My Spanish Adventure

2003-11-04T07:49:00.000-08:00

I decided to take a little time away from my job this summer. Well...really I decided to quit my job and go to Spain. Basically, I was becoming bored with the routine of my life. I had a great job as a senior account executive with a great PR agency for several years but one day I felt like I had gotten everything I came there to get. I knew it was time for me to leave if I was going to continue to grow. Have you ever felt that way? Anyway, I just didn't want to leave this earth without saying that I didn't at least once, throw caution to the wind and do something wild and crazy thing just for the experience of it.

I was in Madrid and then Barcelona from June until August of this year and believe me, I lived every moment of that experience. In fact, I lived more life in those six weeks than I did in the first six months of 2003. I sent one electronic newsletter a week to family and friends. The following are the first two of six:

Travel Log Numero Tres

2003-11-03T22:38:00.000-08:00

Adventures in Pamplona!
Many of you may have suspected that I was considering doing something crazy and stupidly insane like going to Pamplona to take part in the San Fermin festival and run with the bulls. That to me would not be an adventure as I do not run very quickly nor do I particularly care for running.

However, I did think it would be ridiculous to be in Spain during the time of the festival and not at least consider going. Especially considering a group that this school often endorses was holding a trip.

Here's why I decided I would never go to the festival. There are no hotels to be had in Pamplona during San Fermin. If you go on the trip, the bus drops you off and picks you up the next day. As I said, there are no hotels so you basically spend the next 24 hours walking the streets or sleeping in them. No hot water to clean yourself, no cozy bed to sleep on, no place to chill, no comforts of home. Then I realized...this was the exact type of adventure I needed.

The idea of not being able to exfoliate my skin at night, have my morning tea, brush my teeth, floss, take a nice hot shower, sleep...was absolutely repulsive and intriguing at the same time.

The Running of the Bulls Festival
Okay, let me tell you a little bit about the festival. I know we tend to think of it as this big event where fools from the town (and from out of town) run through town in front of a herd of bulls.

The reality is that the festival is one weeklong continuous, outdoor party, dance-in-the-street, drunkenfest...which is occasionally (and very minimally) broken up by a few minutes of the "Running of the Bulls" each morning. Most people don't go there to run with the bulls. Heck, most people don't even go there to watch the running of the bulls. They go to party in the streets...all night and all day long...continuously. Welcome to Spain.

Since I'm not really one to party for long periods of time I figured, "Okay, I gotta do this at least once."

The Tour Guide from Hell
So me and my buddy Kim meet with a bunch of students from our school and others and board the bus for the 7-hour trek to Pamplona. Along the way, our tour guide Miguel is continuously threatening us..."If you eat on the bus, you will be thrown off...If you drink alcoholic beverages on the bus you will be thrown off...We will make two rest stops (most long distance buses in Spain don't seem to be equipped with bathrooms), if you don't get back on the bus in time you will be left..."

In between threats Miguel throws in stories about the horrors of running with the bulls..."Only stupid people and professionals run with the bulls...I am looking at all of you and I can see that none of you are fit to run with the bulls. The bulls are not stupid. They will get you and if they run you over it is equivalent to being run over by a small car... My cousin, who was a bullfighter, ran with the bulls and was hit by a bull and thrown up in the air. He grabbed onto a wire but it was electrical and he now only has eight fingers. Needless to say, he is no longer a bull fighter."

I am still trying to figure out why you can't be a bullfighter with only eight fingers.

We arrived in Pamplona with the usual threats of being left if we didn't return in time for the bus the next day. Our tour guide, Miguel, told us that there were too many of us for him to try and lead so we were on our own.

To give you a bit of contrast between styles, my roommate Marcello was on another bus. His tour guide--a Moroccan with dreadlocks--asked if anyone had any Jack Daniels to share, said if anyone wanted to run with the bulls they simply had to sign a permission slip and then told them he knew all the best places to hang out so they could all hang out with him. (I should add that in the midst of leading a group of students he suddenly passed out from drunkenness at about 2a.m.)

