monataditos--actually referred to me in my Lonely Planet: Spain book for good tapas) with more of Elena's friends.
Today, Dejan (Slovenia) and I met up with Veronika (Slovakia) at the Atocha train station (where the bombing was in 2005), and another pharmacy student from Alcala, Carlos, drove us to Alcala de Henares. The size of my luggage seemed to be a big topic of conversation. I really tried not to pack too much, but I overpack for a just weekend trip, how could I not overpack for traveling (in Europe) for more than a month? Oh well, if I need to send packages home, I will. We arrived in Alcala after about 30 minutes of driving from Madrid, and explored the city just a little bit. We tried two different tapas places...two of only too many count that I hope to try in the next month. Then we met some more roommates--two from Poland (a couple with a room next to mine---lets hope that doesn't get awkward) and a guy from Serbia. We have two more coming shortly, but in combination with Elena (originally from Bulgaria), I suddenly feel the need to brush up on my Eastern European geography and history. All of them speak English though, which is a blessing and a curse. I spent almost the entire day speaking in English, and because I feel I am understanding more and more Spanish every day, it may have been a set back. I will go to my pharmacy tomorrow to meet everyone, which will hopefully be the place where I will hear the most Spanish. Elena and Carlos have said they will speak only in Spanish to me, but that only lasts a few minutes. It is a bit rude to be speaking a language that everyone around you doesn't understand, when you could be speaking one that they do.
The house where we are staying is great. There are ten beds total, and nine students will be staying here (I think). I'm lucky to have a private room upstairs (whyyyy always upstairs? and on that note, I'm pretty sure I've done serious damage to my right foot from being on it constantly in the past week). The main room downstairs is air conditioned (but alas, my room is still extremely stuffy), there is a huge kitchen, a terrace, and plenty of things on campus to keep us busy. Carlos, who did his year of Erasmus (within the European Union, all students study for free, and Erasmus is one year studying in any other EU country for free as well) in Malta with lots of Americans, has already decided the fate of our dining room table---beer pong. What with beer pong and country roads being played in a Starbucks in the middle of Madrid, I feel right at home (almost....but not quite.)
*Just a note, if you think my writing skills are slipping, its probably not a coincidence. While trying to speak another language does take its toll on your native language speaking abilities, attempting to speak English that people from 6 other countries will understand does a lot more damage. You find yourself using phrases and words you've never used before at a very slow pace. Whether I need to or not, I'm not sure, but its just natural. You should see how long it takes me to proofread these.....
Today, Dejan (Slovenia) and I met up with Veronika (Slovakia) at the Atocha train station (where the bombing was in 2005), and another pharmacy student from Alcala, Carlos, drove us to Alcala de Henares. The size of my luggage seemed to be a big topic of conversation. I really tried not to pack too much, but I overpack for a just weekend trip, how could I not overpack for traveling (in Europe) for more than a month? Oh well, if I need to send packages home, I will. We arrived in Alcala after about 30 minutes of driving from Madrid, and explored the city just a little bit. We tried two different tapas places...two of only too many count that I hope to try in the next month. Then we met some more roommates--two from Poland (a couple with a room next to mine---lets hope that doesn't get awkward) and a guy from Serbia. We have two more coming shortly, but in combination with Elena (originally from Bulgaria), I suddenly feel the need to brush up on my Eastern European geography and history. All of them speak English though, which is a blessing and a curse. I spent almost the entire day speaking in English, and because I feel I am understanding more and more Spanish every day, it may have been a set back. I will go to my pharmacy tomorrow to meet everyone, which will hopefully be the place where I will hear the most Spanish. Elena and Carlos have said they will speak only in Spanish to me, but that only lasts a few minutes. It is a bit rude to be speaking a language that everyone around you doesn't understand, when you could be speaking one that they do.
