Malaga in bullet points

• Where the fine men reside. Damn! I'm seriously trying to see if I can get my region switched! The amount of fine men in one city just don't make no damn sense! I'm getting mad thinking about it. Just everywhere...I can't even...
• That's all I got for Malaga.
• Oh wait, there was rain...yet again. But, I had one good day of sun. I feel badly because if I didn't miss my bus, I'm sure I would've raved and raved about Malaga. But, I did indeed miss my bus to Granada and that coupled with everything made me over this trip. Over it! There was so much construction in the city, the bus system was all messed up and nan one of the people could let me know where the hell the bus station was! I always leave an hour and change before my bus leaves and I've never missed a bus! Ugh.
• But those men were fine though....

Cordoba in bullet points

• My poor shoes! :o( These cobblestones have done a number on them. My feet! They feel like they're gonna fall off. I blame the rain.
• Arabic baths...aaahhh! Definitely the highlight of my stay. Nonstop rain for 3 days leads to misery and I was miserable....depressed....and then, the arabic baths appeared. The only open appointment was at midnight. Best appointment slot ever. Dead of the night, soaking in the dimly lit baths, nice hot mint tea, and of course, the massages. I chose the traditional amman bath, which I thought meant a longer massage, but was really about exfoliation. I think I would've preferred the massage with essential oils, but I aint even mad at the exfoliation one. It definitely helped me get right to bed and wouldn't you know the next day the sun finally came out? I can't wait until I can go back again...(the baths, I mean...Cordoba...not so much) They have one in Granada and Madrid. Gotta save up them coins...
• Tried typical Gazpacho, an andalucian dish. It's a tomato soup with onions and some...garlic? Oh yeah and it's cold. Cold, oniony, garlicky tomato soup....did I mention I don't like tomatoes? (unless it's ketchup, I love, love, LOVE me some ketchup!) This soup was interesting....tasted like...an oniony tomato. As for the glass of Montilla (wine typical to that region) shit was N-A-S-T-Y. No diplomacy here, it gets a "hayell no, never again" from me. Lawd.
• Also, I had a bad Mexican food experience. Like...never in my life...smh. I think one of the saddest things in the world is eating bad Mexican food. This was just a catastrophe. I asked for a beef burrito; Beef, onions and green pepper were listed as ingredients. But tell me whyyyyy....I had an onion burriot with tiny shavings of beef. I kept eating it thinking the meat would be further in...I can't even talk about it anymore. Every time I think about it I get nauseous. I almost threw up in that restaurant. Never again...clearly.
• Oh yeah, the Mezquita was cool. I found that I enjoyed the gardens of the Alcazar de los reyes cristainos a lot more. I'm just strange like that.

And that's my Cordoba experience.

Hola, Primavera!

 

 

Spring has hit Spain with a vengeance and I’m loving it.

The past week and a half has been nothing but sunshine and warm temperatures. Last weekend, we even hit the 80s. I’m always surprised by just how closely my mood is tied in with the weather. I now find it easier to get out of bed and out the house. I actually want to hang out after school. I don’t even mind when the kids start acting a damn fool….(That’s a lie, I still have to rein them in, but I’m more lenient than usual.)

I can’t wait for summer in the city. Whoop!

Negro vs. Negro

I picked up a private class the other day and my first time meeting the students was.....interesting....and most definitely awkward. The director of the academy, who also happens to be from Canada, decided he wanted to join me for that first meeting. When I found that out, I figured I needed to mentally prepare myself, because that man? Strange doesn't even begin to describe. And sure enough, that mental preparation came in handy.

Everything was going as well as it could be when you have a class of 50 year old women who don't know English, although they've been in the class since October but are too impatient and lazy to actually study and do homework and so they learn nothing. Then, the class took a sharp left and we fell off a cliff. One of the women tried to make a vulgar joke and followed the fail of a joke with "Don't turn green from embarrassment! I know you can't turn red, because you're Black." My head most definitely tilted to the side on some "Bitch, what?!" I may even have a visual.....

