De la perspective

I have now been home from Europe for about 2 1/2 months, and I wanted to update you about how I'm feeling about my European adventure after having been removed from it for a few months. Since I've gotten home, I have spent a lot of time showing off my scrapbooks to family and friends- between family gatherings and seeing friends at Winnipesaukee, lots of people have asked to hear about my experience. When I was in the same situation after having returned from France, that of showing off my scrapbook, I came to resent it a little bit; I had spent so much time looking forward to getting home, and now I had to revisit the entire experience for essentially every member of my family. But this time, going through each travel experience and each adventure brought a smile to my face as I described trekking across Europe, both during my semester in France and the one in Spain. The truth is, I find myself missing Europe very often (to be honest, I miss France every day), and little things happen on a daily basis to remind me of this past year and how much I have grown.

For example, I watched "Vantage Point" with my parents last night. I had seen the movie before, but after having gone abroad, I found that I had a different perspective on the movie. It is supposed to take place in Salamanca, but it doesn't take much, after having spent a semester in that city, that nothing (at least not that I could see) in the movie took place in Salamanca, other than an opening-scene panning shot of the salmantino skyline. Much of the movie takes place in the Plaza Mayor (it is actually Mexico City's Plaza), and, even having not seen the Plaza for 2 1/2 months, I was infuriated at its lack of similarity to the real thing (granted, they probably found one that was about the closest they could get, but Salamanca's Plaza is still very unique, not to mention incredibly beautiful). Imagine my surprise at my sudden allegiance to a city that I abhorred by the time of my departure for Paris, my anger at the fact that the movie wasn't actually filmed in the city where I studied (I found myself telling my dad that, "The streets look nothing like that," "there are not highways like that right in the city" and "that is NOT what the Plaza looks like"!). Now, this is not to say that I would go back to Salamanca- in fact, that thought couldn't be farther from my mind- but I DO think Salamanca should have gotten the press it deserves by having the movie filmed there. Because, like I have said before, Salamanca is an incredibly beautiful city- classically beautiful.

When I got home, I told anyone that asked that I had hated Spain, but, as time has passed, I have become a little more muted and diplomatic in my answer. I loved so many cities and regions that we visited in Spain: Barcelona was such an interesting, cultural city, and it was a great spot to have a Georgetown reunion (although people from Cataluña would not be happy to hear you say that their region is a part of Spain); Andalucia is one of the most beautiful places I have ever visited, with stark white buildings with yellow trim to shield their inhabitants from the brutal summer heat, the gorgeous old Muslim palaces that perfectly highlight Spain's complex past, and the friendly people (I still remember that jovial old cab driver in Sevilla who won me over when he asked if I was French); and my mind was sort of changed in favor of Madrid (although my night in the airport was a definite strike against it) after seeing an English movie, eating some amazing pizza and Indian food, spending a lazy afternoon in Parque de Buen Retiro and having my first-and most mindblowing- experience at El Corte Inglés; Asturias was a gorgeous mix of national forest (I will never forget the cows being herded up the mountain as we drove by) and beach (the beautiful seaside town of Gijon was unforgettable). But what I have decided about Spain is that, while it is a wonderful country to visit, I hated living there. The lifestyle is too slow-paced for me during the day (and too fast-paced at night!), and I can't say that I am in love with Spaniards. On the contrary, they are not as nice as I was expecting them to be (although there were certainly exceptions), and the sketchiness factor really bothered me.

Now for France. It's coming up on the first anniversary of my arrival in France (September 6th). My dad and I were talking today about my tearful (to put it mildly) departure from Logan- how overwhelmed I was, both to leave my family and at the thought that I had brought too much stuff. But I still remember arriving at 9 Rue de Londres, completely sleep-deprived and disoriented. I finally made it into the apartment (thanks to the help of some very nice people from the building!), and met Angelita for the first time. I went in and saw my room, and the first thing that Angelita noticed was that my suitcase had tracked some dirt in. 'Great,' I remember thinking, 'what a way to start off my time here.' But, aside from the whole academic part of the semester, which I would care not to revisit ever again (thank God I passed all of my 7 classes), I fell in love with Strasbourg, and, more broadly, France. France is, quite simply, misunderstood, and there is a plethora of unfair stereotypes about the French. But I learned that, even though I had been quick to defend the French before having lived in the country, spending a semester there made my defense of them even more staunch. As with any country, trying to speak the language (however many difficulties I had with this at first) automatically gives you brownie points. One of the biggest things I learned this year is that you have to be open-minded and embrace the differences of your host country (because, let's face it, both France and Spain have their own quirks, some lovable and others not). I absolutely see myself returning to France in the future, hopefully to live and work there.

So what has life been like post-study abroad? Well, kind of ordinary. I suppose I got my reverse culture shock within five minutes of arriving back in the US, because, as I flew into Atlanta, I was surrounded by thick Southern accents. But I was surprised at what an easy transition it has been. After six weeks of a babysitting job, we were off to Winnipesaukee, where all problems and stress disappear. My dad put it nicely in saying that things had really come full-circle for me over the past year: we went to the Lake last July/August, then I spent a year jet-setting around Europe, only to return to Paradise this summer. It was exactly what I needed, two weeks of 10 people that I love dearly in a spot that can only be described as absolute perfection. I had an existential crisis of sorts the night before we returned home: I was sitting on the dock, huddled in the Adirondack chair and looking at the beautiful stars. I couldn't help but wonder where I'll be next year after I graduate (yikes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). If I have a job, I may not be able to get time off to go to the Lake next summer. And trying to imagine a summer without the Lake and my Lake family made me cry. But I'm hoping for the best; obviously I hope to be employed by this time next year! In the meantime, though, I'm planning on making the most of my final year on the Hilltop, because senior year will only come around once.