The house where we are staying is great. There are ten beds total, and nine students will be staying here (I think). I'm lucky to have a private room upstairs (whyyyy always upstairs? and on that note, I'm pretty sure I've done serious damage to my right foot from being on it constantly in the past week). The main room downstairs is air conditioned (but alas, my room is still extremely stuffy), there is a huge kitchen, a terrace, and plenty of things on campus to keep us busy. Carlos, who did his year of Erasmus (within the European Union, all students study for free, and Erasmus is one year studying in any other EU country for free as well) in Malta with lots of Americans, has already decided the fate of our dining room table---beer pong. What with beer pong and country roads being played in a Starbucks in the middle of Madrid, I feel right at home (almost....but not quite.)
*Just a note, if you think my writing skills are slipping, its probably not a coincidence. While trying to speak another language does take its toll on your native language speaking abilities, attempting to speak English that people from 6 other countries will understand does a lot more damage. You find yourself using phrases and words you've never used before at a very slow pace. Whether I need to or not, I'm not sure, but its just natural. You should see how long it takes me to proofread these.....
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Jamón y cañas
Where to begin....I feel like I've done SO much in the past two days. I've managed to go almost all the places I intended to (except the museums, which I plan to do later)---El Real Palacio (the Royal Palace), including the Real Armeria (Royal Armery) and the Real Farmacia (Royal Pharmacy) and the Jardines de Sabatini (the gardens), la Plaza Oriente, la Plaza Mayor, el Parque de Buen Retiro (basically their version of Central Park, which includes El Palacio de Cristal--The Crystal Palace--and the Monument of Alfonso XII), El Paseo del Prado (a nice walking area next to El Prado Museum), El Jardin Botanico (The Botanical Garden), El Fuente de Neptuno (Neptune's Fountain), La Puerta de Alcala, La Plaza de Espana and its Cervantes monument.....and probably some other stuff that I can't remember now. Everything is named "Plaza" or "Puerta," so it seems like everything is important. Just look at the pictures--they can tell a better story than I can.
My first tapas experience didn't go completely as planned. Elena planned to take me with her and her friends to her favorite tapas place, El Tigre, which I'm pretty sure is near Chueca--the gay neighborhood of Madrid. However, when we got there it was closed due to the the Metro being on strike. What great timing! Elena has lived in near Madrid for 15 years and has never heard of a Metro strike..oh well. It only means (once again...) that I have to walk everywhere, instead of only paying about 2 Euros for a whole day of riding the Metro. Oh well...Que sera, sera. (I'm getting pretty good at finding my around since I'm mostly walking, and I think its the best way to get to know a city anyways.) Soooooo... instead of El Tigre, we went to El Museo del Jamon. Yes, thats right...literally translated it means "Museum of Ham." There weren't many tapas choices that weren't ham, as you would expect, but we did have some bread, a plate of ham, cheese, sausage, and a couple of canas (the local word for a draft beer). Another common snack is called a "bocadillo." Usually its just ham, just cheese, or a mix of both on a roll...but I LOVE THEM. And when I call it ham, its only because thats the translation. Its actually jamon, and I LOVE jamon. Its very similar to prosciutto..very thinly sliced and salty. I could eat it everyday....and I have.
Something else I love about Spain so far is that everyone expects you to take a siesta. In fact, when I was walking around with Elena and some other pharmacy students from la Universidad de Alcala after tapas y canas, one of them asked me if I had taken my siesta today. When I said no, she was like "ooohh nooo, you must be exhausted." Haha..these are my kind of people. Naps are not something you want but you need. I wonder if I'll ever leave...
Everyone hears about how Mediterranean men are very forward, and while I don't think Spanish men are as bad as Italian men, I have had a few encounters (nothing to worry about Mom and Dad, they are very respectful about it...). I've had several men walk past me and say something complimentary to me, a few of which have grabbed my hand while doing so. They don't do it forcefully, just very softly as they pass by. Its strange to get used to, but I try to just keep walking, not turn around and not make eye contact..thats what I've heard works best.
Today I took some time to do some shopping on the La Gran Via (my hotel is right on the corner of this street and La Calle de Montera--where ironically the prostitutes like to hang out; once again Mom and Dad, its safe. They're harmless and I've seen more police in Madrid than in any other city, especially on this street..). During the month of July (and also in January), almost all the stores in Spain have a huge sale, called las rebajas. Its the best time to shop, and I'm so glad the entire time I'll be in Spain it'll be going on :) .
