If everyone jumped off a bridge, would you?

I would, apparently.

There's this bridge on a pier at La Caleta, the beach in the old part of Cádiz, and people seem to enjoy jumping off of it into the water. Seeing as it's my last day in Cádiz, and I hadn't jumped off the bridge yet, I figured it was now or never.

I'm normally a wimp about both heights and cold water, but it was brutally hot today and looking down at the water from the bridge, I decided nothing had ever looked more refreshing. Or more potentially dangerous.

There were large shadows under the water that looked suspiciously like rocks and my better judgment was begging me to reconsider. But there was a small crowd of young people jumping off the bridge today and no one had died yet.

So I went ahead...

...and jumped. I don't remember much about the first jump. I just remember suddenly being in cold, cold water. Very cold water. But within seconds, it felt as refreshing as I had hoped it would.

I wanted to jump again, though, and really focus on the sensation of falling. Also, this time around I wanted to plug my nose, because my nasal passages had just been flooded with salt water. Not exactly pleasant. So anyway, I jumped again.

If you ever jump off a bridge, don't focus on the sensation of falling. It's terrifying. My second jump went something like this:

Nose? Plugged. Ready? No. Jump anyway. Okay, focus on the falling. HolycrapI'mfalling. Here comes the water. Is this gonna hurt? Did it hurt last time? This is going to hurt, isn't it? SPLASH. Water up my nose.

It's been a surreal semester. I mean that, too. Even today, my last day in Cádiz, I can't quite wrap my head around the fact that I'm in Spain. In Europe. I don't think it'll hit me until later how much I miss this city and all of the people I've met here. For what it's worth, to everyone here and at home, who read or didn't read this blog: Thanks.

View of La Caleta from the pier.

LONDON: Kensington Gardens

An elderly man guides a blind woman's hands over the intricate Peter Pan statue in Kensington Gardens, London

Spanish People Know Where It's At

Today is the last day of the medieval market in Plaza de San Antonio. I went for a quick visit this morning and despite my efforts to prevent it, this happened:

So that was pretty horrifying.

I also spent 3€ on this:

You probably can't really see them because of the giant green pepper obscuring them in the picture, but there are nine french fries on this plate. I counted.

I suppose I shouldn't be complaining; I'm sure the vendors were only thinking of my health. Then one of them got up and told me I'd have to order something else if I wanted to eat at the tables in the shade.

I have a feeling the inclusion of this thing in the festivities has more to do with its awesomeness than with its medievalness:

Spanish people seem to love Spider-man. I see him everywhere. It's just more support for my "Spanish People Know Where It's At" theory.

Annoying Anachronisms

These guys are hanging out at the medieval market today. Every five seconds or so one of them shoots their gun up into the air, creating a sound that's deafening even on the far side of the plaza. It's pretty annoying.

I was hungry, so I grabbed a chicken kebab and got out of there.

A Beautiful Day for A Medieval Market

This week there is a medieval market in Plaza de San Antonio near my apartment. There are all sorts of booths set up for selling artwork, food, desserts, trinkets, jewelry, soap, cheese and more.

Today, I headed down to the plaza to grab some lunch. I had a pinchito de pollo, which is basically a chicken kebab, a piece of bread, some potato chips and a beer, all for 2,50€. They were also giving away free chicharrones, pieces of dry, salty and spicy meat.

Here's a picture of my meal. It was taken as an afterthought partway through eating, I suppose because eating tends to be higher on my list of priorities than taking pictures.

Since it would be hard to recreate the atmosphere of the market in writing, I'll let my amateur photography do the talking:

Also, this happened:

Spanish Horror Flicks

Okay, it's been quite the hiatus, but I'm back. I don't really have an excuse for keeping everyone waiting, but here's what I've been up to lately.

1. I went to Berlin. It was awesome. It had a really young, artsy vibe to it.
2. I watched religious processions during Semana Santa, Holy Week.
3. I went to Easter Mass in the cathedral in Cádiz.
4. I got sunburnt.

I also got together with some friends recently and watched REC, an excellent 2007 Spanish horror movie. I think it's probably my new favorite movie. I wrote a review of it, which I'll share with you guys now. I feel like it needs a title, but, as usual, I'm drawing a blank. Any suggestions would be appreciated (but not necessarily used).

Here's the review:

When faced with a zombie apocalypse, the biggest challenge seems to be finding shelter. This theme repeats itself ad nauseam in the zombie genre. Our heroes hole themselves up in a building previously dedicated to something harmless (or at least totally unrelated to bloodthirsty undead cannibals), something like a house or a bar or a prison, until the safety of the place is somehow compromised and the survivors must pack up (if there’s time, which there never is) and seek refuge elsewhere. The goal is: you’re inside, the zombies are outside.

2007’s REC turns this motif on its head and the result is true nightmare fodder. This time the goal is not shelter, but escape. While attempting to document local firemen on a typical night of work, a reporter and her cameraman follow their subjects on what seems to be a routine call, only to find themselves in an apartment building slowly filling up with infected people-eaters. Of course, they could just leave, if it weren’t for the sudden, unexpected quarantine placed upon the building. The reporter and her cameraman friend decide to film everything as they try to get from inside (where the zombies are) to outside (where there are no zombies), against the wishes of the unnervingly composed health officials outside, whose calm voices can be heard via megaphone throughout the movie, discouraging the protagonists from trying to escape and reassuring them that the situation is under control.

