Mi cumple y algunas noticias muy emocionantes/mon anniversaire et des nouvelles très sensationnelles!!!!!!!!!!!

With Mary Kathryn, Fran and Molly on Birthday Night #2

Enjoying our day off of Lent

As many of you know, last Tuesday, the 24th, was my 21st birthday, so I thought I would write about the week of festivities. Obviously, turning 21 in Spain means actually nothing in terms of alcohol consumption, but it was still exciting for me to finally be “legal” (more on that later!). When I woke up on Tuesday morning, it felt just like any other day (especially since I had a 9am class to get up for!). As I sat at the kitchen table, munching on my usual breakfast of Fibre Flakes (which are actually surprisingly good!), I found a flurry of birthday messages and Facebook wall post notifications, and I must say, it was nice to get all of that attention that day! I opened my little cache of gifts and cards: a Mamma Mia! DVD and iTunes gift card from my parents, a pair of earrings and a bracelet from my grandparents, and cards from a few friends (in addition to some eCards from friends and family- a sure sign that we live in a digitized age!). I actually have a funny anecdote about the Mamma Mia! DVD: my mom sent me a package that got here a few weeks ago, and inside was a wrapped box, obviously a birthday present. After I had removed all of the items from my package, I felt like I was missing something, so I looked on the customs form to see if she had forgotten to send something. Well, she had, in fact, remembered those things, and she had also written “Mamma Mia! DVD” on the form. So I knew what I had gotten for my birthday! When I talked to my mom on my birthday, I asked her if she had consciously revealed my gift on the form, and she said, “Oh, oops…” Also, given my mother’s disgust each time I buy a new DVD, I asked her. “Did you get me that DVD because you wanted to see it again?” (because it was the last mommy-daughter trip to the movies we had), and she answered, “Um, YEAH!” . It was pretty funny.

In addition to the gifts and card they had already sent me, my parents worked very hard on a birthday email the night before with cheery, multicolored text, so I would have something nice to wake up to on their birthday morning. My dad also sent me an email, as he does every morning, telling me how he could still remember the day I was born at Alexandria Hospital. I’m pretty sure my mom remembers it too: delivering a 10lb6oz, 2 foot-long baby isn’t something that you forget easily (and no, you didn’t read that wrong!). I also got birthday messages in a couple of unexpected places: I had a “Happy Birthday from the Facebook team” message on my homepage when I logged in; and as I swiped my card at the gym, a message reading “¡Feliz cumple!” flashed across the screen (another reason why my gym is awesome!). And of course, the second I saw Molly that morning so we could walk over to class together, she let out an all-too-familiar exuberant exclamation of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!” It was like having my own personal birthday cheerleader all day ☺

During our break in classes, while Molly skyped with her mom, I did something that I didn’t know how much I had been looking forward to until I was actually in the midst of it: I picked out my classes for next semester. At Georgetown!!!!!!!!!!!! I have never been so excited for preregistration in my life! And I have never been more appreciative of the ease of the process back on the Hilltop! Aside from the fact that I was excited to be picking classes in English (and also actually knowing what my classes are going to be before actually arriving back on campus!), it was actually a really emotional moment for me, because it means that I’m so close to going back to the school I love so much, the friends I love and miss so much, and the family I love more than life itself. Call me sappy, but it was a big deal for me. And when I talked to Kate, my only other close friend who has been abroad for the whole year, about it, she shared my sentiment of overwhelming joy at the Georgetown preregistration process. It’s going to be an incredible year, I can tell already!

Also during the break, Molly and I went to Croissantería París (affectionately called Franceland), our favorite bakery in Salamanca. And yes, I am aware of the irony in the fact that I seldom had pastries when I was actually in France, but now can’t live without my French-style pastries. Molly and I gave up sweets for Lent, which I know I’ve mentioned, but we had previously designated my birthday and one day while we’re in London (so we can do high tea and go to the ice cream bar in Harrods) as sugar binge days. So we walked through the hallowed door of Franceland and got our one pastry each, savoring each and every bite. One pastry is not a sugar binge, you may be thinking, but wait, there’s more! A few hours later, as we were heading home for lunch, we stopped at Franceland again, this time to pick up a cake, which we had decided we would eat in the Plaza after dinner. Well, let’s just say that they made my particular cake with only me in mind. It was chocolate, and had berries on top (not to mention no nuts!). Pure perfection!!! Molly, Mary Kathryn and I polished off that cake with no trouble at all after going to an Italian restaurant for dinner. That cake probably could have served 8 people. But hey, what better time to live a little than on your 21st birthday?!?