My first tapas experience didn't go completely as planned. Elena planned to take me with her and her friends to her favorite tapas place, El Tigre, which I'm pretty sure is near Chueca--the gay neighborhood of Madrid. However, when we got there it was closed due to the the Metro being on strike. What great timing! Elena has lived in near Madrid for 15 years and has never heard of a Metro strike..oh well. It only means (once again...) that I have to walk everywhere, instead of only paying about 2 Euros for a whole day of riding the Metro. Oh well...Que sera, sera. (I'm getting pretty good at finding my around since I'm mostly walking, and I think its the best way to get to know a city anyways.) Soooooo... instead of El Tigre, we went to El Museo del Jamon. Yes, thats right...literally translated it means "Museum of Ham." There weren't many tapas choices that weren't ham, as you would expect, but we did have some bread, a plate of ham, cheese, sausage, and a couple of canas (the local word for a draft beer). Another common snack is called a "bocadillo." Usually its just ham, just cheese, or a mix of both on a roll...but I LOVE THEM. And when I call it ham, its only because thats the translation. Its actually jamon, and I LOVE jamon. Its very similar to prosciutto..very thinly sliced and salty. I could eat it everyday....and I have.
Something else I love about Spain so far is that everyone expects you to take a siesta. In fact, when I was walking around with Elena and some other pharmacy students from la Universidad de Alcala after tapas y canas, one of them asked me if I had taken my siesta today. When I said no, she was like "ooohh nooo, you must be exhausted." Haha..these are my kind of people. Naps are not something you want but you need. I wonder if I'll ever leave...
Everyone hears about how Mediterranean men are very forward, and while I don't think Spanish men are as bad as Italian men, I have had a few encounters (nothing to worry about Mom and Dad, they are very respectful about it...). I've had several men walk past me and say something complimentary to me, a few of which have grabbed my hand while doing so. They don't do it forcefully, just very softly as they pass by. Its strange to get used to, but I try to just keep walking, not turn around and not make eye contact..thats what I've heard works best.
Today I took some time to do some shopping on the La Gran Via (my hotel is right on the corner of this street and La Calle de Montera--where ironically the prostitutes like to hang out; once again Mom and Dad, its safe. They're harmless and I've seen more police in Madrid than in any other city, especially on this street..). During the month of July (and also in January), almost all the stores in Spain have a huge sale, called las rebajas. Its the best time to shop, and I'm so glad the entire time I'll be in Spain it'll be going on :) .
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Yesterday I arrived in Madrid around 3:00pm, and Elena from IPSF met me and showed me to my hostal. Its basically in the center of Madrid, one block from kilometro cero (kilometer zero, what they say is the geographical center of Spain). Elena and I had lunch in the Plaza Mayor and then took a small walking tour. I plan to do it again today to take pictures, enter El Palacio Real (The Royal Palace) and walk around in its gardens. Elena only talks to me in Spanish, which has already tested my skills, and by the end of the day I was too tired to keep listening (it takes a lot of effort). Hopefully each day will get better...they placed me in a pharmacy instead of a lab because my spanish level was above everyone else's in the program. I know my spanish will improve in just a few days.
The streets of Madrid are BEAUTIFUL! It reminds me of New York (it actually made me a little home sick...well, America sick), but instead of their Time Square looking like it does in New York, it looks like Greenwich village, Soho, ect. Bellisima. I plan on visiting the museums to see Guernica and other works by Picasso, Velazquez, Dali, and the various famous Spanish artists, but I might wait to do that on a weekend (when most of them are free and I can go with more people). Last night, I went to bed early to be well rested and prepared to speak Spanish well, but since the hostal is in the middle of everything it was loud throughout the night, especially when considering Spanish nightlife doesn't start until around 12. Today I'll meet Elena and her friends for lunch and my very first tapas experience, which I'm rrrreally looking forward to.