There we go!

Then she stopped and solemnly said, "In the States you can't call a person negro, because they get very upset."

Dum, dum, duuum.

The director used that as his cue to explain the difference between negro in English and negro in Spanish. (Juuust in case you had any doubts, he did a horrible job and refused to let me jump in and save him.) He then proceeded to say that only other Black people can call each other 'negro' with their friends. And I quote from his most wonderful speech: "Like Juliet here, when she speaks with her friends, she uses this word, right?"

I'm sitting there, blank face on and all I can think is "Is this man talking about the word 'nigga' or 'negro'?" And if you need the visual for my most perfect blank face, direct your attention below.

After taking that moment to think it out, I politely turned to him and said, "I don't use the word." He was shocked and appalled.

If he had a string of pearls around his neck, I'm sure he woulda clutched them. If he could do such a thing, he woulda taken my "Black card" without a second thought. That's how appalled he was.

Somehow I navigated the class away from the subject and back to what we came there to do, which was to maybe learn English, and we (finally) ended the class. Needless to say I'm now looking for someone to take the class off my hands.

Like riding a bike

Have you ever thought about how cool it is to ride a bike?

I mean, without training wheels...of course.

What about the fact that you could legitimately hop on a bike without riding for literally...years and you could ride like you never stopped. It's literally impossible to forget how to ride a bike.

Am I the only one who thinks that is amazing?

Just one of those random thoughts in my mind. I rode a bike this past weekend...for the first time in 2 years? Maybe 2 and a half. It was nice.

Some days it's all about me.....

And today is one of them.

 

Bilbao living

 

My arms are so damn long. *sigh*

That's it.

That was fun, wasn't it?

Before we started class the other day, 1 of my favorite girls came up to Arancha, my co-teacher, and complained that she was bleeding. When we both took a look, we discovered a big wound on the back of her left hand. We thought it a strange place to get injured and questioned her about what happened.

She blushed a little and sheepishly confessed that she was playing a game and injured herself. Arancha seemed ready to accept this excuse, but something about it didn't seem right to me and so I questioned her further. "Tell me more about this game." She tensed up and after much silence, reluctantly revealed the nature of this so called "game." The game requires a person to recite the alphabet and something that begins with each letter while scratching the back of one's hand. We didn't quite understand the game (or maybe we didn't want to believe what we were hearing) and so the little girl decided to demonstrate. "A. A is for apple. B. B is for baby..." and while she recited each line she was clawing the skin off the back of her hand. Apparently the goal is to get to the end of the alphabet.

Jesus Christ.

"This is a game?! How? Why? What's the prize?" She just laughed and shrugged her shoulders. We questioned her even further and discovered about 6 other girls who bore the same scars. When asked to show us, they raised the backs of their hands with pride.

Arancha and I stared at all of them like they were aliens. The guys in the class just shook their heads and continued with their arts and crafts. Crazy doesn't even begin to describe....

Just a day in the life

I'm rushing to school in the morning, cold and upset that I'm even up so early when this random old woman stops me.

She starts to mumble and of course, I don't understand what the hell she's saying. Finally, I get that she wants a cigarette from me. "No dice, lady, I don't smoke." I think that's that and start to go about my way when surprise!  The lady turns out to be fucking insane.

Why does she reach out and try to caress my face after I tell her I have no cigarettes? She's not even saying a word, either. Her hands are just reaching out towards my face. Best believe I made like Neo in The Matrix.

See that? Yeah, I did it. We were both silent as we did that little dance: she reaching for my face and me bending every which way to avoid her hands.

Finally, I said "what are you doing?!" and just ran around her. I glanced at the people who happened to be around us and they had the most perfect blank faces. For a minute, I had to reassure myself that I was walking the streets of Spain and not NYC. Then I met my teacher and life went on.

Just a day in the life.