I may or may not add more entries to this blog, and in case I don't, I wanted to thank everyone who not only read and commented on this blog but also supported me throughout fail over the past year. I appreciated all of your wonderful messages so much, and they really helped get me through the experience. As always, I'm sending you my love,

Kristen

Some reflections at year's end

This is going to sound really cliché, but it feels really weird to be writing this right now.  It seems like the end of an era (dramatic, I know, but true).  From the moment I arrived on the Hilltop, I looked forward to studying abroad, and now I feel as though my life will be measured in two categories, "before going abroad" and "after going abroad", in terms of the experiences I've had, how I've grown, and what I've learned about myself.  I realize, more than ever, how lucky I am, and I am eternally grateful to my parents for giving me so much support (both financial and emotional) throughout this process, even though I know it can't have been easy all the time.  And of course, I could not have made it through this year without all of you, other members of my family and friends.  It's always nice to know that someone is thinking about you, even when you're an ocean away.

What I'm about to say is not what you're supposed to say, because I'm making a distinction between people who have studied abroad and those who haven't.  But I think that what a lot of people don't know about studying abroad is that it is a very up-and-down experience.  In my own personal experience, every day is different, and there can be positives and setbacks throughout a given day.  Some days, you can be having the time of your life, and the next day, you could be calling your mom crying.  In that way, it's sort of a microcosm of the dreaded "real world," any college student's nightmare (only, in my case, there were also language barriers involved).  To anyone on the outside, it's easy to fall into the trap of thinking that study abroad is the most amazing experience you'll ever have, and you don't even consider the possible setbacks involved.  Which is not to say that I've had a horrible experience, but I just think it's important to understand that it isn't always easy.  I didn't spend my entire year traveling endlessly, I DID have to go to school (although school in France was far more rigorous than in Spain!), and deal with difficult people and situations.  So I understand that, when I tell all of you the frustrating things that have happened, it would be easy for you to think that I'm being whiney or ungrateful.  But the thing about study abroad is, the negatives are the easiest for outsiders to understand, because the small linguistic and cultural victories that you experience daily are not extraordinary, so it's easy to overlook them and focus on the negatives.  But I am a huge believer in studying abroad (however, I believe in a realistic view of studying abroad).  I have gotten to see so many special places this year, meet so many new people, and generally expand my horizons and be more open to others.  

My dad told me when I got home from France that I had matured so much over those three-and-a-half months.  At first, I was thinking, 'Gee thanks, Dad, I didn't realize I was so immature beforehand,' but it's always harder to see growth when you're the person doing the growing.  But I can definitely say now that I have come out of this experience more self-assured.  Of course, I still have insecurities (who doesn't?), but I feel much more aware and certain of what I want out of life.  That isn't to say I have an answer to everyone and their brother who will ask me in the coming year, "What do you want to do with your life?," because honestly, I don't know.  Unlike European students, who are hyper-specialized in college so that they know exactly what they'll be doing with their lives when they enroll in college, I think American students have the benefit of a system that is more fluid.  What you do right after college isn't necessarily what you'll be doing for the rest of your life; in fact, I read somewhere that the typical American changes careers five or six times in their lifetime, with complete career overhauls not at all uncommon.  So who knows what I'll be doing at this time next year?  Because really, in this economy, I would be happy just being employed!

A lot of people ask me if I preferred one country or another out of the two I studied in this semester.  I think Molly put it really well.  She saw me, the second we got to France (we hadn't even left the airport yet), when I had stars in my eyes and a grin spread across my face.  The first time I spoke French, I felt as though I had never stopped, but, at the same time, I felt like a hole that had been there this past semester was suddenly being filled.  It was a fantastic feeling.  Molly told me that she could understand how I felt all this past semester, when I was missing France and speaking French, because that's how she felt when we left Spain and went to France.  Whereas I had had a French antenna when we were in Spain that would go up whenever I heard that language, she was giddy every time she heard someone speaking Spanish in France.  I didn't hate Spain, but I didn't love it by any stretch of the imagination.  In fact, at some points I downright resented it.  My poor parents must be thinking what a waste of their money it was to send me to a country that I ended up not even liking, but I think that my semester in Spain was important in that it reinforced in my own mind how much I love France, its language and its culture.  So next semester, I am taking three French classes, not a single Spanish class, and am dropping Spanish down to a minor (I will have completed the minor if I pass my classes from this semester, which I'm pretty sure I did).  I realized that there wasn't any use in continuing on as a Spanish major if I couldn't see myself living in Spain, the origin of castellano.  But I had no way of coming to this conclusion without having lived there for some amount of time.  It was interesting, though, because when I was on my final plane out of Europe, from London to Atlanta, my heart ached not for Spain but for France.  But nonetheless, I loved traveling around Spain (I loved Barcelona and Andalucia), but I knew almost right away that the Spanish lifestyle is not for me, and that France is much more suited to my personality (and friends that have been to both countries have said that they can see why I feel that way). 

My goal in life is to become an expat for at least some amount of time.  I had been to Paris twice before, but the first time was with People to People and the second was with my high school, so we literally only did the ultra-touristy things.  But this time, I got to experience so much more of Paris.  Sure, we still did touristy things, but I liked being able to pretend I was French, standing in the metro wearing black, carrying my Longchamps bag and responding in French to anyone who started up a conversation.  And I don't mean to sound uppity, like oh, I can pull off being French better than you can, but it was great to be able to have the language skills to pretend.  Sure, boulangerie owners still looked at me funny when I asked them if a particular pastry had nuts in it (I'm beginning to suspect that the French are just not allergic to nuts), but I was almost always able to get my point across.  I became a pro at navigating the metro, I relied on the maps in my handy little Moleskine rather than pulling out my huge touristy map, and I felt so AT HOME in that city.  I want to go to a café on a Sunday afternoon and people-watch in the seats on the terrace, daintily sipping a cup of tea (because even after 9 months in Europe, I've given up all hope of ever liking coffee!).  I want to ride the disgusting, old metro.  I want to go to museums on the first Sunday of the month, when they're all free.  Imagine, being able to see Monets for free!!!!!  I want to go to the theater, the opera, the ballet.  I want to be a stone's throw away from other European jems (imagine, two hours from London by Chunnel!!!!!!).  I want to go to the boulangerie every morning and pick up a fresh baguette, and go to the market to get fresh fruits and vegetables.  I want to meet up with friends to go shopping at the gorgeous Galeries Lafayette, and take a romantic walk along the Seine with the handsome French man that I'll marry someday (fat chance of the last one happening!).  I understand that Paris is an incredibly expensive city to live in, and there's no way I would be able to afford to live there right out of college, but who knows, maybe I'll get an incredible job offer there someday.  