I made the wise decision to skip my one afternoon class (seeing as three other Georgetown girls are in the class and I will have no trouble getting notes), something I would NEVER do at Georgetown. Spain, look at what you’ve done to me! But I must say that I was not at all repentant for my academic sin, enjoying a nice workout, and then, after a long, leisurely shower, setting into my bed to watch the latest episodes of The Office and Gossip Girl. It was a pretty incredible day.
What the hell?, you may be asking yourself. What kind of 21st birthday is that? Aren’t you supposed to drink so much that you throw up everything you’ve ever eaten? Hold on, I’m not quite done with my tales of birthday revelry. Friday night was designated as the “real” celebration night, and a group of us met up in the Plaza, ready to bar-hop. And bar-hop we did. Let’s just say that, by the end of the night, I had had: a beer, a glass of sangria, 5 shots of Bailey’s, 2 of tequila and lime, 1 of straight whiskey, 1 of bourbon, and one Sex on the Beach (which Mary Kathryn and Molly, the last two left standing with me, helped me out with). That is, without contest, the drunkest I have ever been in my life, and, in fact, Molly said that she was drunker that night than she had been on her own 21st birthday (although there WERE extenuating circumstances on her birthday, because it was the same day of the outbreak of Norovirus on the Hilltop). We went to a restaurant and, while I plopped myself down drunkenly in a chair, Molly and Mary Kathryn bought me a tortilla sandwich. I literally took two halfhearted bites of my sandwich and then felt my hand go limp. I dropped the sandwich back on the plate and rushed back to the bathroom, saying that I was going to be sick. Let’s just say I was very sick, and Molly, trouper that she is, held my hair back (she pointed out on Sunday that she was excited to be able to say that she got to have the experience of holding a friend’s hair back at least once in her college career).

I was mortified (or as mortified as you can be when you are totally out of it) as we walked down the street, Molly and Mary Kathryn on either side of me, holding me up completely. I was that drunken American. However, there was one fundamental difference. Unlike many Americans, who get obnoxiously loud the drunker they get, I just get more tired and more disoriented. So it’s not that I’m a nuisance to anyone or anything. I just felt foolish, as if what little dignity that I had left after that night had been taken away from me, because I couldn’t even walk home without the firm grip of my friends steadying me. Thank goodness for friends.

I thought I was feeling a little bit better when I got home, but quickly got sick again. I quickly washed my face, and attempted to wash off the drawings Molly made on my arm, the interactive roadmap of what kinds of drinks I had, plus a few other drawings. I realized, later in the day on Saturday, that I had forgotten that Molly had also drawn an I ♥ MOM tattoo on one arm and an anchor on the other. Those were promptly washed off once I remembered their presence. My one priority, other than washing my face, was taking my contacts out, so I actually stood a chance of being able to open my eyes in the morning (so see, I clearly was thinking rationally to some extent!), and quickly threw on some pajamas. According to Molly, it was probably about 2:30 by the time I got home. So why in the world was I up the next morning at 9? Oh, that would be because I can never sleep late after I drink. While some people sleep off what they’ve drunk, I wake up and have to face it. And since that was the drunkest I had ever been, it was also my first hangover, not an experience I would recommend (because I was still feeling it on Sunday- yes, Sunday- night). The second I opened my eyes, I felt nauseous, and I had a killer headache. This was God’s way of punishing me, clearly: a headache and moderate-to-strong sensation of nausea for the rest of my life! Let’s just say I moved very slowly. Splashing some cold water on my face made me feel a little bit better, and I munched queasily on a granola bar so I could take Advil for my headache (after hundreds of warnings from my mom to never take it on an empty stomach, I was not really in a mood to see what would happen otherwise). I got back into bed, waiting for the medicine to take its effect, and attempted to read my latest Jodi Picoult novel (which, with all of my downtime this weekend, I finished, no problem, by lunchtime on Sunday). Bad idea. That made the headache worse. So, thinking that it could also be a bad idea, I popped Mamma Mia! into my computer, hoping that all of the bright colors and catchy music wouldn’t make my head spin even more. It actually turned out to be a nice distraction, and gave the meds time to start working.

Noelia, who was home for the weekend, called me in to lunch at 2:30, and when I looked on the table, I let out an internal groan. There was a cold vegetable salad with mayonnaise dressing. Mayonnaise. Perfect for my crying stomach. I took a few tiny bites and then pushed it away. And for the rest of the day, even the thought of the words “Bailey’s” or “whiskey” was enough to make my stomach churn and my hand fly over my mouth. So you can imagine that drinking ever again doesn’t sound too attractive at this point. But, after being reminded by my dad of the “don’t drink hard liquor after beer” rule, I feel like it can’t get much worse.

I realized, on Saturday, that, as painful an experience as the previous night had been, it did give me an interesting anecdote to tell. It turns out that drunkenness is the tie that binds. My parents just shook their heads and laughed, and my dad proceeded to tell me (probably for about the 10th time) about his bachelor party, where his ridiculous friends made him take shot after shot, while taking “shots” of water along with him. So he was absolutely sloshed, and they were still stone-cold sober. I believe the story also includes him sitting in the flatbed of one of his friends’ pickup trucks while they drove around D.C. trying to sober him up. What fantastic friends. That must have been a fun ride.

