Nov 22: Pisa!

On September 4, 2008, I found very inexpensive tickets from Eindhoven, the Netherlands to Pisa and Rome. So naturally, I bought them. The plan: fly to Pisa, catch a train to Rome, then return from Rome, all in 4 days (classes hindered a longer adventure). I had met Tracy a week or two earlier at orientation and she was fun, so I asked if she wanted to join and of course she did! The only “problem” was that we had to wait two and a half months to go. That said, when November 22 did finally arrive, we couldn’t believe how quickly the time had passed.

As it turns out, I’m not sure I could have chosen a better time to go. My final pleading session for my international law moot court was on the Wednesday of that week and I was ready for a break. I had enjoyed the class, though. I wasn’t on a team as I had been in mock trial, but getting up and presenting reminded me of a closing argument with a rebuttal, and the competitive side of me was thrilled to finally make an appearance, having had few opportunities since high school graduation. I ended up arguing against a Brit who had much more moot court experience than myself and went on to earn cum laude of our class, but I held my ground and was happy with my performance.

On the night before our flight, I biked through the rain over to Tracy’s flat for dinner with my guide book in my basket. As we ate, we chatted with another tenant in the building about his thoughts on Rome and flipped through the books to plan out our journey. Perhaps some would have planned it out a little earlier, but we were full-time students and Tracy being a master’s student was even busier than myself. I returned home biking this time through hail and realizing how convenient a helmet would have been.

(Sidebar on biking: In all of my 5 months in the NL, I saw maybe 10 bikers wearing helmets, all on men wearing racing uniforms. It’s just not common, but I would still wager that biking there sans helmet is safer than biking in the States with a helmet. In the NL, you have bike-only lanes everywhere next to the sidewalk and separated from the road by a median. There are stop lights for cars as well as for bikes and pedestrians, though the locals seek the bike lights as more of a guideline than car stoplights. Even in turning circles, rather than cars driving past when they could fit through in front of a bike, they almost always stop, even if it means waiting longer than just a pause. The official right of way goes pedestrians, bikes, buses, cars, but in practice bikes are before pedestrians.)

Back to the story: I got home around 11pm to find two of my roommates in quite a state, dancing around Stoyan’s room with assorted liquors. Apparently they had just turned in a large assignment for their moot court competition as well, and it was time to celebrate. At their insistence, I stayed and attempted to teach a Bulgarian and an Irishman how to do a country line dance. By the time I got back to my room, it was about 1am, so finished the last of my packing and decided to chat online with some friends back home for a while – I had to be up at 3am anyway to catch the train to Eindhoven and board my 8am flight.

Tracy and I met at the train station as scheduled and boarded the 2.5 hour train to Eindhoven – a very long journey as neither of us had slept. We then waited, shivering in the train station for about an hour until the first bus came to transport us to the airport. We shuffled through the snow that was falling lazily and sticking to the ground and imagined the warmth of Pisa.

Upon boarding the flight, I immediately fell asleep. I woke up to find we were back on the ground, very disappointed to see that there was indeed snow in Pisa as well. Tracy quickly corrected me – the flight was delayed, we were still in Eindhoven. So I resumed sleep and when I next woke up during our descent, the sun was shining and the snow was gone. As we stepped off the plane, we took off our jackets enjoying the warmth. We bought two train tickets to Pisa Central and onward to Rome and jumped on the next train. In Pisa, we stored our bags and wandered into the city.

Our wandering took us past a lovely pastry shop, so we had to stop for some treats. It reminded me of Joseph’s with the assorted treats and the spritzer cookies with pink frosting. Eventually our wandering took us around a corner, and there in the middle of everything was a grassy knoll and THE Leaning Tower of Pisa! We walked into a nearby shop, purchased two slices of pizza and drinks, and sat in the grass, eating lunch and admiring the view against the clear blue sky. We didn’t have tickets to go up the Tower, but did wander into a church (unfortunately without my guidebook handy I can’t recall which one) and stared at the beautiful paintings and sculptures.