Don't think that, just because I am enamored with the City of Lights, I am somehow denying my Americanness.  I was so excited to get off that plane and hear English spoken, walk through the grocery store and have actual choices, have things be open on Sundays, have other tall people around me and thus not feel like an object to be gawked at.  But I think it's possible to embrace two cultures.  And while I know that I complained a lot when I was in Strasbourg, I chalk that complaining up to the ridiculous academic system that is based on zero class participation and zero original thought.  But I fell in love with France itself, and found myself sticking up for the French more than ever.

I think the biggest thing that I've learned about myself this year is that I AM independent.  Being independent is something that I've aspired to since I went away to college, because I felt like I never really burst out of my shell until then.  But I have proven to myself that I can survive in a foreign country on my own, and that is a big accomplishment for me!  I think one of the major problems I had with my Spanish host mom is that she was stifling that independence (however inadvertently), whereas my own parents had never done that; on the contrary, they always nudged me to try to get me to be a little bit more independent.  Even a year ago, I would have called my mom on the phone crying.  I don't do that anymore, both because I know my parents don't respond to that, and also because I've realized that I need to figure things out on my own.  I can make decisions for myself, and I trust myself to make the right ones.  I think this newfound realization of my independence will serve me well during my last year at Georgetown, in preparation for life in the real world.  I didn't realize before I went abroad how much I needed to grow up (which is not to say I'm a full-grown adult now, but I have definitely noticed that I'm far more mature than when I left for Strasbourg at the beginning of September).  Hopefully I can take this, and other things that I've learned about myself, with me for the rest of my life.  

Thank you to all of you who have been reading my blog this year and have commented on the things you've read!  It makes me happy that someone is reading it after the hard work and thought that I put into it!  I'll probably write more about my experiences and reflections as the summer goes on and I gain more distance from the situation of the past year, so stay tuned!!!!!!!

Sending you my love,

Kristen

La ville de mes rêves

Moi, au bord de la Seine

After the joke that was exams (I had a THREE-WEEK exam period, which, in my opinion, is about two weeks too long), I said my final, tearless goodbyes to Salamanca, and Molly and I headed off to Paris for our final Eurotrip (more on this tearless goodbye in my next, study abroad year wrap-up post).  I had been looking forward to this trip since, oh, about February, when we booked our tickets, and I figured that it would be the perfect bookend to my year in Europe.  Understatement.  I couldn't have asked for a better note to end the year on.  

I'll save my specific feelings about being back in France for my last entry, but let me just start by mentioning the day trips we made from Paris.  The Tuesday after we arrived, Molly and I went to Roland Garros/Les Internationaux de France/The French Open.  That was my first experience in the magical land of terre battue, and it was marvelous.  I met a cute British guy on the metro on our way to Roland Garros, so I knew it was going to be a good day.  But once we got to the stadium, I couldn't help but feel like I was at some sort of temple of tennis greatness.  Roland Garros is where careers are made, and a title there can be the most elusive, making it the greatest of triumphs for those few lucky enough to win there.  We were on Court Suzanne Lenglen, which is the second court (I couldn't get us tickets for Philippe Chatrier, a.k.a Centre Court); I had entered the raffle for tickets on the French Open website, and ended up getting them (but let me clear up the fact that we DID have to pay for those tickets, we didn't WIN them).  But even without being on Centre Court, I was walking around with stars in my eyes, because now I have seen two of the four Grand Slams (I have probably been to the US Open 6 times, so now all that remains is a trip to Wimbledon and then to the Australian Open).  The two matches we saw (Robin Soderling easily defeated Nikolay Davydenko, and Dominika Cibulkova creamed Maria Sharapova, much to my delight) were not all that exciting, but just being there, the place I have seen on TV since I was probably four or five years old, was magical.  I loved hearing the crowd whistle every time the chair umpire jumped down from his chair to locate a mark when a line call was contested, I loved the distinct sound of the French cheer, the roaring "Ouayyyyyyyy" that surrounded me, and I loved the distinct terra cotta red of the clay that was caked on the players' shoes by the end of each match.  Of course, just like at the US Open, there were the annoying people who just want to be seen among the beautiful people and don't give a shit about tennis, but I still had an incredible time!

Me and "Rafa"

Molly and I at Roland Garros

On the Thursday of that week, Molly, Allie, Molly's cousin Kerry and I went to Giverny, an hour's train ride outside the city, to visit Monet's country château.  We rented bikes at the train station and, about a half-hour later, were at the Monet Museum.  After a picnic lunch of wine (a bottle of birthday red that Allie had bought for me), bread, cheese, apples and cookies that other tourists eyed longingly, we explored the gardens that were the inspiration for so many of Monet's famous tableaux, including the pond where he painted Waterlilies (Nympheas), which is truly breathtaking.  The entire compound was gorgeous, and the perfect escape from the hustle and bustle of the city for the day.  