Dejan from Slovenia is meeting me on Wednesday at the hostal, and on Thursday we'll head to Alcala, I'll go the pharmacy where I'll be working, but I won't start working until Monday. So I basically have a week to get accustomed to the sights and sounds of Spain before work. Eight students, including myself, will be staying in a house on campus at la Universidad de Alcala, and they will all speak English. In fact, most people near where we'll be staying on campus will speak English and very little Spanish. The students staying with me are from Slovenia, Hungary, Poland, aaaand I don't know where else, but I do know I'm the only one from the States.
Hasta manana.
The streets of Madrid are BEAUTIFUL! It reminds me of New York (it actually made me a little home sick...well, America sick), but instead of their Time Square looking like it does in New York, it looks like Greenwich village, Soho, ect. Bellisima. I plan on visiting the museums to see Guernica and other works by Picasso, Velazquez, Dali, and the various famous Spanish artists, but I might wait to do that on a weekend (when most of them are free and I can go with more people). Last night, I went to bed early to be well rested and prepared to speak Spanish well, but since the hostal is in the middle of everything it was loud throughout the night, especially when considering Spanish nightlife doesn't start until around 12. Today I'll meet Elena and her friends for lunch and my very first tapas experience, which I'm rrrreally looking forward to.
Dejan from Slovenia is meeting me on Wednesday at the hostal, and on Thursday we'll head to Alcala, I'll go the pharmacy where I'll be working, but I won't start working until Monday. So I basically have a week to get accustomed to the sights and sounds of Spain before work. Eight students, including myself, will be staying in a house on campus at la Universidad de Alcala, and they will all speak English. In fact, most people near where we'll be staying on campus will speak English and very little Spanish. The students staying with me are from Slovenia, Hungary, Poland, aaaand I don't know where else, but I do know I'm the only one from the States.
Hasta manana.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Adios Alice!
On Saturday, Alice's friend Johanna took me to Holland for a few hours. Just about an hour train ride from Munster, Enschede is a smaller city so it didn't take more than a few hours to see most of it. We walked around the city and marketplace, looked through the stores and had a coffee. There were lots of fish and cheese vendors and fresh flowers in the market--getting around was really easy since most Dutch people speak English and German, so we were set. When we first arrived we went to find some real "coffee shops," but it was too early for them to be open. Its probably a good thing, so I had an excuse not to go in. While the concept of the Dutch coffee shops, with people smoking weed and eating hash browning, is exciting, I can't imagine there would be much to do if you didn't want to partake in the festivities. I was happy to see them from the outside.
Even though Enschede is so close to Munster, the differences between the people and the city were definitely noticable. Germans have a flare for architecture and design that the Dutch just can't compete with...or at least in this particular city. I always like to compare the people in different places as well--I'm a big people-watcher. Comparing between the countries, the Germans seem to also have nice style in dress; they're always neatly put together in a simple way. The Dutch were much more random, probably more like what someone would say about Americans. And the people themselves...how do I say this so I don't sound rude? Oh screw it, there aren't many attractive people in Holland. Once I noticed that, I kept looking for someone to change my opinion...but alas, no one did. They also seemed a great deal shorter than the Germans. Anyways, I'm not saying there aren't any attractive people...this is just conjecture.
After we returned, Alice and I rode our bikes to the wine store where she worked a tasting that evening. Her boss was really friendly and allowed me join the tasting for free...all the german wines, serrano ham, and antipasto I wanted. It was really an awesome experience; Alice really went above and beyond for me. Then we went a birthday party for Alice's friend Nina, where I had a really interesting view into German university party life. Once again, everyone was really accomodating (language wise), I had an amazing night that I will most definitely remember.
Today was laid back; Johanna and Alice prepared quite a spread for a traditional "German breakfast." Lots of bread, cheese, jams, an egg, and some great fruitspread called something like rote griste (sp?). Then we swam in the channel (a little weird for me since its an industrial passage way, and big boats went through carry their loads...my instinct was to believe it wouldn't be clean, but it was), laid out, then watched the soccer game. It was soo unbelievably hot, I can only imagine what it will be like in Spain. I leave tomorrow for Spain and while I CANNOT WAIT(!!!!), I'm also sad to be leaving Alice. We only get to see each other every other year or so, and its been great seeing her. Its crazy to think I have such a good friend from so far away, but there is no one in the world like Alice.