After purchasing a few souvenirs and taking photos of us holding up the Tower (or attempting to at least), we went in search of other Italian foods to try. Alas, the next slice of pizza was a bit of a let down. We walked along the river and stared at the way the sun struck the buildings as it sank lower in the sky, making the bricks appear to glow. Occasionally we could hear a roar that we speculated might have come from the crowd at a football stadium, though we never found it. For the most part, the streets that did not immediately surround the Leaning Tower were pretty empty for a sunny Saturday afternoon.

Around 4 o’clock we found what appeared to be a main street in town. There were children everywhere jumping rope and playing other games for what appeared to be a school fundraiser or perhaps just a game day organized in which parents could have fun with their children. As we walked up the street, a number of shops were just opening – very different from in Holland where the shops would be closing up at that time. We admired the clothes in the windows, tried on real Italian leather boots and wished we were already rich, successful lawyers so we could buy them, and stepped into a chocolate shop already decked out with holiday décor to sip hot chocolate and cappuccinos.

As we made our way back through town to catch the train, we decided that we couldn’t wait to return to Florence, not even having left yet. We wandered through a little craft market and I lingered to look at Christmas ornaments in various colors, shapes, and sizes. The bell with the nativity scene inside reminded me of Fr. Jack and Aunt Mary.

Just outside the train station, we passed a large parade of protesters waving signs and shouting and police on either side, ready if it got too rowdy. Unfortunately, my Italian is not up to par, so I didn’t catch the reason for the protest.

At the station, we retrieved our bags from storage, got an ice cream cone from McDonald’s, and jumped on the train to Roma. By 5:30pm, the sun was waning, so for most of our journey we couldn’t actually see the countryside. It would have been nice to be able to see it, but another time. We didn’t want to spend our daylight hours on a train anyway.

Several hours later, we arrived at San Pietro station and we greeted by my cousins, Brendan and Rachel Egan. It was soo wonderful to see them! The homesickness and culture shock had gotten to me a bit over the previous two weeks as I missed Grandpa’s birthday, harvest, Helen’s birthday, Mary’s birthday, and there was other excitement and drama with friends at home and I was ready for a weekend away – my own personal fall break. Seeing my college friends and getting a wonderful Rachel Downey hug (her surname until May 2008) made me feel “home” again, even in a place I’d never been.

Rachel and Brendan walked us around Rome and the Vatican City, pointing out historical buildings, St. Peter’s Basilica (hard to miss), the Pope’s window where he holds audiences each Sunday, and other places they liked to visit, like Old Bridge – the most gelato with the best flavor at the best price in the city. Naturally, we had to try it immediately. We were in awe of the flavors, but finally chose three that sounded good and jumped on the bus back to Brendan & Rachel’s.

Brendan and Rachel were living in Rome for three months preparing for 1 – 2 years of service in East Timor through a Catholic organization based in Rome by learning the language, the culture, and how they could best share their faith through their actions. At the time we were there, they only had two weeks left in Rome before they began the journey to East Timor and we could tell they were getting excited. They had been kind enough to find us two extra beds in the house and their housemates – other lay missionaries as well – were warm and welcoming. They made us some dinner and we chatted for a while, then turned in early, ready for a big day of sightseeing on Sunday!

Nov 17: Thoughts on South Africa

What have I gotten myself into?

Last week, I bought my plane ticket to Capetown, signed my housing contract, and purchased health insurance for the duration of my stay. It's real! I leave the Netherlands in mid-January and have an extended layover in Munich before I bid farewell to the life I've built over the last five months and begin anew for another five months or so. I won't be returning to the US until the summer. Many people have been emphasizing this fact lately - that I'll have been away from home for nearly a year (51 out of 52 weeks really, counting DC). It's a fact that I know but prefer not to dwell on. While studying abroad, you have the highs and lows and admittedly, this last week has been a rough one.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not re-thinking going to South Africa. I'm thrilled! I can't wait. I'll have a chance to live, work, and study in a new culture. The academic program looks like it was practically designed with me in mind, the only problem being that I want to take about twice as many courses as the university allows.