The pond where Monet painted Waterlilies

Kerry, me, Molly and Allie in Giverny 

On that Saturday, Allie and I went to Strasbourg for the day.  I had long been looking forward to going back to Strasbourg, and I was so happy to be back and have the opportunity to show Allie around.  The city was different than I remembered it: for one thing, there were leaves on the trees, as opposed to a color palette of grays; and the city, other than the most touristy parts, seemed eerily deserted, because all of the students have gone home for the summer.  We had lunch at Flam's, and I think Allie was sufficiently won over by the traditional tarte flambée (we got one that was veggie and one that was goat cheese and honey, the latter being absolutely delicious).  We went over to Angelita (my host mother)'s house, only to find that she wasn't there. We walked around the Orangeries park for a little bit and then tried again, but she still wasn't there, so sadly, I didn't get to see her that day (it turned out that she had to take her son to the hospital for some sort of eye problem- luckily, he was fine).  So we headed back to Place Kléber, the Cathédrale, and then strolled through the picturesque and historic Petite France, before heading back to the train station to travel back to Paris.  So overall, I was very happy to go back, and was won over over once again by its charm and beauty, but something was missing:  all of the people that I associated with Strasbourg, the good friends that I had met there, my host mom, etc. were not there anymore, so I felt as though I didn't really know the city anymore.  

Allie and I in Strasbourg

Petite France

So you must be asking yourself what we actually did IN Paris!  Well, what DIDN'T we do?!?  Rather than run the risk of just throwing everything out at once and completely overwhelming you, I'll give you a day-by-day breakdown of our stay in the magical City of Light:

Sunday 31st May: Molly and I arrived in Paris.  After taking the RER train in to the city, we switched to the metro and found our hostel, which was probably the best hostel we've stayed in this semester (and not at all unreasonably priced).  We met up with Allie for dinner and then turned in after yet another long travel day out of Salamanca.

Monday:  We met up with Allie and Kerry (the latter had just arrived in Paris that morning, so was carrying her suitcase around with her) and explored Montmartre.  We started at Sacre Cœur, which is (I believe) the highest point in Paris, because, no matter what other monument you climb up, it is always an upward view of Sacre Cœur.  Montmartre is also a really cool, artsy little neighborhood, so we poked around what they had to offer in terms of local artwork and, of course, vintage posters!  We later walked by Moulin Rouge and then headed back to the hostel to pick up our bags.  With callouses still fresh from carrying our bags in and out of the Madrid and Paris metros the day before, Kerry, Molly and I dragged our suitcases for nearly 45 minutes until we reached 8 Rue de Bellefond, where we were renting an apartment for the week.  We met up with Molly's cousins Cathy (and her husband Jim) and Beth (and her husband Josh and their baby-to-be, who Josh affectionately calls "Stewie"), who had found the apartment.  It worked out perfectly, because there was a metro stop right at the end of the street, and the apartment had all of the amenities that we could possibly have needed.  So if you're ever in the market for a Parisian vacation rental, Perfectly Paris is an excellent company to work with!  Anyway, while all of the cousins went off on a picnic by the Eiffel Tower, Allie and I decided to give them some space and put together a little picnic of our own at the house.  It was so nice to get to catch up, because, other than the choppy connection on Skype, we hadn't had a chance to talk one-on-one since last July.  

Sacre Cœur

Tuesday: Roland Garros (see above).  That night, we went to a very fancy restaurant for dinner with the cousins (and fancy equals 25 euros for my meal, which absolutely killed me).  

Wednesday: Molly, Kerry and I went to Notre Dame, and then ended up walking around a lot in the Quartier Latin/St. Germain de Prés areas.  This included walking by Les Deux Magots and Café de Flore (the former being the hangout of Ernest Hemingway back in the day, and the latter of Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre).  We crossed the river and walked by the Hôtel de Ville, where they had set up a large screen with live Roland Garros matches, and also lots of tennis-themed games around the plaza.  Molly had a bit of an embarrassing moment when she walked over a grate (that she didn't realize was a metro grate and therefore had a very strong current of air coming out of it) and had her skirt fly up, much to the delight of the clapping, cheering old men who sat on a nearby bench.  Poor Molly was mortified.  My skirt flew up a little bit too, but I was luckily wearing leggings underneath!  We then met the cousins for a very fancy tea at Mariage des Frères in the Marais- I felt like I was in a tea shop in India, with dark mahogany shelves lining the walls and filled with large canisters of tea, and men in crisp, lightweight white suits taking your order in a tearoom filled with potted ferns.  Later, we headed back to the Left Bank and checked out Shakespeare & Company, a famous English-language bookstore.  We grabbed some rejuvenating crêpes and headed home.

Thursday: Giverny (see above).  We then went to the Opéra Garnier, where we saw the ballet "Proust ou les intermittences du cœur." It was, well, wacky (obviously, since it was Proust), and each of us only saw half of the ballet, because the view was terrible from two of the four seats in our box, so we switched halfway through, but I definitely appreciated all of the hard work that the ballerinas put in to the show.  

Friday:  We went to the Musée d'Orsay, which is absolutely stunning.  The incredible collection (including an impressive collection of impressionist works, obviously my favorites) is housed in a former train station, so architecturally, the building is gorgeous too.  Then, we headed back to St. Germain de Prés/Quartier Latin to stop by the Sorbonne, the Pathéon, and the Jardins du Luxembourg.  That night, after a picnic dinner (the best way to eat in Paris, because you really can't get anything cheaper, so you buy a 1€ bagette, cheese, a 3€ bottle of wine, some fruit, and you're done!!!! As opposed to paying 15-20€ for dinner), we met up with Allie and Jen to get belated birthday desserts for Allie, and then Molly, Kerry and I went off and found cosmos!  They were delicious...