P.S. I'm getting used to riding bikes in town; its much better than walking (One of Alice's roommate left for a few days and let me borrow hers. Unfortunately, my legs were too short to ride it, so Alice let me use hers.)...and I didn't hit ANYTHING. Okay, I did once. Well actually, I ran into parked bikes twice and knocked over three other bikes when I wasn't even moving. Who woulda thought......
Even though Enschede is so close to Munster, the differences between the people and the city were definitely noticable. Germans have a flare for architecture and design that the Dutch just can't compete with...or at least in this particular city. I always like to compare the people in different places as well--I'm a big people-watcher. Comparing between the countries, the Germans seem to also have nice style in dress; they're always neatly put together in a simple way. The Dutch were much more random, probably more like what someone would say about Americans. And the people themselves...how do I say this so I don't sound rude? Oh screw it, there aren't many attractive people in Holland. Once I noticed that, I kept looking for someone to change my opinion...but alas, no one did. They also seemed a great deal shorter than the Germans. Anyways, I'm not saying there aren't any attractive people...this is just conjecture.
After we returned, Alice and I rode our bikes to the wine store where she worked a tasting that evening. Her boss was really friendly and allowed me join the tasting for free...all the german wines, serrano ham, and antipasto I wanted. It was really an awesome experience; Alice really went above and beyond for me. Then we went a birthday party for Alice's friend Nina, where I had a really interesting view into German university party life. Once again, everyone was really accomodating (language wise), I had an amazing night that I will most definitely remember.
Today was laid back; Johanna and Alice prepared quite a spread for a traditional "German breakfast." Lots of bread, cheese, jams, an egg, and some great fruitspread called something like rote griste (sp?). Then we swam in the channel (a little weird for me since its an industrial passage way, and big boats went through carry their loads...my instinct was to believe it wouldn't be clean, but it was), laid out, then watched the soccer game. It was soo unbelievably hot, I can only imagine what it will be like in Spain. I leave tomorrow for Spain and while I CANNOT WAIT(!!!!), I'm also sad to be leaving Alice. We only get to see each other every other year or so, and its been great seeing her. Its crazy to think I have such a good friend from so far away, but there is no one in the world like Alice.
P.S. I'm getting used to riding bikes in town; its much better than walking (One of Alice's roommate left for a few days and let me borrow hers. Unfortunately, my legs were too short to ride it, so Alice let me use hers.)...and I didn't hit ANYTHING. Okay, I did once. Well actually, I ran into parked bikes twice and knocked over three other bikes when I wasn't even moving. Who woulda thought......
Friday, June 25, 2010
Do you want my trash?
Yesterday was a photo tour of Munster while Alice was in class in bloque (all day). Then I met up with her for dinner, along with her classmates who she is traveling to Ecuador with in August. Afterwards we walked through the "fair" and watched fireworks go off over the castle.
As I've been saying, Munster so far has been a lot of walking for me. So yesterday when I got up to trek through the city, I was at a loss for what shoes to wear...something that wouldn't hurt my already throbbing feet, cause more blisters, or look too stupid. Well, as practical as I am, I went with looking silly over discomfort and wore my tennis shoes. The reason I looked silly is because its not common for people to wear tennis shoes walking around in Europe (or so I've been told, although I did notice I was the only girl wearing them). When I caught up with Alice I told her why I wore them, and she said "Yeah, I laughed to myself when I saw your shoes and thought 'you're soooo American.'" Not that I care that they know I'm American, but its nice not to stand out like a sore thumb. Well at least my feet don't hurt today....
Something else that is hard to get used to in Germany is that everyone wants your trash....your beer bottles, water bottles, coke bottles, plastic or glass. In the supermarkets there are two prices for these items, one for the contents of the bottles and one for the bottles themselves. While a six pack may cost 4 Euros, you're charged an extra 2 Euros that is considered a "deposit" that you get back when you return the bottles to the store. So, most people keep their bottles when at home, but unless you want to carry around empty bottles with you all day long, you leave them on the streets or in the grass instead. Then poor people come and pick up the bottles to return them for the deposit. Its strange to see people finish a beer and hand the empty bottle to a homeless man, or drop it in the grass and forget about it. But hey, if it keeps the streets clean and gives the poor a way to make more money, why not?