From a weather perspective, this is a brilliant move. Winter hits in the Northern Hemisphere, I move to the Southern Hemisphere and experience instant summer. Winter hits in the Southern Hemisphere? I head back home for a Northern Hemisphere summer.

But this morning, rather than doing my assigned readings on the historical development of the EU, I've been reading blogs of other students who have studied in South Africa. The theme: Racism in South Africa. While the most recent post I've seen is over a year old, I can't imagine that the last 19 months have miraculously brought about an end to racist sentiments. And I'm moving into an Afrikaaner stronghold.

Really it's not the fear of exposure to racism that worries me. I'll be exposed to it, and it will be upsetting, but I'll learn about tolerance in society and how to cope with racist comments made against me and comments made against others.

I have heard nothing but positive sentiments about America electing it's first black president. Now South Africa has had black presidents since 1994. But how will I respond to a comment made by a white supremacist questioning what the world is coming to when even the all-powerful America is run by a black man? Not because he's a democrat, but simply for the color of his skin. Does the racism extend to all blacks in the world, or just those living in South Africa? Will I be distinguished as an American rather than an Afrikaaner, or are we all just white? My hope is that this will not matter, because American or Afrikaaner, Xhosa or Zulu or African-American, I am a person not defined by the color my skin.

As for the question of Barack, I suppose I'll deal with that question when it comes. Lucky for me, I've got plenty of ammo to fire back as to why he is indeed the best candidate for the job.

I'm not quite sure what I have gotten myself into. I imagine that thought will enter my mind frequently over the next few months, but I'm excited for the challenge.
--
"Confronting Racism in South Africa" by Sarah Menkedick

Nov 9: Americanism

It seems that everywhere I go these days, people congratulate me. It's wonderful.

On election night, all the relieved internationals congratulated us Americans.

At the end of an email from a friend about rowing club: "Woo, Obama!"

Walking into my Moot Court class, the TA says, "Hey congratulations. That's a big win." In fact, my professor used Obama as an example of a strong orator and said we should watch a speech and note the way he pauses for emphasis. Then when she asked one student what the Bush Doctrine was (he had referred to it in his arguement), he stumbled. She cautioned him not to be like Sarah Palin.

Friday night before going to see 007, some Dutch students were talking about how much fun they had on Obama night (and got a definitive glare from the American Republican in the group). But as I pointed out, it clearly wasn't Obama's night. The glare turned to me. As Kier pointed out later in the evening, we had quite a diverse group going to the movie: two Dutch, one Russian, one Chinese, one Mexican, an American Democrat and himself, an American Republican. Oh the discussions we could have had...but for the sake of getting alone, we resisted.

At an international student conference on Saturday, we painted wooden clogs. The girl next to me painted the Obama symbol on the top of hers. We got to talking - she's an American law student studying in Amsterdam - and she said she hasn't seen this much support for America since she was in Scotland the week after Sept 11 and 75% of the shop windows bore American flags. So much has changed in the past 7 years, but we're finally back on track.

In the church bulletin today: "Pope Benedict sent the newly elected President of the USA his blessing, expressing his joy to see the first black President taking the dream of Dr. Martin Luther King one step further. Our parish also congratulates the USA on this democratic achievement."

The world has been watching, and it cares! I've heard nothing but positive comments about America all week.