With all of that Friday-centered excitement, what other exciting things could possibly have happened? Well, on Sunday morning, we finally went to the market, the rastro, and I have to say, I was nonplussed. The grand majority of the stuff was complete junk- I was not tempted to buy a single thing (fooling myself into thinking that perhaps I don’t have a shopping problem! Although, with the exchange rate as bad as it is and the stark realization that I will have no money when I get home, shopping has sort of been placed on the back burner this year). Also, it was FREEZING!!!!!! The temperature decided, sometime in between when I stumbled back home after Friday night’s festivities and woke up on Saturday morning, that it was going to dip into the low-to-mid 40s again (weather that we haven’t had since probably the first week of March!). So we all thought we were going to die. I crawled right back into bed when I got home, and by the time I went out again a few hours later to go to a café, my fingers and toes were STILL freezing!
Also, we (Molly, Mary Kathryn and I) are heading to LONDONNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! on Friday! We’re spending the first leg of our spring break in Londontown, where we’re staying with Molly’s prodigal cousin, Beth, and are meeting up with Molly and MK’s friend from home, Jennifer (she’s studying at Sciences Po with Allie); then we’ll be moving on to Ireland. I have been beyond excited for this trip since the second we booked it in January (the first trip I booked this semester!), so I know this week of class is going to be excruciatingly long. But the gold at the end of the rainbow is so exciting that I can’t be too down in the dumps! If anyone has any suggestions of fun things to do in London and/or Cork, Killarney and Dublin, Ireland, feel free to let me know, and we’ll write them down in our Moleskines!!!!

I hope all is well with all of you!!!!! Thank you for all of the birthday wishes, and I’m sending all of you my love,

Kristen

P.S. As a very special last-minute addendum to this post, I wanted to tell you all how proud of a big sister I am (I’m always proud, but today especially so!), because last night, TIM GOT IN TO GEORGETOWN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We have been waiting for days to hear, thinking that the letter could come any day, but my parents called me very early this morning for the letter-opening moment and I got to hear the reaction live when he got in! He said he was shaking like a leaf- Georgetown will do that to you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was such a special moment, and, while I’m sad I didn’t get to be there in person, it gives me yet another reason to look forward to getting back to Georgetown next year!!!!!! (assuming Tim chooses Georgetown in the end, which I think will be the case, even though our parents want him to go through the motions of revisit days and whatnot). HOYA SAXA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here are some flamenco videos...let me know if they don't work

Catch-up

Old naval tower in Sevilla 

After our picnic in Plaza de España, Sevilla

Generalife, Granada

A random sampling of the architecture at the Alhambra

View from the Alhambra

View of the Alc

I know, you’re probably all cursing the heavens that I have an update about not one but two weekends, but what can I say? With only 3 days in between our return from Madrid and departure for Andalucia (not to mention a mother load of work to do before leaving), updating the blog about Madrid wasn’t really an option. But I’ll give you the bare-bones account of our Madrid experience:

We can say now that we’ve figured out the Madrid metro!!! And it isn’t at all hard, although, once you’re in a station, it can be hard to find the direction you want to go in, since you have to go down a labyrinth of hallways and sets of stairs, sometimes going through another train’s stop and other times going up and over another train, just to arrive at your destination. I know, it sounds bad, but the trains themselves are not at all complicated. We successfully made our way to the hostel, and the moment we walked in, I thought that, after having planned more trips than I can count this year, I had finally gotten it handed to me. The hostel consisted of a guy sitting behind a desk with a computer, so I was thinking, ‘Oh God, what have I gotten us in to? This is not at all legit.’ We also discovered that we were sharing a room with guys, which was absolutely fine, but I think we both would have liked a little bit of warning! The hostel was really centrally located, which was perfect, other than the fact that the street noise at night was ridiculous (and rather unfortunate for poor Miss Molly, who came down with a nasty cold/cough toward the end of last week and didn’t sleep much that first night). Saturday was filled with lots and lots of walking- to Plaza Mayor, the Palacio Real, the Thyssen Gallery and the Prado. It was a lot of fun to see all of those Madrid landmarks, but the best part was just getting a chance to talk to Lauren.

On the Madrid trip, Molly and I both rebelled against Spanish food, because we realized that all we eat in Salamanca is Spanish food- ethnic restaurants are really slim pickings. So for dinner on Friday, we went out for delicious Indian food (after having seen Slumdog Millionaire, which is an absolutely fantastic movie- so clearly, we had an Indian-themed night!). For lunch on Saturday, we got Thai food, and then this weekend, we got Moroccan in Granada. So it turns out that I like lots of different kinds of food, I just have to get tired enough of the kinds of food I’m eating to get in the mood for something else. Something else we’ve gotten really good at is making picnics for ourselves: both in Madrid and Andalucia, we went to the grocery store in Corte Inglés (our new favorite department store) and stocked up on bread, cheese, jam, and fruit, and then plop down somewhere for a feast of sorts.

Sunday was probably the highlight of Madrid for me, because we got to go to the Rastro, a HUGE open-air flea market! You’ll recall that I became something of a flea market hoar last semester, so obviously I was in heaven! I got some cute gifts, as well as a gorgeous Indian silk scarf for myself. Our last stop in Madrid was the Parque de Buen Retiro, which was incredible- a huge park with a man-made lake in the middle, and madrileños from all walks of life frolicking in the park on a Sunday afternoon. If I lived in Madrid, I would probably spend the majority of my time at Retiro!