As I've been saying, Munster so far has been a lot of walking for me. So yesterday when I got up to trek through the city, I was at a loss for what shoes to wear...something that wouldn't hurt my already throbbing feet, cause more blisters, or look too stupid. Well, as practical as I am, I went with looking silly over discomfort and wore my tennis shoes. The reason I looked silly is because its not common for people to wear tennis shoes walking around in Europe (or so I've been told, although I did notice I was the only girl wearing them). When I caught up with Alice I told her why I wore them, and she said "Yeah, I laughed to myself when I saw your shoes and thought 'you're soooo American.'" Not that I care that they know I'm American, but its nice not to stand out like a sore thumb. Well at least my feet don't hurt today....
Something else that is hard to get used to in Germany is that everyone wants your trash....your beer bottles, water bottles, coke bottles, plastic or glass. In the supermarkets there are two prices for these items, one for the contents of the bottles and one for the bottles themselves. While a six pack may cost 4 Euros, you're charged an extra 2 Euros that is considered a "deposit" that you get back when you return the bottles to the store. So, most people keep their bottles when at home, but unless you want to carry around empty bottles with you all day long, you leave them on the streets or in the grass instead. Then poor people come and pick up the bottles to return them for the deposit. Its strange to see people finish a beer and hand the empty bottle to a homeless man, or drop it in the grass and forget about it. But hey, if it keeps the streets clean and gives the poor a way to make more money, why not?
German Punks
Thankfully, Alice has class until early afternoon or later each day, which has given me time to catch up on my sleep and the blog. Soon I'll be on the right time schedule.
Yesterday I spent another day walking around Munster with Ron, Alice's friend from Guatemala. He has been hitch-hiking across the world for seven months so far (Central America, the US, and now Europe). He only has two shirts, one pair of pants, two pairs of shoes, and he budgets his trip for 5 Euro a day. Some how, I don't think my parents would approve of this time of travel. Haha. We were supposed to meet her other friend Johanna for a Spanish class at 4:00pm yesterday, but we sat down in a park near this promenade that encircles old Munster, had lunch (I had bought schnitzel and didn't even know it), shared a 6 pack of bier (3 euro!), got to talking and lost track of the time. We went to find the building so that we could still meet up with Johanna after her class around 6. We had an extra hour, so Ron and I visited the Schloss of Munster. Its a gooorgeous castle..too bad I had left my memory card in my computer :( What was very strange was that they had put a fair right in front of this castle. Thats Europeans for you I guess. We don't have "castles" in the States, but I imagine if we did we wouldn't put a ferris wheel and a hotdog stand in front of it.
Alice met us at 6 and took us to one of her university (they all call it Uni over here) cafeterias for some good, cheap food. After dinner, we sat next the lake in Munster to enjoy the sunset. Two more friends of Alice's, Anna and Camila, joined us and we enjoyed more beer and wine on the grass. Anna and Camila are really fun girls, especially Camila...I told her to come to the States and I would host her, haha. I hope to see some more of her later. Then we headed to a party in a Uni building, which is a weird concept to me. The University decided that they were going to tear a building down so for a farewell, the students had a party in it the day before the demolition (I guess they're working on that today?). I got the chance to see some real German punks, which for some reason I've always wanted to see. Of course they were there to wreck havoc on the building while they still could, but the cops were there before I was. They chose a good location too, because in graffiti on the builing next to them it said "Fuck the Police." I spent the rest of the night with that NWA song stuck in my head, as well as "Fight the Power." haha. The evening ended up being a success; after the punk music stopped they put on some techno (not my favorite, but the first song was some version of "Walking in Memphis," so it wasn't bad) and we enjoyed the night. The conversations were quite hilarious though...there was almost always a conversation in English, German and Spanish going on at all times, and frequently it was a mix of all three in the same sentences.