Musée d'Orsay

Saturday: Strasbourg (see above)

Sunday: We had to move out of the apartment, and were farmed off to various apartments.  We all met up in the Marais for Breakfast in America, much to Molly's delight.  While Allie made the rest of us look like pigs and got a milkshake and an omelet, the rest of us got a milkshake and either pancakes or French toast.  It was amazing, and it truly was an American-style breakfast.  The afternoon was filled with museums: the Centre Pompidou (which we actually only climbed up because it had a great view- it is a modern art museum, and since I am morally opposed to modern art, I refused to spend my Sunday that way!; and then the Musée Marmotan (which we had heard was an incredible Monet museum, but ended up only having a small part devoted to Monet).  Then we headed over to the Champs Elysées  for tea/hot chocolate at La Durée, the legendary salon de thé.  I got a tea called Marie Antoinette, that was infused with fruity and flowery flavors, and it was delicious!  Then, we headed a bit more up the Champs Elysées and climbed the Arc de Triomphe, from which there was a beautiful view.  We met up with Lauren, who was in town for a few days in  between her finals, and grabbed a delicious dinner at an Indian place.

Atop the Arc de Triomphe

Arc de Triomphe

Monday:  Allie and I wandered the botanical gardens and then sat in the courtyard of the Mosquée sipping delicious mint tea.  We strolled along the Seine (even running into a fashion shoot at one point), and then I headed over to the Louvre and met up with the other girls (Molly, Kerry and Lauren) while she went to class.  After lunch, we did a little bit of browsing in Galeries Lafayette, the famous department store, followed by a return trip to La Durée (we rationalized this by saying that Lauren hadn't been there, and she couldn't leave Paris without having been there!). I got the most delicious dessert that I've ever had in my life: a puff pastry called a Saint-Honoré Rose Framboise, with rosewater, rose-flavored icing and raspberries.  Delectable...Then, Lauren left to meet up with some other friends, and Molly, Kerry and I went to a movie called Good Morning England.  It's all about pirated radio in England in the '60s, and it was both hilarious and had an incredible soundtrack. It won't be in the US for another few months, but I would definitely recommend seeing it.  After grabbing a quick dinner with Allie, we headed over to the Eiffel Tower so we could see it light up at night.  It was truly a sight to behold, and I was so glad to have seen it (because I had only ever seen it during the daytime).  Then, it was time for Molly and I to say our goodbyes :(  We had spent almost every waking moment of the semester together, so, as I traveled home by myself, it was so weird to look over and not see Molly in the seat next to me on the plane.  But I think we would both say it had reached the point where we had exhausted all possible topics of conversation (Molly had me recite her family tree for Kerry to prove that we essentially know each other's life stories), so it will be good for us to have a little bit of time apart.  

My incredible dessert from La Durée

La Tour Eiffel by night

Tuesday:  Allie and I walked around the Panthéon in the morning, where many of the most distinguished Frenchmen and women are buried.  Then, we had a little picnic at her house, and after sitting in a café for awhile, I headed to the airport.  I had a little blip on my flight out in that the security workers questioned me about my Epi Pen.  I have never traveled with a prescription for it and have never had a problem, but this guy had no idea what it was.  I used my cunning feminine ways and started to cry, so he softened a little bit, but he made me go back out through security and get an airline employee, who told him to let me through, that they used the same protocol for Epi Pens as for insulin.  I arrived in Madrid at about 11pm, and spent the rest of the night in the Madrid airport.  I didn't take into account, though, that the airport is accessible by metro, so that meant that all of the biggest sketchers in the world also had the same idea to spend the night there.  There was one particularly creepy guy who came and sat two tables away from me who would intermittently start to laugh to himself and make other loud noises.  There was quite obviously something wrong with him.  So even though I hadn't been planning to sleep a wink, even as my eyes started to close I willed myself to stay awake out of fear of what would happen to me if I didn't.  At one point, a woman came up to me with a video camera and told me she was going to take a video of me.  She asked me questions about how I had come to spend the night in the airport, and then got the camera uncomfortably close to me, especially since it was about 4am and I was not exactly feeling my most beautiful.  

Wednesday:  Once I got inside the terminal, past security, the sketchiness didn't stop.  A man sat down across from me and automatically started speaking to me in French.  I answered him in French (because, duh, I speak French), and he answered, "Oh, you speak French?".  Well, what did you expect me to stay?  He asked where I was headed, and I told him that I was going back to the US.  He then asked for my address, and I told him that I was in the process of moving (what I wanted to say was that he absolutely could NOT have my address because he was a sketchy ass).  My flight left at 9:55am, and I didn't even make it through the safety procedures.  I was out cold, although I only ended up sleeping for about 3 hours total during all of my flights that day.  I had a 4-hour layover in London, although much of that was spent traveling between terminals, and then I flew back to Atlanta.  I got on the shuttle going to my hotel and showed the driver the address that I needed to go to, and he proceeded to bring me to the wrong hotel- the right brand, but a different one from where I had my reservation.  But it didn't take much effort from the receptionist to convince me to stay there and just cancel my reservation at the other hotel, because I hadn't slept in 48 hours.  I took a much-needed shower and collapsed into the remarkably comfy king-size bed. 

Thursday:  At about 2:30, I arrived at the Hartford airport.  Bradley is a tiny little airport, so I booked it from the gate to my waiting family in about 5 minutes (a stark contrast to the hourlong security procedure just to get out of the Atlanta airport the night before, standard procedure there for international flights.  I have never been so happy to see my family in my life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And it feels so nice to be home for the summer!  I was lucky enough to make it through five year-end flights without any of my luggage getting lost, although some of the things I sent home in a box fell out (as opposed to being stolen, because the majority of the items were of absolutely no monetary value), so now I have to call the Salamanca post office on Monday so they can maybe try to locate the items.  I'm guessing I'll end up with nothing, but, to me, it's worth a try.

This entry is getting long, but I'll explain the more emotional side of the end of my year abroad in an upcoming post (because I fully understand that this one is a little bit dry!).  So stay tuned!!!!!  Thank you for all of the welcome home wishes, and, as always, I'm sending you my love!

Kristen

You Know You're in Spain If...