After having had just three days’ worth of Salamanca time (and LOTS of homework the finish off!), Molly and I were on the road again, this time to Andalucia, the region in the very south of Spain that boasts cities like Sevilla, Granada and Córdoba. I had been to all three of those cities (even though we only covered Sevilla and Granada on this particular trip), and had some major moments of déjà vu at random spots along the way. It was really strange; the first time I noticed it was last weekend, when I was standing in Sol, the most important of Madrid's plazas after Plaza Mayor. I looked over at one spot, the wall of a particular building, and remembered standing in that exact same spot with my friends Cole and Jill three years ago during our Suffield spring break trip. I remember it because, as I was standing there, a bird pooped on my jacket, so this time, I just looked over at that spot and laughed. When we were in Sevilla this weekend, we walked by a particular restaurant and I said to Molly, "This is where my friends and I had pizza for lunch when we were here." I remembered, as we stood in Carlos V's palace (which is shaped like a circular theater and is a part of the Alhambra complex in Granada), that Mrs. Wiggin, one of our teachers and main chaperone for the Suffield trip, stood in the center and sang to us, because, given the building's shape, the acoustics were perfect for singing. On the bus ride back from Granada yesterday, our bus stopped at the EXACT same rest stop, and it was as if I was just there. It's amazing how much my mind retained of the little details of three years ago.

So we got in to Sevilla at 2 am on Thursday (we had a surprise long weekend, so I was able to scramble at the end of the previous week and threw together a trip so that we could leave on Wednesday), and were relieved to find that our hostel did, indeed, have a 24-hour reception. After a few hours of sleep, we explored the Jewish Quarter, Barrio Santa Cruz, with its abundance of stark whitewashed buildings, orange trees (the oranges there are too bitter to eat, though), and "kissing lanes", walkways between buildings that are so narrow that the temperature is a few degrees cooler (and, presumably, so narrow that you could kiss someone in the house across the street), perfect for oppressive Sevillian summer days. That brings me to another quick segue: the weather in Andalucia was GORGEOUS!!!! I was walking around in shorts, skirts, short sleeves and sandals all weekend, and was essentially in heaven. Anyway, after poking around that precious little barrio, we went to the Alcázar, an old Muslim palace (for those of you who don't know, Andalucia, and, more specifically, Granada, was the last Muslim stronghold in Spain). The Alcázar boasts gorgeous tile work, extensive gardens laden with palm trees, gorgeous Arabic carvings on traditional Middle Eastern-type doorways (rounded, with a point at the top), and the seamless integration of water features, both inside and outside the palace (I feel like I should be on HGTV for saying all of that!!!). As we walked along, Molly read, as usual, from Rick Steve's handy Spain guidebook, which has turned into a sort of Bible. When I want to know the background of some site, I ask her what Rick Steve has to say about it, and she cheerfully pulls it out of her bag, humoring me with Steve's at-times sarcastic descriptions of the cities we're wandering through. I may tease her about her attachment to the book, because it has been a lifesaver (for the most part- he did mention one museum, the house of some distinguished lady, that turned out to be the most boring museum I've ever gone to).

Given that we could do whatever we wanted with our time, we went and got an early lunch (because, to our utter delight, we weren't required to be home for comida at 2:30). We opted for something light at a little sidewalk café, and ordered a liter of sangria to drink leisurely along with our lunch. Well, not only were we ripped off (we paid 15€ for a liter), but it was also the strongest sangria I've ever had- to the point where it got both of us sloshed, Molly after three glasses and me after two. How embarrassing- we were tipsy at 1 o'clock in the afternoon! We decided that climbing to the top of the Cathedral would be a great way to get some exercise and sober up a little bit. So we started the climb (which turned out to be in the form of an incline, instead of stairs, as we had been expecting). Everything was going more or less fine until about the 20th side of the square, when a group of particularly rowdy and annoying schoolchildren were rushing at us. I was so focused on not running into them (because God knows they weren't making any room for me), that, in my state of nearly nonexistent motor skills, I tripped on a lip in the floor and went flying headfirst into a brick wall. Molly saw it happen, and, after an Advil taken at the top of the tower to ward off a headache, we had a good laugh about it. My pride was certainly injured more than my body, although I still do have a tender spot on my hairline. When we made our way back down to ground level, we rested for a little bit, before breaking through the nearly impenetrable line of old gypsy women offering us rosemary sprigs (we knew, seasoned travelers that we are, that their trick is to prey on unsuspecting tourists and offer them a rosemary sprig, read their palms, and then demand 5 euros). After stopping at Corte Inglés for picnic supplies, and being asked by a random old cab driver on the street if I was French, which made me happier than you will ever know, we grabbed coffee (Molly) and tea (me) and walked to Plaza de España, easily the most beautiful plaza I've ever seen. Scenes from Lawrence of Arabia and Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones were filmed there, and it proved to be a perfect, picturesque spot for our picnic dinner and a few minutes of relaxation after having walked around all day.