Yesterday I spent another day walking around Munster with Ron, Alice's friend from Guatemala. He has been hitch-hiking across the world for seven months so far (Central America, the US, and now Europe). He only has two shirts, one pair of pants, two pairs of shoes, and he budgets his trip for 5 Euro a day. Some how, I don't think my parents would approve of this time of travel. Haha. We were supposed to meet her other friend Johanna for a Spanish class at 4:00pm yesterday, but we sat down in a park near this promenade that encircles old Munster, had lunch (I had bought schnitzel and didn't even know it), shared a 6 pack of bier (3 euro!), got to talking and lost track of the time. We went to find the building so that we could still meet up with Johanna after her class around 6. We had an extra hour, so Ron and I visited the Schloss of Munster. Its a gooorgeous castle..too bad I had left my memory card in my computer :( What was very strange was that they had put a fair right in front of this castle. Thats Europeans for you I guess. We don't have "castles" in the States, but I imagine if we did we wouldn't put a ferris wheel and a hotdog stand in front of it.
Alice met us at 6 and took us to one of her university (they all call it Uni over here) cafeterias for some good, cheap food. After dinner, we sat next the lake in Munster to enjoy the sunset. Two more friends of Alice's, Anna and Camila, joined us and we enjoyed more beer and wine on the grass. Anna and Camila are really fun girls, especially Camila...I told her to come to the States and I would host her, haha. I hope to see some more of her later. Then we headed to a party in a Uni building, which is a weird concept to me. The University decided that they were going to tear a building down so for a farewell, the students had a party in it the day before the demolition (I guess they're working on that today?). I got the chance to see some real German punks, which for some reason I've always wanted to see. Of course they were there to wreck havoc on the building while they still could, but the cops were there before I was. They chose a good location too, because in graffiti on the builing next to them it said "Fuck the Police." I spent the rest of the night with that NWA song stuck in my head, as well as "Fight the Power." haha. The evening ended up being a success; after the punk music stopped they put on some techno (not my favorite, but the first song was some version of "Walking in Memphis," so it wasn't bad) and we enjoyed the night. The conversations were quite hilarious though...there was almost always a conversation in English, German and Spanish going on at all times, and frequently it was a mix of all three in the same sentences.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Munster
I've had the opportunity to see much of Alice's town of Munster here in Germany. Its a great city of around 230,000 people, with a huge university population. Last night I got to see them in celebration mode after advancing in the world cup. It was definitely worth seeing. After watching the game from a public viewing area in a "pool," as Alice called it (basically a wading pool with dirty water), all the students head to "Rabbit Island." This is basically a huge roundabout with a good size grassy area in the middle. During the day, tons of rabbits stay on the grass because they can't leave during the day or they will get hit by cars or bikes. Anyhoo, whenever something great happens to celebrate, all the students go there. There was a lot of German pride for the game, which as Alice has explained to me, is a pretty new concept as of late. After World War 2, almost no one showed national pride by flying German flags or wearing the national colors. They have been very careful about that up until around 2006 when they hosted the World Cup. Since then, it has become more acceptable to support the country so loudly (carry flags, paint faces, etc)....but only for sporting events.
Speaking of bikes, Munster is unofficially known as the bike capital of Germany. Its estimated that there are 2 bikes for every person. I've had to do a lot of walking since I got here just because I don't have a bike to ride like everyone else. Whenever I'm in Germany, I always forget about how bike crazy they are, and nearly get hit by several when I'm walking down the streets.
I'm looking forward to seeing more today...Munster is the site of the signing of the Peace Treaty of Westphalia and has a rich history which I hope to explore.
Speaking of bikes, Munster is unofficially known as the bike capital of Germany. Its estimated that there are 2 bikes for every person. I've had to do a lot of walking since I got here just because I don't have a bike to ride like everyone else. Whenever I'm in Germany, I always forget about how bike crazy they are, and nearly get hit by several when I'm walking down the streets.
I'm looking forward to seeing more today...Munster is the site of the signing of the Peace Treaty of Westphalia and has a rich history which I hope to explore.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Three countries and 40 hours later...
Wie geht ist Ihnen?