There is one discrepancy in the way I've heard the Obama win talked about in the news media versus personal discussions, though. That is, in the news, there's a large emphasis on the first black president. When Hillary still had a chance, there was potential for the first woman president. But we students aren't 106 years old. We don't remember segregation, lack of women's suffrage, or the civil rights movement in general. To our parents, it may be significant that he's a man of color. To us, he's young and fresh and new and a change. We didn't vote for him because of the color of his skin or for Hillary because of her gender. We live in a world that, at least in much of the USA, is relatively egalitarian. Sure, there is still racism and sexism. Blacks still comprise a disproportionate percentage of the poor and women are still underpaid relative to men. But it's getting better - somuchso that my generation doesn't quite understand why the older generations are making such a big deal about these things. And that's certainly a step in the right direction.

Nov 5: Election Night

Election Night 2008 began at 11:27pm on November 4 when my housemate Catlan banged on my door and woke me up from my nap to tell me to shower and get ready to go! Groggy, but excited, I did as I was told. I made dinner and watched Fox News with Cat, Josh, and Stoyan on Josh’s laptop until about 1am when we all got motivated enough for the 20 minute bike ride across town to the “official” Leiden University Students for Obama Election Watch party. It was pretty crowded when we arrived – I’d say maybe a quarter were Americans at the beginning. By about 3am the ratio was closer to half Americans and half international students. We watched anxiously, listening to Wolf Blitzer and Anderson Cooper analyze the numbers. We counted down the seconds to poll closings each hour and cheered when Ohio finally turned from yellow to blue on the map. We sang happy birthday to Charlie, who couldn’t think of a better 21^st birthday present than a landslide victory for Obama. We watched with incredulous eyes as Anderson Cooper turned nearly every state red, illustrating the near impossibility of a McCain victory. I stood back as my Irish friend Gemma furiously explained the impact the US has on Ireland and how we don’t even know it. At 4am, they turned Iowa blue and I (literally) jumped for joy and got a round of applause as the token Iowan. I also got several pats on the back when Ohio turned blue, mostly from Americans who either couldn’t hear me say “I’m from IOWA” over the noise of the crowd or didn’t actually know the difference. Still, they’re both the right colors.

I was thinking last week about what an amazing opportunity it has been to be abroad during all of the election hype. I mean, as an Iowan, I’ve been experiencing the election for nearly two years. It’s been two State Fairs for sure. After our population diminished by half in January 2008 (as all of the candidates, staffers, and media moved on to the Super Tuesday states), the election wasn’t nearly as exciting for us Iowans. I went from talking to 3 candidates a week to zero. My summer in DC gave me an interesting perspective as I heard people who actually know the candidates personally talking about the individuals – not just the candidates. But being here… I just didn’t appreciate the way in which the US dominates international politics. I knew that we were “a pretty big deal” to steal the phrase from a friend. Yet I didn’t realize how invested the common European was in the election. Not even particularly politically-inclined people.

I first began to understand when some American ex-pats came to Iowa from England in January to do some campaigning for Richardson and Obama and attended the caucuses with us. But still I didn’t appreciate it. The international community follows US elections as much as Americans do – maybe even moreso. Maybe even more than they follow their own elections. I’m not suggesting that they know every detail, but they know that their lives will be affected by the next president. Bush certainly affected them enough.

As I made my way back to Leiden from Madrid this morning, I was at a bus stop and a man asked me a question in Dutch. I apologetically told him I only speak English. Oh, where are you from? he asked, switching to English as so many Dutch are able to do. America, I said. He grinned. After asking me who I was supporting and if I had voted, he expressed his own excitement over the change that will come. Then he unzipped his jacket to reveal a blue sweater bearing the American flag. A Ghanaian man living in the Netherlands wearing an American flag for Election Day – it was quite a sight.

Of course, the Europeans know who they’re supporting. In the Netherlands, throughout all of the political discussions I’ve had, and there have been many – there were 3 debate parties leading up to the election and that’s usually the default small talk conversation when an international student meets an American – I met only one McCain supporter, and he’s American. As one Dutch student told me, it’s ok that he supports McCain, because he’s American. He cares about domestic policy. I don’t know about domestic policy, maybe McCain is better. But for foreign policy, it’s Obama all the way. It’d be stupid for any non-American to support anyone other than Obama.