Then came the highlight of my Sevillian experience (and, I would venture to guess, Molly's). We went to our first flamenco show, at a place that the New York Times called the best place in the world to watch a flamenco show. And it didn't disappoint. The complexity of movement of the dancers and the ability of the singers to keep a perfect beat is incredible, and it is truly an experience of all of the senses. I was absolutely blown away by the singers', dancers' and guitar players' enviable talent.

On Friday, after a little bit more walking around, we boarded our bus for Granada. Out of all of our hostels, the one in Granada has been one of the best- the ambience was amazing, and structurally, it was a gorgeous building. To get to it, our cab drove through a street lined with Middle Eastern shops and tea houses, to the point where I thought I was in Morocco. Sadly, I don't think we'll be able to make it to Morocco in April as we had originally planned, because it will really be getting down to academic crunch time at that point and we need all the time we can get to do homework, but I felt like I got a little taste of it in Granada. We woke up early on Saturday morning, because Celia (our program coordinator, who is from Granada) told us that her brother, who works at a hotel that is a part of the Alhambra complex, could get us entrance tickets for 10 that morning and that we should be at the hotel by 9. Well, we showed up and there was no Carlos. Not only was he not working, but, according to his coworkers, there were no tickets. We were really pissed. Celia called later to tell us how sorry she was, that Carlos had thought that we wanted tickets for Sunday. So it wasn't really her fault, but we still had to wait in line for tickets, and couldn't get them until the 2:30 entrance time. So we walked back down to the city and then back up another hill to a church called San Nicolás, which has a viewing area with incredible views of the Alhambra itself. Then, we did a little bit of souvenir shopping for friends and saw the Cathedral before heading back up to the Alhambra.

Of course, the Alhambra was well worth the trouble we went through to get tickets. The Alhambra is the palace of the former Moorish leaders of Granada, and, although I had been there before, it didn't cease to blow me away. The architectural precision and detail is out of this world, and it is one of the most beautiful complexes I've ever seen. Not to mention that it has the best panoramic view of Granada below. It is just breathtakingly beautiful, and brilliantly showcases Spain's Muslim past. Within the complex is the Alhambra itself (the palace), the gardens, a fort, and the Generalife, which is another home of sorts. So it took us about 2 1/2 hours to get through the entire thing. When we were finished, we went back into town and found a little tea house to sit in, which was really cute. Then we dodged some raindrops and went back to our hostel, where we showered and relaxed for a couple of hours. We had seen what looked like a really cute Moroccan place on our way back, so we had a delicious couscous and vegetable dinner there. We went to a couple of bars and got drinks (I tried my first mojito, which was really good!), and then hit the sack to prepare for a long day of traveling.

And long it was. You know the feeling when you want to disapparate and apparate in another place seconds later, like in Harry Potter? Well that's what yesterday felt like. We had to take a bus from Granada to Madrid (because, apparently, all roads lead to Madrid and we can't avoid traveling through it), and then another from Madrid to Salamanca. By the time we boarded our second bus, the wheels were really starting to fall off. We were both tired and whiny, and I sensed I was getting whatever cold Molly had last weekend in Madrid (which turned out to be true). So we stumbled off the bus in Salamanca in complete shambles, and, after getting some work done, talking to my family, and posting pictures on Facebook (of course!), I got some sleep.

This week promises to be an exciting one. For one, today is my last day of being 20 years old, and even though 21 doesn't mean a thing here, I'm still excited. Tomorrow, I think we're going to go out to dinner, and then the actual partying part of my birthday will happen on Friday night (mostly because both Molly and I have a 9am class on Wednesday, and plus, I need to give myself time to recover from this cold!). And tomorrow, Molly and I have decided to break Lent and get a birthday cake from our favorite French pastry place. So basically, we'll just sit around eating cake while we're not in class. It's going to be excellent. Also, this is probably the week that Tim is going to hear from Georgetown, and I'm crossing my fingers more than you can imagine. So far, he's only gotten one waitlist letter (and the rest are acceptances), so I'm very proud of him, but I would love it if he could be a Hoya too so I could share the most amazing school in the world with him. So if you're reading this, I would really appreciate it if you could say a little prayer for him!!! I know how happy he would be if he got in, so I've had my phone by my side nonstop, waiting for the call (whatever the outcome may be).

As always, I'm sending all of you my love,

Kristen

Saliendo en Salamanca

Molly and I have spent a lot of time lately whining about how lame we are, how we never go out and have no friends. I guess both of these statements are at least partially true. We do go out every once in awhile, but I know that, for me, since I have class 3 days a week at 9am and the other day at 10am, going out on a weeknight is not at all an attractive idea. I really do think, too, that the fact that dinner is so late deters me from going out, because we often don’t finish dinner until 9:45 or 10, at which point all I want to do is get in my bed and go to sleep. I’m tired enough in class (I’ve never been one to fall asleep in class at Georgetown, but here, every class is a struggle to stay awake) having gotten seven or so hours of sleep at night, so I can only imagine what I would be like if I got any less than that. I would probably look like death warmed over. So yes, I do feel lame, but, at least during the week, I’m not at all willing to sacrifice the few precious hours of sleep I have to go out. Also complicating matters is the fact that the after-dinner hours are the most in-demand Skype times, so I most often choose catching up with family and friends, which is obviously very important to me.