What I Saw at the Pamplona Revolution

We arrived in Pamplona at about 8pm Saturday and were to meet up with the buses at 9a.m. the next morning (with one last threat of being left if were not back promptly at 9 yadda...yadda). It's really not that long of a time to be up walking around when you think of it. I remember thinking earlier that week. I'll be fine as long as nothing really inconvenient happens--like getting sick, starting my cycle or having diarrhea.

By Saturday I had all three. I could feel the beginnings of something coming on, I had cramps, and I had accidentally eaten some old soup Esther (my "landlady") had in the freezer and had the "you know whats".

I figured this would all just add to the adventure and figured if I could just make it for 12 hours...until we got back on the bus, I'd be fine. I tried to eat as healthily (and scantily) as I could Saturday. Fruit, water--avoiding all foods that might complicate matters--since I would not have regular access to the toilet.

I was with a little group of six--4 women and 2 men. One guy immediately came down with Laryngitis (spelled wrong I'm sure) as soon as we landed in Pamplona and shortly thereafter, we had to take him to the hospital, where he sat for two hours until the doctor could see him. After that, we were in business.

Here's what you see when you walk the streets of Pamplona during the festival--tons of people dressed in white with red scarves and sashes. These colors provide contrast to the color blind bulls and are said to make you more of a target. Of course it's all in fun as men, women, old men, old women, infants and toddlers are all donned in their whitest of whites and their most crimson accessories.

There are several live bands playing in different squares throughout the town and millions of people hanging out, dancing, lounging, drinking, signing, kissing, eating, and laughing in the streets.

There was a carnival with a host of fun rides and since we had hours to kill, this is what we did. Let me add here that safety regulations in Europe (or at least in Spain) are quite a bit different. There was one ride--shaped like a saucer with couches encircling the sides-- that had the main objective of knocking its riders out of their seats, and onto the floor where they would generally roll to the other side of the ride if they couldn't get to their feet quickly enough. I should add that most of these rides were for kids. I saw someone bang the heck out of his head as he flew out of his seat. It was a bit amusing. A ride like that in the States would have probably generated about 20 lawsuits in 24 hours.

I only went on one ride, since I was feeling just a tad bit queasy. It was the haunted house ride, designed to be more macabre than scary. Again, this was a ride in which 80% of its riders were kids under the age of 12. The pictures painted on the exterior of the structure were quite...interesting. Since they say a pictures can express a thousand words, here's one.

We spent the next nine hours or so walking through the citywide party. Most bars and cafes are open so we ate and drank sporadically. I've never seen so many drunken people with so little incident, especially considering there were very few police around. At about 3am, thousands were sleeping in the parks or on the mediums (the strip of grass in the middle of the roads). I've never seen so many people sleeping in the streets. I acknowledge that at least half of these people had simply passed out. This was obvious by the way they were laying. Legs sprawled out. One or both shoes missing. Limbs spilling out onto the street, where cars were driving by with reckless speed...

To Run or Not To Run with the Bulls

The Running of the Bulls takes place at 8am every morning during the festival. It takes about 3 minutes for the bulls to run to the stadium, where the really crazy try their luck being caged up with a bunch of pissed of bulls. If you don't get a good spot, you'll see nothing. If you get a good spot, you still may see nothing. The key is to start looking for a spot early.

Since our guide told us nothing, we really didn't know the best place to go to see any action. Honestly, by the time the running rolls around no one cares. Eighty percent of the people there are either passed out or too busy partying to give a hoot.

At about 6am, we decided to find a spot. At some point, most of our group pooped out and lagged behind and it was just me and my buddy Kim. We kept trying to ask the locals where the best place to see the bulls would be. Every time we asked we got the same answer. "On T.V."

Every time, we thought we had a good spot, the officials would close off the street and you'd realize that the bulls would be running in a totally different direction. At some point, you realize that the only good vantage point of the bulls is... beside them.

This is probably how a lot of people get hurt at the festival. At some point, you realize that it's hopeless to get a good vantage point and you say, "F--- it. I came all this way to see some bulls. I'll take my chances."