Lesson for today:

Never get a seat facing the person eating alone....especially when you're eating alone too.

Rookie move, Juliet. You should know that by now.

Talk about awkward.

"What did you say?!"

Today we were practicing names of places and shops in the city. I asked what things they could buy at the mall and the kids were throwing out all sorts of things.

One kid said “knickers,” but the way he prounounced it, it sounded like “niggers.”

My head snapped up so quickly. I said, “what?!” and the bass in my voice? It was somethin’ serious. I’ve never seen a child look so afraid. He whispered “knickers” again and then said “como ropa interior, no?” Everyone was looking at me like I had lost my mind. I had to play that off. Thank God there were only 10 mins left in the class.

I blame the British for teaching these kids these words. I mean, knickers? Knickers?

God.

I find it quite humourous the lengths Spanish women will go to obtain "great" skin. I mean, just looking at the prices they're paying for all these creams are shocking enough!

S-M-H.

All they need to do is stop smoking, exfoliate, and drink more water. I'm positive they would get the results they're searching for at half the price. Ha.

And she's back....

I must admit, I've been "doing the USA" these past few weeks.

It was good to see my family and some friends...and it felt even better to be in a country where I could understand everything without having to concentrate, but now I'm back to doing Spain....which leaves me with mixed feelings.

I thought Spain had changed its wiley ways during my absence, but I was sadly mistaken.

I was greeted well enough when I first arrived. The customs official was very nice to me. He even tried to flirt by asking if I had found my Romeo yet. (I hate that line with a passion, but I decided to give him a pass because he was trying to practice his English and he had a nice smile.) The Metro officials were nice and helpful and even the people on the bus to Logrono smiled more than usual. All seemed well.

Then I got to Logrono and my bubble was popped. I get to my apartment building and I struggle to open the door. This lady comes up behind me and watches me struggle to open the door and then struggle to get my bags inside. I mean, it wouldn't have cost her anything to drag my other bag inside. It wasn't heavy and it was small. Noo, she couldn't do that. Instead she watched me fight with my bags with a slight look of disdain and then hurriedly walked inside. Then she mumbled "Buenos dias" and I kept it moving without responding.

Tell me whyyyyy this lady had the audacity to turn around and try to berate me for not responding. Talking some, "You didn't hear what I said? I tried to say Good morning to you" blah blah blah. I looked at her with the most perfect blank face and then attended to my bags. She gonna mumble "She didn't hear me." Only the Lord Jesus stilled my tongue and stopped me from replying, "Actually trick, I did hear what the fuck you said, but since you wanted to be so rude I didn't see it fit to respond to your snotty ass. Now move from my path so I can enter the elevator. You tried it, honey, and I aint the one." I hope she said her prayers and thanked the Lord for saving her from me.

I finally get to my apartment and I get to opening the door. I'm so ready to be up in my bed, I'm damn near taking off my shoes in the hallway. Why don't my keys open the door? Apparently my landlady saw it fit to lock one more lock in the damn door and wouldn't you know that's the key she didn't give us? So I had to take me and my suitcases to her house (thank the Lord she lives like around the corner otherwise I wouldn't have been a happy kitty) and call her, because of course I don't remember the exact apartment she lives in. This chick had the gumption to act surprised, talking some "You don't have that key? Woow, I thought I gave it to you!....Are you the first one back?" Nah trick, you knew nan one of us had the key to that top lock, you just wanted a way to know when we came back. And you damn sure already know that I'm the first one back. Don't play with me. So she gave me her set of keys and I was finally able to enter my damn house.

Oh yes, and of course, my cookies that I brought back with me from the States opened up into my suitcase and crumbled into the tiniest of bits. Needless to say, I slept forever.

Bienvenidos a Espana, Julieta!

Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish my mother didn't raise me to know better....

These old Spanish women love to test my gangsta, I swear!

Everytime they push past me with the strength of 10,000 men, my instinct is to let them know what's really, really hood. [They have to know it's rude to push...right?]