And as for our whining about the fact that we have no friends, that’s also somewhat true. Since we don’t go out very much, we haven’t really met Spanish students, and there is little hope for interaction with them in our classes. This could be for one of a few reasons: 1) Spanish students don’t want to put forth the effort to interact with us because we’ll be here for a semester and then will go back home, never to be heard from again; 2) Ignorance, as our Spanish tutor told us- many Spanish students have never left their hometowns, so they are just on completely different levels than we are, because they can’t really understand going away from home to go to school, and for many of us, we can’t imagine NOT going away to school; or 3) we aren’t confident enough in our ability to express ourselves in Spanish (or in our coolness!) to interact with Spanish students. But in any case, it has been a struggle. I have made a couple of friends in my classes (all foreign students), but, up until this weekend, our friendship has never gotten to the point where we would hang out outside of class. But in class on Thursday, Alexa, a French friend who is in two of my classes, invited me to a botellón at her house on Friday night. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term (to tell you the truth, I wasn’t either, and had to ask Molly what it was, figuring that she would have learned about it in tutoring), it’s essentially a house party, but you bring your own liquor. I was really excited to be invited to something, and thought it would be a good networking opportunity.

Another networking opportunity presented itself thanks to Jimmy, our Peruvian friend who we met at Carnaval (the one who patiently explained, to us three stupid American girls, how bullfights work!). He has been trying to get together with us for weeks, and we finally felt so bad (we had been away some of the times he called, or he wanted us to go out during the week) that we said we would meet up with him on Thursday night. We met for coffee on Wednesday night, and we made plans to go to Savor, a salsa club. Molly and I got all dolled up and walked down to Savor (in the freezing cold, I might add), only to find that there was no one dancing. In fact, there was a poetry reading, and only older people were there. Hmmm. Luckily, Jimmy called again and suggested meeting in the Plaza, so we met up with him there and walked over to Niebla, a bar that we’ve been to several times. After some drinks (vodka y limón for me, rum and coke for Molly), we danced (there is really never dancing at Niebla, but there was some sort of special party) and got to meet some of Jimmy’s friends (another Peruvian, a Japanese woman who was apparently 35, some French people, and others whose nationalities I’m not sure about). After awhile, we walked over to another bar, which had more Latin music (whereas Niebla almost exclusively plays American tunes, which led to another of Molly’s thesis epiphanies, where she decided she would write her thesis on the pervasiveness of American music). We got a coupon for a second drink free, but after downing a Mahou, I was DEFINITELY very tipsy and not in any shape to drink anymore. The others were getting sort of restless too, so we headed over to Savor, losing some of the group along the way.

Jimmy is an instructor at Savor (other than being a bar, they also offer salsa lessons), so he was obviously an amazing dancer. He and Molly went on the dance floor right away, and I was sitting looking at my pictures, the others in the group sitting around me. A guy came up to me and asked if I had ever danced salsa before, and when I said that I had been to a salsa club once- in France- and am a horrible salsa dancer, he asked if I wanted to dance. So I left my bag with the other girls and let him teach me how to salsa. I think I was a pretty typical beginner in that I was very rigid- basically because I didn’t really know what to do- but he actually gave me really good advice, which was that, when he moved his feet one way, I should mirror him. And he was right, it was a LOT easier! So I was having fun, dancing off some of my tipsiness. He asked if I wanted a drink, so obviously I jumped at the chance for a free one. We were standing by the bar talking for awhile- he was shocked that I spoke Spanish, and said I spoke it very well (I never know what to think when people tell me this, though- are they just being nice?). He spoke some English- he had been living in Boston- but we mainly spoke in Spanish. Everything was going fine, and then he asked if I had a boyfriend. Uh oh, I could sense where this was going. Apparently all Spanish guys do think the same (he’s 25, by the way). I said that I had a boyfriend, and asked if he had a girlfriend. He said that he did, in Ecuador, and asked if that bothered me. What an awkward question. What did he expect me to say? We talked for a little while longer, and he asked if I wanted to go out. As in on a date. Apparently he had no regard for my fictional American boyfriend. He also told me I had beautiful eyes- so basically, he lived up to all of my stereotypes of Spanish men. I said that I would like to go out, lying through my teeth of course, and gave him a false phone number. He said he was going to run to the bathroom, and I took that as a cue to scurry back to my seat, done with that adventure. Luckily, he didn’t follow me. Sure, he was charming, (and good-looking) but what did he expect me to do? Completely disregard my relationship with my aforementioned fictional American boyfriend to go out with him? I feel like, when Spanish guys (well, actually, some French guys too- remember the one at the bar in Nice???) hear that a girl is from the US, they immediately assume that we are so slutty and can’t resist their charm so much that we’ll sleep with them, just because they’re European. I’m a little offended, sometimes, that they automatically assume that about us (although I guess I’m just assuming all Spanish guys are skeezy until I’m proven wrong, so maybe I shouldn’t judge!).