Kim and I were at this point. Miguel said the bulls just follow the herd. I figured if we stood along the sides and there were people running along the sides of the bulls, we would probably be okay. Of course, what the heck did I know... We saw people getting good spots in window sills, doorways, etc. Was that safe? I wondered. People seemed to look relaxed. I kept asking people, "Is that safe?" They kept responding. "Yo no se." (I don't know.) When I saw an entire Chinese family and there two small children lining one of the doorways I realized that I was amongst the clueless.

We finally decided we should probably leave but it seemed like everywhere we went we were being closed in, as they were closing various gates to keep the bulls going toward the stadium. After about five minutes, I wondered how many people end up running with the bulls by accident.

We finally got behind a gate just before they closed it. We weren't right up against it, but we were right behind the people who were right up against it so we could see between the people. I handed my camera to a girl who was seated on the fence above me. A horn sounded and I waited for the sounds of yells, screams and shouts. After a minute there was big rushing. Oddly no screaming. Just the roaring of the crowd in general. "Were those bull legs I saw?" I thought. I was expecting to hear snorts and to smell the smell of animals. After a few seconds there was another brief rushing and it was over.

It Ain't Over 'Till It's Over

We now had about 50 minutes to make it back to the bus, which was probably a couple of miles away judging by the crude map that we received. After getting turned around a few times and asking for directions, in Spanish, and getting the wrong directions, of course in Spanish, we made our way to the buses with 10 minutes to spare. I felt pretty good since we seemed to have beaten most students to the buses. Our original "gang" had made it back to the bus site as well.

I had made it on the street from sun up until sun up down-- despite my mild queasiness and other ailments-- without incident. What a feat!

There were about six buses headed back to Madrid and ours was not yet there, so after talking with our friends we went in search of a bathroom. After all...I had issues to take care of. As we headed back from the cafe, we saw all of the buses lined up and ready to go. I was on my way home! Imagine how quickly my joy ended when we saw the buses slowly move away from the curb and glide down the street... without us.

It was 9:04 and our behinds had been left...behind. I thought, "You're kidding me right? Ha-ha. Very funny. Now bring the buses back so we can get on. You made your point Miguel." I mean, who in the heck doesn't wait a least five minutes--especially considering 1- the length of distance the buses are from the event, 2- the time the event ended in relation to the departure time, and 3- the fact that we really didn't know our way around and had only been given one rinky dink map? Besides, people knew we were there! Didn't they ask Miguel to wait for us?

After a minute or two of pretty much standing in the fumes of the bus, we called Miguel, who promptly informed us that the buses were gone, said goodbye and hung up. Needless to say, Miguel, who had started out with a zero rating, was continuing to lose points with me...rapidly.

All I wanted to do was sit down. Wasn't it adventure enough that I had walked for 10 consecutive hours...and without the added incentive of earning money for some charity? All I wanted to do was be somewhere cool. Did I mention that Pamplona had been about 100 degrees? All I wanted to do was get the heck out of the city, that by now, had turned into a public urinal.

At that time, I wasn't feeling to good about Pamplona, or even Spain for that matter. I made a quick plea to God to intervene if at all possible.

Kim and I slowly trudged in the direction of the bus station that Miguel had been "thoughtful" enough to add to the back of our map. Along the way, we passed a brother who greeted us with "Hola." I was still a bit in denial so I returned the greeting with the last bit of cheeriness I had in me. Kim's greeting was a bit delayed...as at that point she was a bit more upset than I. She had about $10 on her.

After a few seconds, we heard the brother come up behind us. He asked Kim if she was in school at North Carolina, which she was. Turns out that "Jason", who was also in the program with Kim, was in Madrid for a wedding and had decided to go to Pamplona for the day. He too was headed back to Madrid by bus.