Only thing that stops me is the apparition of my mother with a look on her face that says "What did you just do? I'm getting the belt. Let's see if you'll disrespect your elders again."

Dammit mom, dammit.

France, is that you?

Never been in France before, but Girona is how I imagine it to be. I’ll find out for sure next year. Old castle walls, covered with greenery, winding cobblestone streets that dipped and climbed according the the landscape, and all of it by the laziest of rivers. (I actually hate those streets. I thought I would have myself a Beyonce experience and strut in heels as I went sightseeing. After nearly breaking my ankle 3 times I had to stop in some rando store for flats. Guidebooks should maybe write that in the description somewhere: cobblestone streets- Heels aren’t recommended. Could result in your subsequent death….but I digress)

I don’t consider myself a nature person, but I sat on those ivy covered walls that are probably older than the US itself, and was very content to be there, breathing in the fresh air and doing absolutely nothing. It had to be the most pure feeling that I’ve had in a long while.

Update: Upon further reflection, all those good feelings could also be due to the fact that I finally flats on and didn’t have to worry about falling and breaking my neck. I prefer to think that it was solely the effect of Girona and nature.

Barcelona and the 40 (thousand) Thieves

My verdict on Barcelona?

Meh.

Not to say it wasn't cool or anything, but I think I was expecting more....actually I'm SURE I was. Everyone kept telling me how cool/spectacular/amazing/orgasmic/etc, etc, etc it was. They even told me they knew I would like it, me especially (whatever that means). Actually, it was more like they commanded me: You're going to love Barcelona...whether you like it or not.

Welp. I'm very underwhelmed after my Barca experience. It definitely isn't my soul-city. Nice city, just not mine.
I'm sure the fact that Barcelona is practically a haven for thieves played a part in my general indifference. Now, I'm from New York City, and I already know that we aint the safest place to be, but damn! In Barcelona, you constantly have to be on your guard and even when you are, shit will still get taken. My roomie? Yup. She got got for her camera AND her phone the second night in. They were both in her purse....which she was wearing...and it was latched shut. How they got in? We don't know.

Apparently, my roomie got off easy. Another girl got her purse straight ripped off her arm. I mean, c'mon son! (I almost want to laugh, cuz like, you really just ripping people's purses off their arms??!! This is what we're doing now?)
Why did everyone who heard that I would be stopping in Barcelona during my vacay tell me to watch my purse and be careful? Walking down the streets of BCN, little old ladies would stop me and warn "Cuida tu bolso!" while simulating the proper way to protect yourself. (If you want to know how, just clutch onto your purse for dear life and look around you with a crazed look in your eyes. That was their demonstration. Probably works. Afterall, they still have their purses)
The whole thing made it hard to relax when I was constantly worried about who was behind me, in front of me, next to me, across from me, under me, on top of me, etc, etc etc.

Thieves of Barcelona, I know it's hard out here and we are all suffering from a recession, but cot damn, can I live?! Can.I.Live?!

So yes, I went to Barcelona and while I enjoyed my time there for the most part, I have no desire to live there and was very prepared when it was time to move on to Valencia.

P.S. I would be wrong if I didn't acknowledge Barcelona's epic nightlife. Ummm, let's just say that my last night in Barca, I didn't sleep, barely made it to my 7am bus to Valencia and when I woke up in Valencia, I was still drunk. Now, imagine that every night, for 5 nights. I'm just happy to be alive.

Back, back, back.

And what a trip it’s been.

Glad to be back at home base, though.

Now, I work for one more week, then jet to the States for another 2 weeks of vacation time.

December has got to be the best month ever.

Zaragoza

Hail Caeser!

Zaragoza is the coolest city. It has Christian, Roman and Arabic roots. Christians came first, built their city, then came the Romans. They kindly took control and of course, built right on top of the former city. But wait, the Arabs came and decided that Zaragoza was in fact their city and you guessed it, they built right on top of everyone else's buildings.