I hadn’t been back in my seat for five minutes when an African guy came up to me and asked me to dance- literally stood right behind me and got right in my face. I was having spatial issues anyway after my drinks, so he seemed especially close, but it made me uncomfortable. I relented and said I’d dance with him, but after one dance I was done. Luckily, Molly came back over soon after, and we recounted our respective Savor experiences. By that point, it was the respectable hour of four, so, being that we were exhausted from all of the dancing (and also from the drinks), we headed home. Jimmy was very impressed with my experience with “sweater guy” (the one who asked me out), who, I should say, looked like he was on his way to the Hamptons to go to the White Party (white pants, shirt, Chucks, and sweater draped around his shoulders like a Polo model). Think Chuck Bass, and you’ll be pretty close.

On Friday night, after having endured a painful post-drinking workout and a few hours in a café doing work, we went to the botellón. We really weren’t sure what to expect, so got progressively more nervous as we walked towards Alexa’s apartment. She lives in one of the student residences, so can have friends over (which is a total novelty for those of us who are living with host families this semester). When we got there, there were only people from francophone countries, which was great for me, but a little bit uncomfortable for Molly, so we just spoke to them in Spanish, and I somehow managed to work into conversations, when they asked what I was studying, that I’m a French major and studied in Strasbourg last semester. Everyone was very impressed, and Molly and I were really shocked that people were shocked to find that we, two Americans- gasp!- speak Spanish. That really speaks multitudes about our reputation abroad, so I hope I’m helping to change that a little bit!

At first, it was a little awkward, because we didn’t know anyone besides Alexa, but as people came trickling in, we met some new people, and actually got the chance to interact with some people who we recognized from our classes. It was a lot of fun, and we interacted the most with a group of 2 Belgians, a Luxembourgeoise (since I don’t know the work in English!) and a Spaniard. We went out to a bar with them afterward, but it was so crowded- there LITERALLY wasn’t any space to move around- that none of us lasted very long. So it was a relatively early night (we got home at about 2), but, like I was hoping, we made a lot of good connections, so hopefully we can go out with these people again! The two of us were practically dancing on our way home, exclaiming, “We have friends!”. We’re such dorks.

I hope everything is going well with all of you, and, as always, I'm sending you my love,

Kristen

Extremadura

Cigognes/cigüeñas

Cáceres

Old man reading the Sunday paper in Cáceres

Having my Disney Princess moment

Plaza Mayor, Mérida

At the finca

Our room 

Trujillo

At the amphitheater in Mérida

Georgetown group in Mérida

This weekend marked the Georgetown group's first weekend group trip, and, given that I really didn't know what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it!  Extremadura is the region just south of Castilla-León, which is where Salamanca is.  Like our region, it is located along the Portuguese border, and its climate and architecture more closely resemble that of Andalucia, the south of Spain (where cities like Sevilla, Granada and Córdoba are) than the colder temperatures and more classical architecture of the north.  

On Friday, we took a four-hour bus ride to Mérida, a town filled with Roman ruins.  We got to our hotel, which had been converted from a monastery (it was actually really neat, and, weirdo that I am, I kept trying to picture monks walking down the halls, candles in hand to illuminate the way and chanting, or whatever it is that monks do) and had free time to explore.  Molly and I were wandering around looking for dinner; poor Molly, who is fruit and vegetable-deprived, seeing that her host mom seems to be morally opposed to both, just wanted to get some fruit, but alas, the grocery stores were already closed (Spain, we shake our fists at you).  After realizing that, after a month-and-a-half in Spain, we still don't know the majority of the things that are on a menu, which makes it really difficult to order things from a restaurant.  So we finally decided on Telepizza, the equivalent of Dominos or Pizza Hut (so we're not talking high quality cuisine here).  We sat in the Plaza Mayor, modest compared to Salamanca's, with a small fountain in the middle, and munched on our takeout pizza.  We were also FINALLY able to get our claras (beer with lemon soda).  They were really good, and well worth the wait!  We scurried back to our hotel, because we had seen that Pirates of the Caribbean was playing at 10, but, to our disappointment, we couldn't find the channel.  And then I realized that I've never done pay-per-view at a hotel.  I wouldn't even have the slightest idea how to do it!  So we basically crashed.  

Saturday was full of touring.  With full stomachs (Spanish hotel breakfasts are pretty amazing, and Molly was pretty much salivating over the abundance of fruit!), we headed off with our guide, Marco, for a walking tour of the city.  The most important aspect of the tour was the Roman ruins, which, over the years, have been excavated from layers and layers of soil.  We saw the remains of a house (floor tiles and all), and then what I can only describe as a Colosseum-esque structure (where we were horrified to discover that women couldn't even sit with their husbands in the first tier- they had to sit in the third tier with the poor viewers).  We then walked over to the amphitheater and then took a short tour of the National Roman Ruins Museum, which was really interesting.  By this point in the day, we figured out that we had landed ourselves another character of a guide.  Marco broke into random outbursts of song (the most random of American songs, at that), and, every once in awhile, would throw in a few English words.  His English was British English, which was strange for us to hear, because I guess we're used to hearing American English when we hear English.  He had a little joke with all of us; for example, I was Mary Poppins, because, in Mérida, I had Molly take a picture of me with my umbrella.  From then on, I was Mary Poppins.  He especially liked Pam's head of curly hair, calling her things like "Dũena Ross" (Diana Ross).  We all had some good laughs.