So I have now lived in Spain for four months (as of yesterday- scary!), and I’m in the mood for a bit of a humorous entry amid all of this studying (a.k.a. general misery and soul-sucking).  Because I’ve lived in Spain for so long, I feel like I’m entitled to make a few generalizations (which I would not at all have been entitled to make before coming here, never having experienced Spanish culture for a long period of time.  I’m entitling this entry “You Know You’re in Spain If…”, so here goes.  You know you’re in Spain if:

-       Sidewalks (and Plaza Mayor) are extensions of the road

-       Café con leche is not just a drink- it’s a culture

-       Nothing is ever open (yes, less so than in France- it’s because of the siesta)

-       Hair is seen as an artistic canvas…hence, there are a lot of “artistic” disasters ;)

-       Acid-wash jean jackets (and jeans on jeans- jeans with jean jackets, my biggest fashion pet peeve in the world) are apparently okay

-       There are more people wearing Chuck Taylors than you can shake a stick at

-       Aladdin pants (or “harem pants”, if you want to use the fashionably correct term) are in style-I’ll put up a picture, but basically, these hideous pants are so draped and flowy that they look like you’re growing a third appendage

-       It’s still okay to be a pirate

-       Fútbol=vida, ‘nough said, and you have to choose between Real Madrid and Barça

-       Franco is not dead (apparently), so therefore, you must practically have sex in public areas to scoff at sexual repression

-       Interrupting someone means they’re not completely boring you to death

-       Everything starts 15 minutes late

-       Spanish students must have a 10 to 15-minute smoking break for every hour worth of class

-       You suspect your professors may have once been either franquistas or opposition fighters

-       It’s okay to be whiney, because everyone else is too

-       “Conservative” is still liberal compared to American liberals

-       Bolonia is a big damn deal (a proposed, Europe-wide education reform that pretty much all Spaniards hate)

-       The Internet hasn’t quite caught on

-       Tasks that should be simple are suddenly difficult

-       All roads lead to Madrid…at least if you want to get anywhere else

-       Mullets, cornrows, dreads, partially-shaven heads and dirty hippies are perfectly normal (I'm not even joking, this is what they look like, bad dye jobs and all).  Additionally, these haircutting disasters can even be combined for even more horror (i.e. the combination mullet/dread look- see below)

-       Everyone hates Aznar, so if you mention you go to Georgetown, the fact that Aznar has some sort of post there is their only point of reference

-       Felipe González is God

-       You can be guaranteed a job for life…if you pass a test

-       The only things open all day are cafés, souvenir stores, H&M, Zara, The Phone House, and Carré Four (but of course, the last four are closed on Sundays)

-       If you DON’T smoke, you don’t fit in

-       “Vale” is used as frequently as an American teenager uses “like”

-       Bullfighting is a “sport”

-       Tortilla is NOT the same thing as a Mexican tortilla

-       Sunday is a true “lazy day”

-       You live at home until you get married

-       Rafa Nadal and Penélope Cruz are poster children for the country

-       No original films (except Almodóvar)- practically everything is dubbed

-       People know you’re an American at first glance- apparently we have a “je ne sais quoi”

-       Cataluña and País Vasco are NOT Spain

-       Whole grains do not exist

-       There is a magical place called Croisantería París (a.k.a. Fat Kid Camp)

-       You try to pick out where all of the tourists are from

-       You feel a sense of accomplishment if one of the Red Cross people pulls you over to ask you to give blood, because that means that they don’t automatically suspect that you’re foreign

-       Siesta time is more of a pain in the ass than anything else (in my personal opinion), because that means almost everything closes from 1:30 to 4:30 or so

-       You must get dressed up to go to class

-       You suspect that all of the Spanish teenagers have no idea what they’re saying when they sing American songs

-       You either get hit on by sketchy old men in the park, or they try to fix you up with their grandsons

-       People are short (especially, apparently, if they lived under Franco, and were therefore undernourished and had stunted growth)

-       No one talks about the Guerra Civil, 70 years later

-       A lot of what people know (or think they know) about the US is courtesy of Hollywood

-       No one is really ever in a rush- hence a three-week exam period- and plus, if you fail your exams, there is an entire retake period devoted to people like you

-       You should do all of your banking on a non-holiday weekday morning, because if the ATM eats your card during any other time, you’re royally screwed

-       When the post office tells you that it’s going to take the package you just sent by boat to the US 45 days to get there, you wonder if they’re planning on taking a paddleboat across the Atlantic…but then it gets there in 7 days and you wonder what on earth kind of boat that was.

-       Your host mother, who lives in what used to be one of the most heavily Catholic countries in the world, asks you when Lent starts and how many days it lasts.  Ummmmm…….

- Fanny packs.  They're not just for portly, middle-aged American tourists! They're for fashionable young Spaniards!

I hope all is well with all of you!  Tim graduates on Friday, which is a very exciting event in the Bautz household.  I wish I could be there!  But June 11th will come soon enough...I hope!

Sending you my love,

Kristen

Cataluña is NOT Spain, and other tales

Party in the streets after Barcelona beat Real Madrid 6-2

Grand staircase and fountain, Parc Güell

View of the city from Parc Güell

Georgetown reunion!!!: 

Me, Allie, Molly and Lauren at Sagrada Familia

Outside of Sagrada Familia

As many of you know, the Georgetown group took a trip to Asturias, in the north of Spain, last weekend. I was feeling lazy after that trip, so didn't write about it. Thankfully for all of you, I am hardly devoting any space to it, since it can basically be summed up as follows: gorgeous scenery and very historic, but really not much to do and way too much downtime on the bus. The end. Before I move on to Barcelona, however, I wanted to share with all of you (not that you really care or anything) that I preregistered for my classes last week at Georgetown, and I just have to emphasize the fact that I've never been so excited to preregister before. I got all of the classes I wanted, and have a fantastic schedule, so I just have to write a little something about it. So here is what fall semester is looking like for me: (I'm planning on working next year, so this schedule works out perfectly!!!!)