And last night, our dreams came true. In a landslide victory. The five of us from my house that attended the party waited until 4am when Iowa was announced, then rushed home trying to stay warm and get back before Obama’s acceptance.

We arrived back in plenty of time, but as soon as I sat down to keep watching I was out. I’d gotten 1.5 hours of sleep the night before and while the nap helped, it only kept me going for so long. I went up to my room at 5am and my computer started ringing (internet calling). I answered the phone to my sister Mary bearing the good news. Then Mom joined the video call and we shared our election night experiences. I hung up and not 3 minutes later my friend Amy called to share the excitement too. As I crawled into bed, I got a text message from my sister Helen saying “We did it!” And that’s exactly how it felt. Not “he” did it. “We” did it. Americans came together. My parents knocked on doors, my sisters made phone calls, I sent emails. We were behind him and we, we Americans, did it. We have a new President-elect. An African-American. A democrat. An American. A man that we believe in. He’s no messiah, but he has instigated the largest voter turn-out and made people believe in America again. Already, still two months before he takes office, Americans have improved their standing in the international community, a community that breathed a sigh of relief and said, Finally! Thank you, America.

I woke the next morning having slept through the alarm I had set to watch Obama’s speech live and through my 9am class as well. Oops. It’s ok. I figure last night was a better political science lesson than I would have gotten in class this morning. Watched the two speeches and was impressed by both of them. I expected Obama to impress me, but McCain came as a surprise. Whoever his speechwriter is has got a strong career ahead of him. And his response to the crowd booing Obama was classy. Barack was fastastic as well. Maybe it was just that they both were finally saying something new - finally. (See “Synchronized Presidential Debating”) Barack’s story about the 106 year old woman was well told and illustrated several good points. My favorite part, though, was when he said, “To those Americans whose support I have yet to earn: I may not have won your vote tonight, but I hear your voices. I need your help. And I will be your President too.” Classy.

So now we celebrate. And recover. And in January, we begin anew.

Nov 4: Madrid – Maastricht/Achen – Eindhoven – Rijswijk – Leiden

At 3:15am I woke up, put on my shoes and coat, and headed to the bus stop. I arrived in plenty of time for the 4am bus, but Philip had warned me that if I missed this one, I would miss my flight and that just didn’t sound appealing.

The bus dropped me off at the airport stop, which, as Philip had warned, looked nothing like the airport. As instructed, I followed the two women who looked like flight attendants until they went separate directions. I took a chance and went left. Wrong. Oh well. Rather than catching the bus to the terminal, I walked another 20 minutes to the airport and through the other terminals, but I had time.

At the airport I checked in and bought myself a café con leche and a chocolate croissant for breakfast around 5:30am then made my way through the security line and to the gate. After waiting what seemed like forever, we were finally allowed to board the plane. I got to the front of the line and snagged a window seat up front. (RyanAir doesn’t assign seating, so you definitely want to be at the front of the line when traveling in a group so you can sit together. As a single traveler, it’s less important, but window seats are my favorite.)

I fell asleep before the rest of the plane was fully boarded and only barely noticed when the plane finally took off.

I woke up just as we began the initial descent. The pilot announced that we would be landing in Maastricht/Aachen shortly.

…

Now, I was groggy from just having woken up, but I knew that I boarded a plane to Eindhoven, the Netherlands. So why were we landing in Germany?!?

I turned to the girl next to me and asked, Porque vamos a Maastricht? Por la visibilidad. Oh.

…

A few minutes later I turned back to her, Y Despues….? Van a Eindhoven por autobus. Oh. I guess that works.

So something about the visibility in Eindhoven was bad, but they would get us there. I can handle that. It did seem rather silly, though, since it was so clear where we landed. I mean, it couldn’t have been that bad.