On Saturday afternoon, after a short bus ride, we arrived in Trujillo, our next city.  We visited yet another castle, and roamed the streets.  The scenery around Trujillo got us in the Ireland mindset (actually, I just booked all of our Irish hostels today for spring break!), with it's rolling green hills and odd rock formations.  After our tour, we drove to a farm, finca Santa Marta, the home (well, probably the second or third home) of a retired Dutch diplomat and his family that they have converted into a B&B of sorts.  Not that Salamanca is a big, bustling city (on the contrary, it's small and, well, sort of dull), but it turns out that it was just what I needed to get out of the city for a few days and commune with nature, as hokey as that sounds!  I was in my element at the finca, which I think could be the definition of bucolic.  When Celia told us we were staying at a farm, I was sort of expecting that we'd be sleeping on palates on the ground in the barn or something.  But I was pleasantly surprised to see that we were sleeping in charming little rooms with Dutch doors (perfect for Disney princess moments; see pictures) and cute décor.  The one problem we all had was that the water was brown, which didn't stop us all from showering but led to some complaining.  At least we didn't have bugs in our room, which some of the other girls did.  I was exhausted at about midnight, but Molly and I ended up staying up until about 2:30 swapping childhood anecdotes, which was well worth staying up for.  I'm sure everyone else could hear us laughing through the thin walls.  

On Sunday morning, we had a leisurely breakfast in the dining room of the farm and then went for a nice stroll around the grounds.  I felt like I was Anne Shirley and Finca Santa Marta was my Avonlea.  It was gorgeous, with cherry blossoms, little flowers, and stone walls lining the dirt roads.  I honestly didn't want to leave.  But unfortunately, we had to, in order to make our next stop in Cáceres, Marco's hometown.  The thing that differentiates Cáceres from most other cities, he explained, is that, within the old city walls, no new buildings have been constructed, so everything is authentic.  We had another entertaining tour with Marco, capped off by the horrifying discovery that cigognes, such a constant fixture as a symbol of Alsace, also exist in Extremadura, and are called cigüeñas.  Just my luck!  I thought I was getting away from all of the cigogne stuffed animals and paraphenelia when I left Strasbourg, but I knew, when I saw strings of stuffed animals hanging from gift shop awnings, that I had NOT escaped!  After lunch, we came back home, not at all wanting to get back into the normal class routine!

One of the things I realized before we left on Friday was that Sunday, yesterday, would be the first day of March, my favorite month for many reasons.  This year, though, March seems like any other month.  I won't be back at school celebrating my birthday with my friends (and family, if they made the journey down to D.C. like they did my freshman year).  I won't be going to Florida with my family for spring break (so you can imagine how jealous I am that my mom gets a head start on her tanning!).  And oh, can't forget March Madness!  Let's just say that this year is a rebuilding year for my Hoyas, and their chances of making it to the Big Dance are slim to none, so, like my dad keeps telling me, it's a good year to be away.  But I feel like I'm caught in some sort of strange basketball limbo.  I vaguely know what's going on with the team, thanks to emails and Facebook posts from family and friends, but I feel so removed from it all that I am certainly not following the team with the same intensity that I have in years past.  Oh well, that just means I can start anew next year, ready to spend a good chunk of my free time outside Verizon and trying desperately to get in good running shape so as to give me the best chance possible of getting my seats.  This is probably boring you, but it's a big part of my life, so I thought I should mention it!

While I'm on the subject of things I'm missing, I was just reading Allie's blog, where she was talking about questioning her decision to come abroad and having to sacrifice being at home for her brother's 18th birthday and high school graduation and miss all sorts of other important life events at home and at Georgetown.  I can really sympathize with what she's going through, and I find that I'm in a constant struggle with myself to get past those feelings.  Thanksgiving was by far the worst- even though it's not a particularly big deal in my family (we eat our body weight in stuffing, turkey, cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie just like your average American family), the fact that my entire family (including my grandparents) was together but I wasn't with them was really painful.  But in terms of things on the horizon, it makes me really sad that I'll miss Tim's graduation (even though he couldn't care less about whether or not his embarrassing older sister comes to his high school graduation).  It doesn't make sense for me to go home, especially since I'll be in the middle of finals, but it still kills me that I won't be there.  And speaking of Tim, he'll be finding out within the next two or three weeks where he's going to college, and I can't help but think that I'm as nervous as he is (even though I know that's not true!)!!!!!!!

So what do we have to look forward to within the next few weeks?  This weekend, we're going to do a day trip (probably to Toledo), followed by, hopefully, a visit to Madrid the weekend after that, and Portugal the next weekend.  And a month from tomorrow, we'll be in London, so I can't WAIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  All of these exciting trips will help us (I hope) get through the drudgery of classes!!!!

I hope all is well with you, and, as always, I'm 

Sending you my love,

Kristen