Monday:
12:15-1:05 Desire/Gender Lyric in Early Modern France

Tuesday:
12:15-1:05 Desire/Gender/Lyric in Early Modern France
1:15-2:30 Muslims and Politics
2:40-3:55 Biology of Drugs and People
4:15-5:30 History of the French Language

Wednesday:
11:15-1:05 Anthropology of France

Thursday: same as Tuesday
Friday: NO CLASS!!!!!!!!!

So anyway, on to Barcelona. We arrived at Barajas, and you would have thought you were entering a war zone. Travelers sported numerous styles of face masks (and some rubber gloves as well) to fend off the dreaded swine flu, whose rapid-fire spread had been more than slightly sensationalized by the international media over the past week. For me, the scariest part was handing my passport over to the passport control officer, who wore a mask and gloves and, frankly, looked like a monster behind a thick pane of glass. Was I worried about contracting swine flu while traveling? Absolutely. But I think study abroad has mellowed me a little bit: whereas I would likely have been thoroughly freaking out beforehand about catching swine flu (do we really have to refer to it with such a repulsive name?), this time, I thought to myself, 'Okay, the most I can do is wash my hands like crazy, but if I get it, I'll go to the hospital. There's really nothing more I can do.' I was slightly worried, because I began experiencing cold-like symptoms (yes, AGAIN) a day or so before departure, but when I woke up early on Thursday morning with itchy eyes and and an itchy nose, I nearly let out a cry of joy, because that meant that I was probably having an allergy attack, not an attack of the swine flu. Anyway, traveling in the midst of the whole thing was a really surreal experience, not exactly something to make you feel warm and fuzzy.

We arrived in lovely “Barça” more than a little tired- Molly and I had gotten up at 5:30 in order to catch a 7am bus to the airport. But we were relieved to have some more company in Lauren, who we met up with at Barajas. I have to say that I’m more than a little jealous of her short travel time from a major airport! Before I get in to a description of Barcelona, let me just give you a little bit of background on it, because it’s essential to understanding even the title of this post: Barcelona is the major city in the autonomous community of Cataluña. It was granted autonomy by the 2nd Republic in 1932 (along with País Vasco, the other notable autonomous community in Spain and the homeland for the terrorist organization ETA), just before the Spanish Civil War (which broke out in 1936), and, while it enjoyed strong economic benefits under Franco (the state basically didn’t have to pay anything to the central government, and, in fact, received money), Franco saw autonomous movements as an obstacle to the intense centralization of Spain, in which homogeneity was the only way to guarantee loyalty to Franco. When Franco died, Catalán nationalists were integral to the success of the oppositional movement, and, in the late ‘70s, were granted autonomy once again. So, most importantly, CATALUÑA DOESN’T CONSIDER ITSELF A PART OF SPAIN! It has its own language, Catalán, a strange mix of Spanish, French and Portuguese, from what I can make out, which it staunchly defends (but, not to worry, Spanish is still used everywhere, much to the delight of a non-Catalán speaking tourist!), and a very distinct culture of which it is incredibly proud. So that explains why there is a Plaza de Cataluña instead of a Plaza de España everywhere, and a Catalán flag flying in lieu of a Spanish one. And that is why, on Saturday night, when Barcelona’s soccer team, the best in the world, according to Molly (who watches the news, so of course I believe her) beat Real Madrid 6-2 there was an enormous party in the streets, complete with an enormous mass of people on Las Ramblas, a huge bonfire, lots of public drunkenness and singing of soccer songs, and, oddly enough, Spain’s national anthem (which has no words, so all you can hear is a lot of humming).

So anyway, arrival in Barcelona. We made it to our hostel, after having incurred an unnecessary 6€ fee each, because we wanted to get from the airport to the Girona metro station, and the woman at the ticket counter thought that we wanted to get to the Girona train station, which was over an hour away, and, therefore, much more expensive. We dropped our stuff and went out for dinner. Poor Lauren was never brought the asparagus that was promised to her on the menu to go along with her shrimp skewers and rice. And our waiter brought us bottled water, after we had requested tap, and sent the maître’d over to tell us, after we had started drinking the tap water, that the water isn’t good to drink because of a high calcium and salt count. Well gee thanks. And then he laughed at us for being extranjeras. I felt so oppressed and misunderstood.
On Friday, we didn’t really do anything. I mean it. We strolled down Las Ramblas, a grand avenue with a large space in between for a section of flower stands, a bunch of inhumane pet stores, and lots of artisans’ kiosks. We made it down to the ocean and the Columbus statue, whose discovery of the New World simultaneously left his beloved Barcelona in economic ruin. Thanks Chris. We did some more strolling, walking past the cathedral and then heading to a café near the Picasso Museum for lunch. It was while we were there that we finally heard from Allie and Joelle, who had just gotten in to Barcelona after their 16-HOUR (yikes!) bus ride with the Sciences Po Paris trip. I was beyond excited to see Allie, since, given the fact that she doesn’t have a webcam, I hadn’t physically seen her since July 25th, the day I left the Burrow, our summer house in D.C. So it was a long-overdue reunion, and it actually felt like we were all back at Georgetown, not halfway around the world. The rest of the day was filled with lots of walking around and catching up, and, in true fashion, ridiculous amounts of eating.
On Saturday morning, we were up early to go to the Sagrada Familia, the cathedral that was Antoni Gaudí’s masterpiece. It was really spectacular, even though much of the inside was under construction. Rick Steve’s (who Molly is so obsessed with that she jokes about adopting him as her father) referred to it as a “cake in the rain,” and that really is what it looks like, a structure seemingly melting into the ground. Now God knows I’m not exactly a fan of modern art, but I was absolutely blown away by this incredible feat of design. Next, we made our way up to Parc Güell, the park up in the hills that Gaudí also designed. It was really fantastic, and there were really neat structures and details in little pockets of the park. For example, there is an outcropping with a fantastic view of the city, complete with mosaic benches that are supposedly designed in the shape of the human body (I must admit, as far as benches go, they were pretty comfortable!). I remember that viewing area from the French film “L’auberge espagnole” (“The Spanish Apartment”), where two of the characters stand there and look out at the city (it’s also where they start their love affair, and I had no trouble seeing how romantic of a spot it is!). Lauren pointed out that a section of tunnels was also the site of the final runway show for a season of America’s Next Top Model (in case you’re unfamiliar with the show, they always take a trip to an international fashion capital once they get down to five or six girls)- I’m sure Kate has seen it ;). There was a gorgeous fountain and a grand, sweeping staircase, but in true Gaudí fashion, these, like all of his other structures, were really whimsical and did not seem at all stuffy or overly constructed. Lastly, we walked by Gaudí’s home, which is painted pink (of course!) and is contained within the grounds of the park.