The bus returned us to Eindhoven on an endless journey – actually it could have been an hour or three hours – I was a bit delirious from exhaustion and continuously falling in and out of sleep. Realistically it was probably about an hour and fifteen minutes, maybe an hour and a half. But my bed was calling.

When we got to the Netherlands, I knew it. There aren’t really borders anymore now that the EU is in existence, but we drove right into a wall of fog. Thick fog. So thick that the bus slowed down. And that bus was moving – the driver clearly had places to be.

We finally arrived at the airport and I managed to get on the next bus to the train station and then caught the nearest train going in the right direction. I took the Innercity train from Eindhoven to Delft. The fog was everywhere. It was like a scene out of Harry Potter in which the Dementors descend upon all the land. I had planned to tour Delft for a couple of hours, but with the weather I passed that up. I'll go back on a nicer day. In Delft I transferred to a slow train to Rijswijk where the Ministry of Justice is located. After a brief wait, my number was called and I was given my official piece of plastic that says I am a legal resident of the Netherlands until January 2009. That way I can still travel without any re-entry issues. You can stay here for 90 days without a permit, but then cannot return for another 90 days. And it’s actually a pretty sweet souvenir. I waited with some friends who were also there picking up their permits, we commiserated about how far we had to travel for it, then headed back on the train together.

Another 10 minutes on my bike (which I found with relative ease given that I couldn’t quite remember where I had left it 4 days earlier) and I was home! I dropped off my bag, hit up the local Tuesday market to fill my shelf of the fridge and then went to bed for the rest of the afternoon/evening. I had to rest up for the big night….

Nov 3: Madrid – Cordóba – Sevilla – Madrid

It was another early morning as we tried to catch our 7:40am train to Cordóba. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances (namely exhaustion so extensive that the alarm clock rang in vain) we didn’t quite make it. We were able to catch a faster one just 50 minutes later, though, which meant we were only 20 minutes behind schedule. We didn’t have a ton of time in the city, but we did see the main attraction – the Mosque-turned-Cathedral, said by some (Spaniards of course) to be the most important mosque in the world. We also walked along the Roman bridge in Cordóba and wandered the streets of old town – a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Philip kept sneaking into courtyards leading into people’s homes to see the infamous patios with white tiles and flowers because, “It’s ok, they’re proud of them, they want us to come look at them!”

Philip’s family flew in from the States this morning and we met them at the train station. The family enjoyed a 10 minute reunion before Philip and I sprinted to catch our train to Sevilla. His parents and sister would tour the Mosque as well and meet up with us in Sevilla later that afternoon.

In Sevilla, we toured the 3^rd largest church in Europe and the largest Gothic church in the world. No joke, it’s excessive. Intentionally excessive, in fact – the builder wanted people to visit in the future and think, why did he make it so big? The interior had an entire wall covered in gold leaf. There was a courtyard with an orange tree grove in the back. We climbed the tour (sore feet and knees and all) – 30 flights to the top, but well worth the amazing view. The bells of the tower chimed as we stood gazing over the city just 20 feet away – pretty cool. The guy standing directly under the bell had a bit of a different opinion though…

On the way down, Philip got a call that his family had taken an earlier train and had arrived in Sevilla. We rushed to find a bus and met them at the train station. As we tried to find the bus stop, Philip asked two uniformed policemen which way it was and they each pointed confidently in opposite directions. I only wish I’d had my camera out. We did find the right bus, and Philip’s family, then drove back into town in the rental car. We walked around for a bit before coming upon the horse-drawn carriages outside the Cathedral. We hired one and I enjoyed a gorgeous sunset tour of the city with the jetlagged family and the Spanish-speaking tour guide. Philip translated for everyone and I gained confidence in my comprehension of the Spanish language. It was a 45 minute cozy (read: crowded) tour of the city. By the end, we were ready for some tapas and dinner! We found both the places recommended by the tour guide and were not disappointed. As Philip always says, “Hunger is the best sauce!” and we had plenty.