Mercado Central. I decided to take a walk through there early Saturday morning. Damn. It reminded me of a Nigerian market. Crowds of people selling meat, vegetables, other food stuffs and of course screaming and haggling. I had to get out of there ASAP.

A view of the Roman walls from the top of Torreon de la Zuda

A dedication to my lil bro: "No virtual game, play on streets!" Zaragoza definitely had the coolest graffiti.

La basilica de nuestra senora del Pilar!

Can you peep the brightly colored tiles on the domes? They were giving me life. One of the main attractions of Zaragoza....which is why I always gave someone side eye when they asked if I saw the basilica. Ummmm, that's all anyone talks about. How I'mma go to Zaragoza and not see the main attraction.

C'mon son.

But I digress. It was quite beautiful. 

 

Museo del foro de Caesaraugusta.

This plaza was soo pretty and so was that museo. The stone was alabaster and at night it was all lit up.

Can you see me?

A little collage of all the graffitti I saw. Loved, loved, loved it!

This my friends is....bull. Yes, bull.

I must say it wasn't my choice to order this. The only reason I went into this overpriced cafe was because I saw that it said "albondigas in salsa" outside. For those who don't know, albondigas are meatballs! I've had a craving for the longest, so I thought that would be the perfect time to get some. I order the meatballs and await the best meal of my life.

Tell me why my meatballs arrive drenched in almond sauce, complete with said almonds?! Oh hayeelll no! (For those a bit slow on the uptake, I'm allergic to nuts...all of them) So I tell them and they offer me a way to choose something else. In reality, I really just wanted to drink the beer I had and keep it moving, but they were so persistent. So, I tried to pick the steak. Womp womp, they're drenched in almond sauce too. Everything else was seafood, so I was forced to give the bull a try.

My verdict? Errrmm....it wasn't too bad. I didn't finish all of it, that's for sure. It had a distinct flavor, that wasn't unpleasant, but definitely wasn't scrumptious. *sigh*

La Aljaferia! Spain's finest Islamic-era edifice outside of Andalusia.

In the courtyard. My favorite part of the palace

This statue's butt is so big! I just had to take a picture. He's been hitting those squats and lunges....I see you!

"Dislikes…..Africa”

We were playing a game. Each person receives a piece of paper with a little picture and a blank space for Name, Age, Job, Likes, Dislikes, and Hobbies. The objective? To increase vocabulary and creating sentences. I envisioned this exercise to be a bit more interesting because at least the children get to use their imaginations.

The responses started out generic enough. Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) the children didn’t really understand that they were supposed to use their imagination for this exercise and I found myself listening to them re-introduce themselves. I decided to just take it in stride and corrected the mistakes as we went along. Eventually it was time for one of the girls to share what she had written. Nothing about this child grabbed my attention, she was a generic Spanish child, if there ever was such a thing. At this point, I can’t even remember her name….maybe Mari? No, she wasn’t particularly special. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have remembered her at all if she didn’t read what she wrote that day.

She read her name, her age, struggled to name a job in English and had no problem listing her likes. I’ll admit, I was mostly tuned out when she got to her dislikes. It was almost time for me to leave and I was thinking of what to make for lunch.

“Deeslikes…..Africa”

*Insert record scratching here*

My head snapped up and my screw face was on and ready. Wait…..what?! I looked over at the head teacher and he had an embarrassed look on his face. The other students all turned and looked at her. There was silence.

Then came the barrage of questions.

Head Teacher: Dislikes Africa. Why do you say that?

Guilty girl who dislikes Africa: *shrugs shoulders*

Me: Wait…what?

Another child: You don’t like Africa? Why?

Moroccan child: No le gusta Africa? (speaks to friend while glaring at the guilty girl) 

Head Teacher: Why don’t you like Africa? Have you ever been there before?