I finally made it to my (current) final destination--Munster, Germany. And no its not where the cheese comes from. Alice and her roommates, all of which speak English, are great and very helpful. Tomorrow Alice will be in school and/or working until the evening, so she's provided me with a walking tour of historic Munster. I plan to use this time to get out the ole' SLR and take some good photos. Alice has also had some Guatemalan friends in to visit this week, one of whom is coming back into town tomorrow. Not only will it be his birthday, it will also be the night of Germany's last game for this round of the World Cup. And Wednesdays are big going out nights for the large university population here in Munster. Sooo I'll be cheering on the Germans from a Beirgarten along with loads of their passionate followers. Its definitely going to be a celebration I won't forget.
The rest of the week is looking just as good. One of Alice's friends who is studying to become a translator wants me to join her for one of her Spanish classes on Thursday. She knows I'll be headed there next week and thought it might be helpful. Her name is Johanna, and she's also offered to take me to Holland on Saturday while Alice is in class all day. After the short train ride back from the land of the tulips, the wooden clogs, drugs or legal prostitutes (you take your pick), I'll be meeting Alice at the wine store where she works for a little German wine tasting.
Even though the layovers were awfully long, and I've heard more crying babies than I want to hear for another ten years, I'm so glad I made the extra trip up to Germany. Its sure to be quite a good time...
Gute nacht.
I finally made it to my (current) final destination--Munster, Germany. And no its not where the cheese comes from. Alice and her roommates, all of which speak English, are great and very helpful. Tomorrow Alice will be in school and/or working until the evening, so she's provided me with a walking tour of historic Munster. I plan to use this time to get out the ole' SLR and take some good photos. Alice has also had some Guatemalan friends in to visit this week, one of whom is coming back into town tomorrow. Not only will it be his birthday, it will also be the night of Germany's last game for this round of the World Cup. And Wednesdays are big going out nights for the large university population here in Munster. Sooo I'll be cheering on the Germans from a Beirgarten along with loads of their passionate followers. Its definitely going to be a celebration I won't forget.
The rest of the week is looking just as good. One of Alice's friends who is studying to become a translator wants me to join her for one of her Spanish classes on Thursday. She knows I'll be headed there next week and thought it might be helpful. Her name is Johanna, and she's also offered to take me to Holland on Saturday while Alice is in class all day. After the short train ride back from the land of the tulips, the wooden clogs, drugs or legal prostitutes (you take your pick), I'll be meeting Alice at the wine store where she works for a little German wine tasting.
Even though the layovers were awfully long, and I've heard more crying babies than I want to hear for another ten years, I'm so glad I made the extra trip up to Germany. Its sure to be quite a good time...
Gute nacht.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
So close....
For those of you who may not know me too well, its hard to explain what this trip means to me. I have wanted to go to Spain for as long as I can remember...probably since I started studying the language back in middle school. After so many years, I had almost accepted the fact that I would never be able to spend an extended period of time in Spain (more than a week or two, which is usually necessary to gain fluency in a language). To finally be able to realize this goal is overwhelming and life-changing...especially as a "graduate" student. Needless to say, there are only three days or so left before I begin my adventure, and its getting harder and harder to believe something I've wanted for so long is about to happen.
Lets hope it exceeds my expectations!
Lets hope it exceeds my expectations!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Flights Booked!
My plans are finally ready! I'll be leaving Pittsburgh International Airport Monday, June 21st at 6:20AM and arriving in Madrid Barajas Airport Tuesday, June 22nd around 7:30AM.
Later that day, I will be leaving from Barajas and flying to Dusseldorf, Germany. After I land, I'll be taking a train into Munster, where my good German friend Alice Neht attends college.
After a week in Munster (and possibly a weekend excursion to Holland?) I fly back to Madrid Monday, June 28th. I will meet people from IPSF and head to Alcala de Henares, where I'll work for the month of July in a pharmacy.
Until then!
Later that day, I will be leaving from Barajas and flying to Dusseldorf, Germany. After I land, I'll be taking a train into Munster, where my good German friend Alice Neht attends college.
After a week in Munster (and possibly a weekend excursion to Holland?) I fly back to Madrid Monday, June 28th. I will meet people from IPSF and head to Alcala de Henares, where I'll work for the month of July in a pharmacy.
Until then!
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