My Man-Purse

Dear Everyone,

So I've been hearing crap from everyone about my little bag that I carry around for three weeks now. This bag was one of the first things I bought here in Spain. Why did I buy it? Well, instead of walking around with my pockets buldging out from my camera, wallet, money (including the thicker euro coins), train passes, and subway/city maps, I figured why the hell not. I'm comfortable with myself and masculinity. It never fails, though, that someone must make reference to my "purse". Though I also find it rather funny, I really just don't care. It's a convenient way to carry such items mentioned above, and prevents me from being pick-pocketed. All this being said (though just a bunch of blah blah blah), don't hate and leave me and my man-purse alone. You're just insecure.

Sincerely,

Me

PS: those pictures are from my trip to France. One is of northeastern Spain, the other of me leaning against St. Etienne Cathedral in Toulouse. More on that trip to come.

Homesick

I've been in Spain for nearly two weeks now. I think, but I'm not positive, that this is the longest I've ever been away from home (where ever that may be for me), and I still have three more weeks to go. The comforts of my own bed, getting in my car and driving somewhere, and easily calling friends and family lie thousands of miles away. But to be perfectly honest with you, I'm quite alright with it all. My 'homesickness' is more like being sick of home. Although the language barrier can be a little frustrating at times for me, such as when I'm hit with a barrage of questions from a security gaurd when I set off the metal detector/alarm system while walking into a museum, I feel rather comfortable here. Don't laugh. I'm still slow at understanding Spanish, if at all. Afterall, life in Madrid doesn't seem too different from that of New York, or maybe Chicago. At any rate, perhaps my comforts rest somewhere between the seemingly more relaxed Spanish society with their siestas and simply just enjoying being emersed in another culture. I mean I really like walking everywhere, or riding the metro. I like trying to learn the language and discovering new places and seeing my own reactions to them. Whatever it may be, however, I know for a fact I will be reluctant to go home.

Fotografias de Granada y la Alhambra

These are some random pictures from Granada. There's a picture of the group (though Shawn's face is cut out) in our hostal after that very looong day. One of Granada at night. A picture of me at the Alhambra with a little of Granada in the background (I have better pictures of that, just not on my camera haha). And finally an example of the ornately designed Alhambra. This particular picture is of a ceiling/columns for a little porch of sorts.

Malaga and the Mediterranean Sea

I awoke the second my alarm clock on my watch went off at 7am. How? I don't know. I'm a light sleeper. Erin was already awake. The other three - Shawn, Casey, and Monica - were still sound asleep from the walking marathon throughout Granada. As stiff as my body felt, I managed to get right up and get ready to catch our 9am bus. Feeling tired disapates once excitement or adrenaline sets in, and our new destination consisted of a beach - Malaga. I'm not particularly fond of the beach, but it can be fun and it is the Mediterranean.

We managed to make it to the bus station with enough time for a quick bite to eat and some "cafe con leche." Let me tell you, the coffee here in Spain is amazing. Certainly makes anything back home taste like piss. Anyways, after shoveling breakfast down our throats, we found our bus and prepared for a relatively short ride of an 1 1/2 hours to Malaga - a piece of cake compared to the 6 hour ride from Madrid to Granada. My seat-mate was an elderly woman with several large shopping bags. She seemed a little annoyed at having to move them as I got situated in my seat - a foreshadow of her asking me to turn down the music on my ipod or sit somewhere else. At least that's what I think she was trying to say. I only made out "fuerte" as she indicated my earphones and pointed to the back of the bus. I responded with a simple "lo siento" and turned it down.

Aside from that incident, this bus ride was much more interesting: a) it was daytime so I could see outside (and sitting in the front row was great because I could look out the giant wall of glass that made up the front window of the bus); b) I had a decent nights rest in the hostal, so I wasn't dog tired; and c) as a result of "a" and "b", I could enjoy the beautiful countryside of Spain with it's rolling hills covered in patches of green and light brown or tan. Absolutely beautiful. As we made our final approach into Malaga, the horizon changed from the sky joining the road we traveled to the water of the Mediterranean Sea, with a cluster of buildings in the foreground.

It was obvious that Malaga is a beach town right off the bat. People roamed the streets in bathingsuits and flipflops with towels slung over their shoulders or arms, and the smell of the salty sea lingered in the air. But we weren't looking for the beach at 11am. We first wandered around the busy streets, in true "backpacker style," looking for the Picasso Museum. If you don't know, Malaga is his birthplace. After viewing some of his works we ate lunch, then we finally hit the beach.

The sand was rather dark and rocky, but nothing excessive. The bottom of the sea, however, was very rocky. Luckily they were round and dull rocks, not sharp and pointy. The water was pretty cold, but water is always cold to me. I stayed in for a decent length of time though. We hung around the beach for a few hours until hunger set in again. We found a nice little cafeteria just up the street. I ordered some pork-filled ravioli (2 times b/c I was starving), some cerveza's and coffee. I might be skinny but I can eat! Everyone on this trip seems to know, considering they all ask me if I want their leftovers. After dinner we walked back to the beach just to hang out on the shoreline. The sun had begun to set so it was chilly and the beach was nearly empty, unlike when we first arrived. But we just skipped rocks in the sea and goofed around. There's something to say about five people who are nearly strangers to each other running around and acting silly like that in a foreign place, but I don't know what it is at the moment. Perhaps our pictures will reveal it at some point in the future.