We walked back down into the city for lunch, and, while we didn’t have anything particularly interesting, I have to make a brief segue into the culinary adventures we subjected Allie to that weekend. Of course, when you come to Spain, there are certain things you just have to try, and luckily she was a great sport and tried everything we suggested: churros and chocolate, claras (lemony beer), sangria, paella, Spanish tortilla and other various tapas, etc. So, needless to say, she got the full Spanish culinary experience in two days!!!

Before choosing a restaurant, we ran into some of the French students Allie and Joelle know from Sciences Po, and my French freak flag immediately started flying upon running into them. I didn’t know them, but one of the guys immediately started chatting with me, and I responded in surprisingly effortless French. And it felt great. He told me I spoke French really well, and I was having a party in my head ☺ I have missed French so much, and to hear that kind of encouragement and compliment of my French skills felt really wonderful. I am still by no means fluent, but I was so glad to get to practice, even a little bit! So I walked around with my head completely in the clouds after that. I’m beyond excited for Paris on the 31st!!!!! It’s going to be a fantastic 10 days!

After recharging with lunch and fresh fruit juice from the market, we headed over to the Picasso Museum, where we browsed the work of an artist who was enviably gifted even from a young age. It’s sort of disgusting. Then, we were planning to head up to Montjuïc, where there is a magic fountain show at night (there is also apparently an incredible view of the city). But Barcelona had other plans for us. People had warned us all day to be careful with our bags, because Barcelona is apparently a pick-pocketing hotspot. Well, sure enough, we got to the Metro station and one of the girls was robbed, we think by a woman who rubbed up against her side while she was walking. My friend is the most cautious person I know with her bag, and when she felt this woman rub up against her, she instinctively whirled her bag to the other side of her and grabbed the woman’s arm, but the woman kept walking and didn’t acknowledge that she had been touched, which is a true sign, in my mind, of her guilt. Allie and I were up ahead and didn’t see anything, but once our friend figured out what had happened, we went into damage control mode. We immediately went to the police station, where she filed a report. I stayed with her for the police questioning, and I was appalled by how unprofessional the police were. Granted, my friend got very lucky: one of her wallets was stolen, the one that only had about 200€ (granted, a lot of money), her student cards, the key to our hostel, the key to her apartment, and a copy of her passport in it. It could have been so much worse. But the policeman (if you could even call him that; he looked to be about 25 and was wearing street clothes) was so patronizing and was laughing at us to his partner, who was behind us, all the while listening to the fútbol game on the radio. Sure, I realize this happens a lot in Barcelona, but it was a big deal for my friend and she felt very violated, so I thought it was terrible of him to behave that unprofessionally. Not that we were expecting that she would get any of her stuff back, but we at least wanted to try. That sort of put a damper on the rest of the evening. We went out to dinner and then stood on the periphery of all of the post-fútbol match mayhem, enjoying Barcelona’s big moment.

When we got back to the hostel, I had a bit of a scare: I had been having trouble breathing all day, which I chalked up to allergies, but by the time we got back to the hostel, I was feeling a definite vibrating in my chest, which suggested walking pneumonia to me. Now, I don’t mean to sound like a hypochondriac, but with how often I have been sick over the past month, I can’t be too cautious. I called my mom in tears, not knowing what to do. I didn’t want to go to the hospital, because our flight was leaving really early the next morning and I didn’t want to have to stay overnight. So I sucked it up, took one more inhaler (I had taken my albuterol inhaler, which is an inhaled steroid, about 15 times that day, which is really bad) and went to bed. I was feeling better by the next day, so I’m thinking it was an allergy attack of some kind. But it was still really unpleasant. I’ve been taking it easy since getting back, especially since it’s the last week of class here- I don’t want to overexert myself.

Yes, it is FINALLY the last week of class, and let me tell you, I have never felt so ADD in my classes. Concentrating this week has not exactly been an easy task, so I am overjoyed that I will be done at 2pm on Thursday! After that, I have exams, which I am not at all excited for, but I’ve been working really hard, so hopefully that will mean that I will be okay on my exams. Here’s my schedule for the next few weeks:

Tuesday (12th May): Oral exam, Historia actual española (and hand in a 7pp)
18th May: Written exam, Política y violencia en los años 30
21st May: Written exam, Poesía española
26th May: 3 papers (1- 25pp, 2- 5pp) to turn in, Inquisición
28th May: Written exam, Literatura hispanoamericana
So basically, I’m disappearing for the weekend and am burying myself in studying for Tuesday’s exam, which I already have an outline done for. I’ve been working steadily on the 25-page paper since last week, so hopefully that won’t be too awful to write. I’ve already finished the 7-page paper and one of the 5-page papers, so I feel like I’m in okay shape for now. But we’ll see. I still have a lot more to do. The good news, though, is that I’m not in France-like desperation…yet.

I hope all is well with you, and, as always, I’m sending you my love,

Kristen