Jason had decided to run with bulls--actually, he decided to run in the stadium with the bulls. About 200 people opt to run around in the stadium with the bulls. Apparently, five of those people were "brothers" from the States. Jason said he could tell by the way they were screaming. Apparently, as dangerous as it sounds, it's not that bad in the stadium because the stadium is where the really crazy people go. You can actually avoid danger because half the men there are trying to grab the bulls by the horns, touch them and other "daring" things to prove their manhood. Still no one's safe because you simply can't outrun the bulls. The only way most people avoid getting gored, hit or run over is if they can jump over a fence or something, in time, or if the bull simply decides not to pursue them.

Jason said, he saw one guy get gored right into his beautiful tattoo and one guy get his ear ripped off. If you try and get a good running start inside the stadium before the bulls get in, the crowd will curse at you because they came to see some blood dammit. Every time someone would get hurt they would cheer. Just like in the days of the gladiators I guess. Funny, the more things change, the more things stay the same...

Anyway, Kim and I decided to wait for Jason, who had to find this church where his things were being held. Instead of taking the 10am bus, we opted for the 2:30 which summed up our total walking time to about 14 hours...consecutively. Fortunately, the bus was not too expensive, but the trip ended up costing me a lot, because I decided to delay my trip to Barcelona for a week just to fit the trip to Pamplona in. I will not get into this.

Anyway, to make a long story even longer...I ended up back home at 7:30pm. I figured my roommates would be sitting around talking about how I’d been left. When I saw Marcello he didn’t even say anything. When I told him I had just come back from Pamplona (he had gotten back at 3pm) he seemed surprise. Since he wasn’t on our bus he just figured he kept missing me when we took our rest stops. Oddly, it was the same reaction the next day at school--from the people who were on the bus with us. Everyone just assumed we were seated somewhere away from them...after all, they had talked to us shortly before getting on the bus. To say that I find it odd that no one noticed that the ONLY TWO BLACK GIRLS on the bus was missing is an understatement.

Anyway, that was my adventure last weekend (I try to have at least one a week)...which turned out to be much more of an adventure than I planned.

Luego.

Travel Log Numero Dos

2003-10-22T10:49:00.000-07:00

"HAPPY FOURTH!"

The cutest thing happened to me yesterday...or at least it tickled me. First I should start out by saying that I am throwing a Happy Hour for the students here in the school at the Hotel Regina around the corner....No surprise there.

It originated as my roommate Jeremy's idea-- as we both talked about the need for something to help the students get to know each other (and he whined about still not hooking up with any hotties)--but then I just sort of took it and ran with it. Folks here don't know that I'm the party throwing Queen. :-)

I worked out a deal with the manager yesterday...well okay, I brought a friend who's English is better than mine and we both worked the deal out. I originally planned it for Friday but Jeremy thought that Tuesday would be better. I went to the manager today to tell him of the revised plans.

When he saw me he seemed extremely happy to see me and greeted me with the Spanish greeting of familiarity--a kiss on both cheeks. Although actually, I thought this was only customary between women. Anyway, for some reason it just made me glow...although it does make me wonder if something didn't get lost in the translations of the negotiations...

This is kind of funny because both Jeremy and I were both talking about how phony it seemed when the nonHispanic female students here greeted each other in this way. Actually, he was talking about it. I said I could see outsiders assimilating to this in about a year or so.

Anyway, it just tickled me that he would do that. I feel like we are so close now...;-)

Another sister arrived in the program. She came on Monday. The other sister left on Friday. Good timing. When I first saw her I didn't speak because she was occupied and I didn't want to appear overly desperate to see other black folks.

For the rest of the day, whenever we passed each other she diverted her eyes. I figured she was playing that I-don't-want-people-to-think-that-I-can't-relate-to-anyone-other-than-black-kind game. So I just thought "fine." I'll let her do her nonBlack thing.

By the second day it was beginning to piss me off. It was one thing to not want to hang out, it was another thing to feel as though she couldn't acknowledge my presence. I decided the next time I saw her I would step to her and tell her we wouldn't get lynched if we spoke...well...I wasn't going to put it that way. But she was already annoying me and we hadn't even met.