It was a great meal, with great conversation and in a family environment. Family meals are one of those relaxing little things that I forget that I miss. I make my meals in the kitchen and eat on the go while cleaning up or in my room while writing emails, so it’s nice to occasionally sit and enjoy the meal. I had to leave in a bit of a rush to catch my train and was sad to leave, but so happy I had the chance to spend the evening with the Sandagers.

As I said goodbye, Lousia told me to check the bag she had given me with jeans from home for a little something extra. I had checked as soon as she handed them to me hours ago but hadn’t found anything. On the train, I checked again and realized that there was something in the back pocket. I felt like a little kid on Christmas morning as I anxiously unbuttoned the pocket to find my treat! My mom had sent me a note, along with a surprise envelope that made my day! It could have been anything, I was just excited to get an unexpected (but hoped for) surprise. It was sweet and reminded me that I’m loved and a pretty lucky gal. It was also a nice way to start the next chapter of the trip – one I was not looking forward to.

The train arrived at the station at 12:20am. By the time I caught 3 metro lines and walked 4 blocks back to the apartment where I was staying – Philip’s friends had graciously agreed to host me since he was staying in the south with his family – it was after 1am. The lights in the common room where my couch was went off just after 2am. In the meantime I had gotten dressed for the next day – no reason to change into pajamas for an hour long nap.

Nov 2: Madrid

We arrived at El Rostro around 9:30am. The Sunday flea market. We walked around and I found myself some new gloves and a scarf and Christmas presents galore. Not sure how I would get them all back to the Netherlands, but sure that I needed them all, I took them. Philip purchased a painting and then we got some flowers on the way to church as a thank you to Philip’s Senora – his house-mother, Carmen – for letting me stay there.

The church we attended was a Pentecostal service held in a bar down a side street in Madrid, but it was packed. I caught most of what they were saying when I paid attention, but the concentration took so much effort that I only caught about half of what was going on.

After the service, I met Philip’s friends and Lienke was delighted when I greeted her in the Dutch way – 3 kisses rather than the Spanish two. She is an exchange student from Maastricht University in the far south of the Netherlands.

We made plans to meet them for dinner, then headed back to the apartment for paella – the traditional Spanish rice and seafood dish that Carmen prepares every Sunday afternoon. It was tasty! Philip claims it’s the best in all of Spain. I have only ever eaten Carmen’s paella, but I can believe him. It’s good stuff.

After lunch I needed another brief siesta before we started the rest of the day. An hour later Philip woke me to get ready to go to the park. First we took my bag to his friends’ apartment, where I would be staying for the next two nights. Then we headed to El Retiro – the Spanish equivalent to Central Park, I’m told – and rented a row boat. Philip’s been dying to rent one for months! We rowed around for a bit and watched the sun go down to the sound of a drum concert in the background. After 45 minutes, we returned the boat and wandered around the park for a little while longer.

It was getting dark, so we headed toward the Prado to finish up the tour that we hadn’t completed the night before. Philip spotted a friend as he was taking me from famous painting to famous painting and she joined us for the evening. By the end of the tour, I was ready to sit down and enjoy a drink. We found a small café and enjoyed American hot chocolate there – Spanish hot chocolate is more of a fondue than a drink.

After regaining some strength, we made our way the rest of the way across town to meet Philip’s friends for dinner. We had a great time at a Cuban restaurant. We all split several orders traditional Latin American foods such as plátanos (fried bananas) and I reminisced about Honduras.

We ended the night at a flamenco show in a small dinner theater with front row seats. The show was great, but after another long day, we were all falling asleep during the second act, so decided to leave around midnight before the third 30 minute set began.

I made it back to the apartment and fell into bed, determined to get every minute I could before our 7am departure for the south of Spain the next morning!

