Perdóname, pero estoy perdida.

If we are at all acquainted, you probably already know that I am remarkably poor with directions. And you are probably amazed that I have navigated the Metro with such ease. (Believe me, I am, too. Madrid makes it way easy, though.) Even walking I have avoided major incident, which is kind of a big deal in my life.

Until Saturday, the day before my sensory-overload excursion to El Rastro. And here is what happened to yank me out of the sense of security I’ve been cultivating since my arrival:

It all started with a miniature field trip to the downtown neighborhood where Cervantes lived, worked, published, and died. Even while planning it in class, there was a serious to-do regarding the directions to the statue of Cervantes where we were to meet. I drew a map in my notebook, though, and GoogleMaps exists for this reason, so, really, I was in a pretty good place.

I’d forgotten that these things always start in a pretty good place…

So I set off with plenty of time on Saturday morning, feeling kind of good about the day. I ask no fewer than 2 pedestrians and 3 policemen for directions, but that’s ok, I want to be sure of my route. And that is why policemen stand at street corners, and I’m even giving the passersby a chance to do something nice. Go me!

But then I reach that critical point: I am beyond my zone of directional comfort and I do not know this intersection. This is right, right? And then the directions I am asking for are no longer safety measures – I am actually a little confused. But that is still ok because it’s the middle of the day, and surely one of these nice people can point me in the right direction….Well, lots of people are willing to point me in a particular direction, but it isn’t the right one. Feeling pretty confident that the Plaza de Neptuno is important, I ask a policeman if I’m going in the right direction. Answer: Yes. But then I mention that I’m looking for the Cervantes statue, and he’s like: No, that’s another twenty minutes away, in the Plaza de España…

To the Metro! Make it to the Plaza de España. Well, almost. But then I get a call from a friend, and I was right the first time. There are multiple statues of Cervantes in Madrid (as I had guessed earlier), and I was looking for the little one, not the huge monument. Uh, great.

To the Metro! Return to the place where I’d asked that well-meaning but completely useless policeman for directions. From this point, it should be another ten minutes or so. (i.e. I WAS RIGHT THE FIRST TIME) I make it in thirty, partially because the rest of the group has moved on to coffee, and partially because I’m so frustrated and confused at this point that I just want to go back to bed.

I never make it to the Cervantes statue, but I do make it to coffee, and that is reward enough for me, after my very unnecessary, very long wander through the city center. Granted, now everyone in the program who was not previously aware of my chronic state of lostness is totally apprised of the situation…Just once I would like to be able to shed the mantle of the navigationally challenged, but it now seems unlikely that it should happen during my time in Spain.

El Rastro

I'm going to blog to you this evening! You may thank my sister for her, er, encouragement.
But first, a note on the weather!
It's in the 40's-50's by day and it's nice in the sun, so most days I'm like - Wow! So much nicer than New York or Pennsylvania in January! BUT. There's definitely a chill here that we don't have stateside. When I'd read about the Madrid's climate before coming, I'd been all - "penetrating cold?" No need to sound so dramatic!
How wrong I was...Today I wore the turquoise UnderArmour that is the one turtleneck I own, which should give you a good idea of how much I did not want to be cold while walking through the market. Which brings us to.....
The Largest Flea Market In Europe! (!!!!!!) Every Sunday from 9-4, a cluster of Madrid's streets are swamped with hundreds of vendors and thousands of shoppers, and today I joined them.
I have no photos to share this week, but perhaps in the future, as I most definitely intend to return. El Rastro is kind of like an arts festival, but times 6. The stalls just keep coming! And lots of them are repetitive, but is that really a problem when there are so many scarves? I adore scarves! And cool artisan jewelry and street performers! And hand fans that I conveniently must purchase for my flamenco class! And Spanish leather purses, without which I will not leave Spain!
But some of them had signs that read "de piel," which is literally "of skin," which just sounds sketchy, right? Right. Cuero is the word for leather, and I  would prefer that the signs use it instead, even if I do always forget it. (Note: I just looked it up to make sure that I wasn't going to misinform you over the blogosphere. Good news - cuero is the word I want! But take care not to confuse it with cuervo, which means crow. "Oh! What charming crow boots you have!")
So El Rastro is a win, but dangerous not only for the rampant pickpocktry (not a word, but I'm keeping it!). Rather more dangerous because I want it all...

Blas: el perrito gordito

So this is Blas, looking particularly gordito. 

 In his striped sweater.

 

You will note that I cannot seem to capture him in a particularly adorable pose. This is not a coincidence. I’m not saying that Blas is incapable of being adorable, but rather that he refuses to be with me. Because Blas and I are not friends.

Sometimes, Blas will pretend he likes me. This occurs we are having croquettes or cheese for dinner, and Blas decides that he would like part of my portion, regardless of the fact that he has already eaten and Imelda always ends up giving him some cheese. And I’m like, Bro, back off the cheese. Mine.

And then he acts more like himself and barks up a little storm. Much as he does whenever I am outside the door, struggling with my keys. Thank goodness I’m getting better at that, though, because the first few days were rough. Me, turning the key round and round, Blas barking his obnoxious little Chihuahua head off, and Imelda calling through the door “Tres vueltas, tres vueltas,” as if knowing that I should be able to open it in three turns was actually helping the cause. 