Before I had an opportunity to say anything to her Maryland, one of the older women in the program, tells me that she has a new housemate who wants to meet me. I'm thinking, "Some guy is that pressed that he has to go through someone else to try and get to me?" Impressive. It turned out, she was referring to the sister.

When I told Maryland that I had tried to greet the girl but she never seemed to want to look my way, she said she was a bit shy. I don't know. I've been told that I can be intimidating and unapproachable at times. I thought this only worked on men :-).

The next time I saw the sister I stopped in front of her and yelled Hola! De Donde Eres! (Where are you from) Probably the greeting I should've given her the first time. Sure it made me look like I was basically saying--"Yay! Another sister!" But whatever.

I guess we'll be hanging tight which works because Julia, the older British woman who had become my new best friend, is leaving this weekend. I've forgotten the sister's name but she's from N.C. She graduated from Law School at A&T or somewhere and she's getting a combined degree in public health. The school sent her here for free. Sweet.

I mentioned my roommate Jeremy. I should also mention that after days of endless boozing, partying and staying out to the wee hours of the morning. Both Jeremy and Marcelles (my Brazilian roommate) are both sick as dogs. Jeremy went first. Everyday he'd get a little worse. I'd keep asking him if he wanted any of my drugs...aspirin...antibiotics. Everyday he'd put on his machismo front and say that he would ride it out and that it was sure it would subside the next day. He continued to party. One day it was obvious that he was pretty bad. Marcelles insisted that they hang out anyway. "Jeremy," I said. "Maybe you should stay home." But Jeremy said he had already stayed home once that week and darn if he was going to let a scratchy throat keep him home again.

I came home the next day and both he and Marcelles were sitting on the couch hacking and coughing and moaning. Marcelles had obviously caught what Jeremy had and by now they were both so sick they had temperatures and had to skip class for a couple of days. I just laughed at them and told them they looked like a couple of old women. I just hope they don't pass whatever they have onto me as this is my last full weekend here in Madrid.

Anyway, this has been a great adventure so far but I feel it's time to step it up. Fore those of you who don't really really really know me (or who haven't yet figured it out) I get bored very, very easily. As some of you may know, my goal this year is to get into the habit of stepping outside of my comfort zone and to live my life boldly. Having said that, I believe there are still more challenges to take on...I'll tell you more about my next adventure in Newsletter #3. :-)

Hasta Luego and throw a Boca burger on the grill for me!

Travel Log Numero Uno

2003-10-17T10:39:00.000-07:00

Hola!

For those of you who don't know, I'm in Spain until August.

Where do I begin? First of all, let me just say that international keyboards are frustrating for me. Okay, got that out of the way.

Los gentes:

It's very ironic that my experience in Madrid has been like the experience I expected from France and my experience in France was more like the experience I expected in Madrid. When I went to France last year I was warned about the people being abrupt, not speaking very much English and impatient with foreign language speakers. In Spain, I've heard people are very warm, I read that many of the merchants speak English and that folks in general are accommodating with those who don't speak the language.

Both of these stereotypes have turned out to be false for me in both countries. I found the people in France last year to be very polite, laid back and most merchants spoke English and didn't seem to mind if you did as well. In Madrid, I find people to be a little more conservative and uptight. No one speaks English and they seem to get easily frustrated with those who do.

Part of the problem may be that Madrid has a lot of students who probably mess it up for others.

For those who've asked: I haven't noticed the men here too much. There seem to be many cultures here. Many Mediterranean looking men and of course many who look typically Latino. I've had very little interaction with or reaction from them. They are pretty reserved (this is not Italy). People here seem to be very focused on their “thing” and are very business like.

En generál:

Downtown Spain reminds me surprisingly of New York city. Life is supposed to be much faster here than in Barcelona. I understand folks from Barcelona have a hard time moving here and keeping up. Whatever. The pace is not N.Y., probably more like D.C. It's also expensive as the U.S. dollar continues to slip. The euro is quite a bit stronger than it was when I was in Europe last summer. Sad.