Nov 1: Leiden – Eindhoven – Madrid

As I left my room to catch the 5:15am train to the airport, I ran into several of my housemates returning from the Halloween parties of the previous night. I had been perfectly content to get to sleep early when I had been dragged out of bed the night before and named Toby’s gypsy pirate slave, despite my protests about being sick. Apparently gypsy pirate slaves don’t get to be sick. After assurances from my housemates that we would come home in time for me to get at least some sleep before my big trip, I began to get into costume. We made quite a crew biking across town: a monk, a pirate, a gypsy pirate slave, Africa, an 80s girl, and Joe the Plumber. I left early and did manage to get a nap before the trip, though as my housemates pointed out, they came back before I had to leave, I could have stayed!

I caught my train, the bus, and the plane and arrived in Madrid by 12:30pm. Philip was waiting for me and after we found me some food, we were off. [Note: Bogadillas are fantastic Spanish sandwiches, traditionally made of a smoked ham, cheese, and good bread.]

We took the metro to Philip’s homestay to drop off my bag and then were were off to see the city! I had a great time as Philip showed me around Puerta del Sol and Plaza Major and the Palace and the National Cathedral and many other places that I can not longer recall but were fun to see. He filled my brain with little tidbits of information and I felt like I was on my own personal tour – and I was!

We went into a store and purchased the traditional sweets of All Saints Day and All Souls Day, and then I broke the news to Philip: having just eaten the treats, I now felt obliged to attend a Catholic mass – it was a holy day of obligation and the rough equivalent of celebrating Christmas without the Jesus part. So we found a church and sat through mass. I expected everything to come rushing back to me from Honduras – I practically had the entire mass memorized after Holy Week this year – but it did not. I did remember bits and pieces, but the acoustics were so bad that it was hard to listen to what others were saying to catch up again.

In the evening, we walked around the Prado, which is free to the public from 6 – 8pm each night. Philip was in a course on Spanish art and knew so much about the paintings! It was fun to listen as he pointed out all of the symbolism that I never would have caught had he not explained it to me.

My favorite part was seeing the paintings by Goya and Velazquez that I had learned about in my high school Spanish class. At the time, I thought the unit on some art museum in Spain was ridiculous – I wasn’t ever going to go there. Until I did. But Philip was able to explain the significance of the paintings better than my teacher ever had. I knew what parts of the paintings were significant, but not why. He filled in those gaps.

By the time the museum closed at 8pm, I was exhausted. We went back to the apartment and I took a nap before going out for the night. Philip took me to a cute little tapas place and I experienced the terrible Spanish service that makes me glad that in America we tip our servers. It gives them a reason to be nice.

Following the potato and meat tapas, we checked out the café across the street, but it was too full and the clubs don’t start to fill up until at least 1am. We walked to the other side of the city center for churros con chocolate at the “best place in town.” Churros are softer here, not crunchy like in the US, and served with a cup full of liquid chocolate. Not like hot cocoa, but like a fondue. It was a deliciously rich dessert that I was unable to finish for all the sugar it contained.

We rushed back across town after the churros to get into a salsa club by midnight (free admission!) but arrived to find that free admission does not exist on Saturday nights. Oh well. We found another club and danced a few songs, ending on one by Shakira which made me miss Ella and Elyse and our renditions of Shakira songs on the bus on the way to Oklahoma in 2006.

In Madrid, many clubs hire people to stand on the streets and give out coupons to get people to go to that club. One guy found us and offered us free drinks. Despite the fact that neither of us actually wanted the free drink (I was on antibiotics and Philip does not like beer), we poor college students couldn’t turn down free. Upon entering the club I was delighted to see that it was all decked out in Halloween decorations. Even more fun was listening to the Spaniards try to pronounce the holiday. "AHH – low – een!" After that, we decided to call it a night. We were both sick, exhausted, and had an early morning ahead of us.