Another thing standing in the way of our friendship is my categorical dislike of small dogs, and especially Chihuahuas. There are only a handful of exceptions to this rule, and I have had years to bond with these. Still, Imelda loves him, and he seems to love Imelda, so I guess I can deal…

But that doesn’t mean I can’t complain about him and his stupid bark.

Next time: Food and/or Orientation in Andalucía

ciao Madrid

Well, folks, I made it! And making it was definitely a solid first adventure. Wednesday was Travel Day, and as everyone knows, sitting in the airport and freaking out about-the-possibility-that-you-will-land-in Madrid-and-not-know-a word-of-Spanish-and-Ohmigod-you’ll-just-have-to-hop-back-on-the -plane-and-fly-home-and-how-do-you-explain-that-to-your-family is exhausting.

Step 1: Finish packing the morning of departure. Realize that your suitcase is HUGE and that there is now way you’ll make it to the fifth floor apartment of the building in which you will live. Decide you don’t care.

Step 2: Go to Pittsburgh airport with Mom. Check baggage. Hope it ends up at the correct destination. Eat quiche. Chai! Put Dr Scholl’s in adorable new boots, because, hello, you aren’t THAT stupid. Realize that you should go through Security now, but that you haven’t finished your chai and you don’t want to waste it. Leave Mom double-fisting caffeinated beverages.

Step 3: Fly to Newark. Boring…

Step 4: 6 hour layover in New Jersey. People-watching! Woman in leopard print leggings wins, but Honorable Mention goes to adorable small child. Also, bird-watching! Thought you were hallucinating when the pigeon flew down the corridor? You weren’t. And you know this because it flew by approximately 6 more times and walked underneath the seat next to you twice. Pigeons are creepy.

Step 5: Realize that all the cool kids are on your flight, and your seated across the isle from one of your besties. Fiesta flight, y’all!

Step 6: Realize that even the fiesta flight gets dull. Remember that you can’t sleep on planes and that this makes you cranky. But you’re going on Adventure, so not too cranky.

Step 7: Arrive in Madrid! Glide through customs, share a cab with amigas, and manage not to bungle your address to the cabbie. Success!

Step 8: Meet Señora Imelda, your super-lively and patient host mother, and Blas, the Chihuahua. Do all of this in a stupor, because it’s like four in the morning in your time zone and, after last finals week, you are so over all-nighters. Fail to communicate, in part because you are so tired and in part because you haven’t practiced Spanish in earnest since before Christmas. For example, Imelda, in an innocent attempt to get to know you, asks it you are Jewish. And you say, “No, no I don’t live in a ghetto.” And that is after checking the dictionary.

Step 9: Unpack and take a four-hour siesta. Yes, you know you aren’t supposed to nap because you want to avoid serious jetlag, but Imelda thinks it’s a good idea and she is your host mom…

Step 10: Update Facebook with Spantaliano, being a tonta by using ciao in the Italian sense (like aloha) rather than the Spanish (like toodles). ¿Cómo se dice oops? See, Bekah, I’ll own up to it! But, as Imelda frequently, and forgivingly, tells me when I am having a struggle, no pasa nada.
Step 11: Commit the phrase no pasa nada to memory. You're going to need it. 

And I'm stopping there, one step short of a proper Program. And I know I'm a few days behind, but I'm working on it, I promise. Pictures next time, so be excited! ¡Hasta luego!

Remember kids, it's Hola, not Holla

Dear friends, family, and random people who accidentally find this:
oh, hi. We're going on adventure in T-2 days! Yikes! At this time on Wednesday I'll be in Newark, and at this time on Thursday I'll be in Madrid. OMG Madrid for an entire semester! (Note: This doesn't seem real yet.)
Laura, my big and bossy sister, made me this blog and says that I should "just write words," but that isn't terribly helpful for this first entry. 
So....
Word #1: I'm going to Spain and it's so exciting and I'm going to eat so many churros and see so many beautiful things and learn to dance flamenco and never sleep because I have too many exciting things to do!
Word #2: And I'm going to do homework because, you know, that's still a thing.
Word #3: I'll try to update this fairly frequently, but if I don't it's because Word #1 is really time consuming. So don't worry, Mom, I haven't been kidnapped.
Word #4: Do you want the low-down on this adventure? Or would that bore you because I've already told you, like, 5 times?
Word #5: I'm so excited to meet my host mother! She has a dog named Blas and sounds like a ton of fun. I hope that she will teach me to cook delicious Spanish treats...I am less excited to get lost on the Madrid metro, but I just keep reminding myself how competent I'll feel when I can navigate the city. Probably I will make myself a bedazzled Girl Scout badge when this occurs. (Note: My knowledge of Girl Scouts and related organizations is limited to Troop Beverly Hills and my mom's descriptions of her Bluebird days.) And then I'll come home and get lost on the way to the mall or something. And it will be awkward.
Word #6: Gosh, how many words do you want from me??? I have packing to finish and a little sister to coach in Econ! (Note: Econ? Yeah, I haven't taken that in 4 years...)

So, later, friends.