Around 9pm or so, we walked all the way back to the bus station to prepare for our ride back to Madrid. I must say it was the best weekend ever! I'm so glad that we went about our travels the we did. I could care less about spending the night in some four or five-star hotel, ordering room service, and being driven to the places we wanted to explore. What a lame way to travel. We walked the streets of places built hundreds of years ago, if not more. We bumped shoulders with the people who call these places home. We proved ourselves as fearless travelers overcoming unfimiliar territory and language barriers. No one can ever rob us of this experience as it will forever remain lodged in our memories.

Despite the time being 1am, excitement ran throughout our bodies as we boarded our bus headed for Granada. The five of us only carried one small bag each, enough to hold a change of clothes, a bathing suit, and a towel. We were headed for the southern coast of Spain. We had no specific goals or direction, not even a solid plan of where to sleep the following night. All we knew was that we were going to see the Alhambra in Granada, Spain, spend the night there (at whatever cheap hostal was available) then hop on another bus headed for Malaga. It took about six hours to get from Madrid to Granada by bus, so that put us there at about 7-7:30am on Friday morning. After washing up quickly in the bus station, we hit the streets in search of the Alhambra. Dead tired from only a few hours of sleep sitting on a bus, we treked half-way across Granada. I suppose adrenaline was the only thing keeping us going.

The streets were rather quiet. An occasional scooter or small two-door coupe vehicle, typical European transportation, would wiz by. After lugging our half-beaten bodies throughout the town following road signs for the Alhambra, we finally asked a worker inside a small Cafeteria where it was: "Donde esta la Alhambra?" After he responded and pointed us in that direction, we asked if we could walk there. He nearly guffawed right in our faces, but politely responded by saying it was a long walk up a steep hill. He then directed us to a small bus that would take us there.

Once we arrived at the Alhambra, we stood in line for tickets for about 30 minutes. Not too bad considering everyone told us it would take much longer, and there's even a chance that we would not get in. Ha! Proved them wrong. The palace itself is simply indescribable. So detailed, so ornate, so intricate were the designs on every floor, wall, ceiling, and column, it was difficult to comprehend that human beings did such work so long ago. A real palace!

After spending several hours touring the Alhambra, we finally headed back into town to look for a place to sleep for the night. We found a nice hostal called Hostal Atenas close to the downtown area of Granada. I've never stayed in a hostal before, so I was a little apprehensive of what we would get, but it was simply nothing more or less than a hotel room with five twin beds and our own bathroom, and for only 20 Euros a piece! (About 25 USD I suppose). It was only about 3pm, but it felt like midnight! We set our bags down, grabbed some chow, then went back to the hostal for a nap. So refreshing, I couldn't tell you how good it really felt to finally get a good nap - sleep deprivation seems to be a perpetual issue for me over here because I'm afraid of missing out on something. Once we awoke from our naps, we toured the streets a little then got some dinner and called it a night by midnight, giving us a solid 7 hours of sleep for our next destination - the beaches of the Mediterranean Sea in Malaga.

Frustration still consumed my mind when I awoke today, so I went out for some breakfast. As I was sitting there eating my eggs, a family of five came and sat at the table right next to mine. There was mom and dad, one little boy, and two younger girls. One of the little girls, who was clearly mentally handicapped (not down syndrome, but possibly autistic), came and sat on the seat right next to mine, practically in my lap! I'll admit that I felt a little awkward, as such moments can be, but I come from a large family with many little cousins who climb on me and always ask me to play their little games they create. I'm used to children. So, I just smiled at this young girl and her parents. Then her mom asked her daughter, "uh oh, do you have a new boyfriend?" The little girl nodded her head, smiled, and hugged my arm and laid her head on me. We all laughed. Her father apologized as he got her situated in her seat.
I know this doesn't really have much to do with Spain, but it was cute and worth telling everyone.

Spain! (or not)

As I'm writing this entry, I'm supposed to be on an airplane squashed between two complete strangers whom I know absolutely nothing about besides the fact that we are all bound for the same airport. But instead, I'm sitting here at my own desk, in my own house, in Atlanta, GA. Instead of kicking back at a street-side patio at some tapas restaurant in downtown Madrid eating, well, tapas, and drinking sangria, I'm eating a chick-fil-a sandwich and drinking sweet tea. Why, you ask? Because mother nature decided to get moody and cause an outburst of thunderstorms, which ended up cancelling my flight. Not cool. Needless to say, I'm very disappointed right now. I stood around at Hartfield-Jackson International Airport today for almost four hours, only to learn that my new flight destined for Madrid departs on July 1...Sunday! Bullshit? Um, yeah. What puts the icing on the cake is the new 8 hour layover in Newark, NJ. I must say, my study abroad experience did not get off on a good start. But, I must remain optimistic and deal with the circumstances. Perhaps it's life's subtle, or not so subtle, way of teaching me patience...