Another child: Por la pobreza. Hay mucha pobreza. (Because of the poverty, there is a lot of poverty)

Moroccan child: Si ella no le gusta Africa, no me gusta Europa. (If she doesn’t like Africa, I don’t like Europe)

Head Professor: How can you dislike a whole country?

At this point, I was ready to slap both girl AND professor, because really, Africa is a country!? So I turned to this child and I said, “How can you dislike a whole continent? Especially when you’ve never been there before?” She looked back at me with the most confused look on her face and I had to pull myself back. I was in “it’s-time-to-educate-the-ignorant-one-or-slap-someone-whichever-feels-most-appropriate” mode and this child is still struggling to speak in complete sentences in English. She didn't have answers for us. In fact, she had the nerve to be indignant. I could see the thoughts moving through her mind. “I grace these people with my perfect English and they have the nerve to get riled up and start questioning me. This will be the last time I decide to help them out and participate!”

*sigh*

I’m not surprised at the racism. I know Spain has its own issues with race, as does every other place, but it’s the age of the child that got to me. Her age. Her inability to explain why exactly she hates Africa. Her blindness as to why that particular thought process is wrong. Wrong and dangerous.

I tire of trying to educate every ignorant person that crosses my path. What am I supposed to do?

And I'm back!

Zaragoza was beautiful. All in all, I would dub this past weekend a success.

Highlight reel:

• Being in a city-city again. Logrono qualifies as a city, but it has a town vibe. Whenever I talk about Logrono to my friends, I always say “my town.” It’s to the point that one of my friends asked me about dirt roads. Girl, what?! I live in a city! Everything is paved here, there’s a bus system, and a sizable population, but it’s just the atmosphereof Logrono and when comparing it to NYC, I don’t know, I just get “town.” But walking down the streets of Zaragoza and feeling the people move around me, I just felt “city” again. And it made me very happy.
• The graffitti. Creative and witty. I don’t see that so often anymore. I’ll be posting pictures.
• The architecture and layout of the city. It wasn’t a grid system (which by the way, is my favorite type of city layout), but it was still very easy to navigate. I did a walk-through with a guide and afterwards, I found my way around quite easily, without a map. I love that! I hate being the obvious tourist, walking around with head down, map in hand. Yuck.
• I GOT TO SEE HARRY POTTER…..IN ENGLISH!I’m almost ashamed at how happy I am about this, but I had given up on seeing any movies in Spain, in English. Spain is one of the few countries in Europe that dubs the movies. Usually the movies have the original language and then subtitles in the country’s language. Normally I wouldn’t care, but have you ever watched the Fresh Prince of Bel Air in Spanish? It’s not funny. The timing of the jokes are off and the wording and humor is completely different. I can’t see a movie with those changes! Plus, my spanish is good, but not THAT good. So, I was extremely pleased to see that Harry Potter in the original language was offered…at a discount no less! Blisss!
• This was a cheap trip! I could’ve saved even more if I didn’t eat so much, but I love food and that’s just what it is.

Now, I have to plan a lesson for school tomorrow.

Bleh. I wish the weekend could last forever!

Thanksgiving is coming up and I'm at a loss for how to explain that day to Spanish children.....

I want to tell them the true story about Thanksgiving…in the most simple English sentences possible, but I know I will be at a loss for the questions that will follow.

“So the Pilgrims landed on land already inhabited by Native Americans?”
Yes
“Did they mean to land there?”
“Uhhh…not exactly”
“Did the Native Americans protest? What reaction did they have?”
“Well….a lot of them died from the diseases the Pilgrims brought over….BUT, the few that were left gave the Pilgrims some help, even though the Pilgrims robbed their houses and graves of food and anything else they wanted.”
“That’s nice! Were the Pilgrims grateful?”
“Ummmm….so, for Thanksgiving we eat all kinds of food, all of my family is there and it’s the best ever!”

Oh God.

I had a hard enough time trying to connect why we celebrate Halloween with such enthusiasm, and with as few clothes as possible, when half of us (myself included) don’t even know the history.

This is gonna be fun