The subway system reminds me a lot of D.C. with its color-coded lines. Some of the stations are reminiscent of NYC, although many of the trains stations are very upscale. Some of the stations are huge and it can take you 10 minutes to get from one train to the next if you are transferring lines.

Dinner here is served pretty late because of course everyone must take their siestas, which oddly they seem to do (or maybe they’re just very long lunches) in France. With a routine like this, we can be assured that these two countries will never overtake the U.S. as a world power. It took me three days to finally get to the supermarket on the corner of the street where I stay because it’s never open when I get to it. Dinner is typically served at 11pm. The host families in my program have told the families to serve dinner at 9pm. Which is of course still too late for me--being very conscious of avoiding large meals after 7pm.

The city is clean. They are constantly cleaning. It’s not very easy to get around if you don’t know where you’re going, as they are very cavalier about street signage.

Mi familía:
The woman who runs my house is Esther Mendez. She doesn’t live in the apartment with my two roommates--Marcelles from Brazil and Jeremy from Reston, VA...just minutes outside of D.C. Jeremy reminds me of that guy in the jungle book. He has a very exotic look.

Esther is divorced, very nice and chatty. She is an excellent cook and is very good about serving food that I can eat. She prepared a really nice fish dinner for me the first night (I don’t know what the boys got) and a nice filo wrapped tuna dish the second night. She is, however, beginning to serve the food late though, which is a problem. I had to wait around for her to serve dinner last night so I could meet up with some people. She didn’t serve it until 9pm.

Jeremy and Marcello are very cool. We hung out last night a bit. They lost their minds and had a bunch of friends over at 2:30am the other night. They were extremely loud...although I suspect Jeremy was the one who kept trying to get them to quiet down. The landlady got on their case about this the next day. She was very nice about it, but oddly that day we were served Jasmine rice with a few paltry sardines and tomatoes. I blamed this on them and I think managed to make them feel guilty.

The apartment is steps away from the subway and has three bedrooms, a bathroom, a small living/dining area and a kitchen.
There’s no AC or fans but the windows provide a good breeze.

La programa:
The program seems to be very well organized and manages to do a good job integrating students into the format. I’m in an intensive program, which is 4 hours a day. I have two classes for one hour and forty five minutes each day. They begin at 9am with a half our break in between. Only Spanish is spoken in class and pretty much inside the school itself. Some folks are doing a super intensive program for 6 hours. Although I opted against this, I have decided to attend the evening lectures to improve my listening comprehensive. This is my greatest challenge as I am a visual learner. Even if I know the words, I have great difficulty understanding the language from a person who speaks Spanish as their native tongue.

Your experience with Don Quixote and any similar program (The Center for the Study Abroad affiliate) seems to depend largely on your living situation. Some host families impose strict rules: one shower a day, limited access to living quarters and paltry meals. My friends Charles is finishing the program in Barcelona. He is served boiled potatoes with a can of mayonnaise several times a week. I know a guy who had shrimp with champagne for his meal last night. It seems to vary. I consider my household to be very fortunate. Esther is very nice and the food is sufficient. She serves it, sits down to talk with us, corrects our Spanish and cleans up afterwards.

We can take as many showers as we want provided we follow the rules of the gas, which is a complicated process with several steps to turn on and light...which I’m surprised she trusts us to do. I think initially we were all concerned about blowing ourselves to bits. Since she lives in the apartment above us, we have lots of privacy. We’re not allowed to use the laundry facilities but for $6, Esther will wash and iron your clothes for you once a week.

In general, I’m great but still getting acclimated. Because Charles was here for the first several days, I really haven’t done too much or hung out with too many people. I’ve been invited to go for dinner tonight after the lectures. I think this is where I will get to really know the folks. The great thing is that people come in every week so there will always be new faces.

The food has been pretty salty and greasy and I’m eating a lot of carbs, which I don’t like. My exercise program is shot and it took me three days just to find fresh fruit, which is all I usually eat for breakfast. Fortunately I did bring my red tea from home and the stores do sell soy milk. However, I don’t think rice milk has really made it here yet.

Well OK! That’s about it for me.
Hasta Luego!