Despite borrowing from movies that came before it, REC manages to surprise and terrify. The idea of a zombie virus is nothing new and neither is the Blair-Witchesque raw-footage-style camerawork, but directors Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza employ the latter effectively, maximizing the horror inherent in the scenario they’ve concocted. This type of cinematography lends a realistic feel to a movie that already feels too realistic in a world where seemingly every year brings with it a new potential epidemic. It also has the advantage of bringing the viewer close to the action, giving the illusion of firsthand experience. It’s almost as if said viewer is trapped in the building with the movie’s characters; the claustrophobia they experience is more contagious than the zombie virus that started everything.

One of the reasons zombie movies like REC are so frightening is that the monsters are average, everyday people—in this case, the woman who lives on the third floor or the little girl who’s sick with “tonsillitis.” Casual acquaintances suddenly become vicious killers with an appetite for blood and brains. But after viewing REC, one is left with the creeping suspicion that these zombies are merely a distraction from the film’s real monsters: the faceless, indifferent health officials surrounding the building, who not only refuse to help but in a sense are actually responsible for the plight of the protagonists. Of course, one imagines that they're trying their best and doing what they think is right, but it doesn't make their inaction any easier to digest. Human beings deciding that other human beings are dispensable—that’s what’s really scary.

How did I get here?

WARNING: The following post is whiny and self-indulgent. A proper post about Berlin is on its way, but I'm posting this because I think homesickness is relevant to a travel blog and because... well, because I took the time to write it, dammit.

I hate to admit it, but I think I might be homesick. Or at least that's part of it.

Today I learned that Mr. Drahos passed away and I became unreasonably upset. I didn't know the man well; I've probably spoken five words to him in my whole life. In fact, if you had asked me yesterday whether or not he was still alive I would have casually admitted ignorance and I wouldn't have thought twice about it after that. But knowing he's dead is different. For me, I think he was one of those two-dimensional characters that stay put in the background, but nevertheless influence your path through life in small, incalculable ways. The namesake of the street I grew up on, the old man I was unnecessarily frightened of when I was little, a man I later respected for his refusal to let old age limit him, who embodied for me the adage "It's not how old you are, it's how you are old"...

Maybe grief is always selfish, but mine feels especially selfish. Selfish and also superficial, but nonetheless real and painful. I'm sad not because I loved the man, but because his death is one more broken tie to my childhood, where things were, if not necessarily any better, at least simpler. His passing is another sign that life is stuck in fast-forward, a morbid reminder that everything ends. There's something awful and egocentric about simplifying another man's life that way, but it's hard to shake myself out of this gloom.

Life is, as I often joke, mysterious. I sometimes wake up here in Spain expecting to find myself in my bedroom at home on Drahos Drive. I quickly adjust, but somewhere in my subconscious, the question repeats: How did I get here? How did the little kid I was in elementary school end up... here? The series of circumstances and events that have pulled me through life thus far seem completely and utterly random. A comprehensive list of my life experiences would be incomprehensible. Here's a taste: In kindergarten, my teacher disappeared halfway through the year; later, I heard talk of emotional problems. In the third grade, I received my black belt in Tae Kwon Do and promptly quit. In the sixth grade, I tied my shoes together in detention and my English teacher had to console me when my inability to untie them triggered a meltdown. In the ninth grade, I took up pole vaulting and consistently failed to clear seven feet at meets.

And now here I am, in Spain.

Everyone has limited control over their life, but now and then I get the feeling that I've never really taken advantage of what little control I do have. I've been floating along because I'm too lazy or scared to swim. I want to live deliberately, but I can never seem to find the time or energy.

In the end, it's easier to blame feelings of helplessness on the things you can't control, like the death of an old man or the frenzied pace time seems to prefer in its ceaseless march forward. I want to swim, but swimming is difficult. It's easier to sit around and feel sorry for yourself and wonder how the heck you got here.

"This will be funny soon"

The above phrase is of special importance in my life. It occasionally provides a small amount of comfort in situations that are otherwise:

• uncomfortable
• frustrating
• mortifying
• stressful
• demoralizing
• pitiful
• some combination of the above

These types of situations arise with alarming frequency in my life and I've learned to use "This will be funny soon" (hereafter referred to simply as TWBFS) as a buffer of sorts against the cruelties of life. Instead of sobbing uncontrollably and bashing my head against the nearest wall (behaviors which, I think we can agree, could be classified as 'maladaptive'), I just silently repeat my little mantra to myself or say it aloud to those around me and, although it doesn't immediately transform the situation into a knee-slapper, it usually lightens the mood. At least it lightens my mood; it's entirely possible that TWBFS has the opposite effect on those around me.

The reason today's post opens with an explanation of TWBFS is that I had to make use of the phrase earlier today and I got to thinking that maybe my vidlings could benefit from learning this technique. You know. In case any of you accidentally book a flight to Berlin at six o'clock in the morning instead of six o'clock at night.

I'm not actually sure how I managed to do it, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at this point. This is the kid who walked into the wrong house one day after school. This is the kid who tried to get out of the car before unbuckling himself. The kid who recently left his cell phone in a taxi from Jerez. And left his hat in a restaurant in Barcelona. I am, in a word, incompetent.

Anyway, now I have to pack up and leave a day earlier, sleep in the Málaga airport overnight, and spend most of Wednesday alone in Berlin. Great. Fantastic. I also tried to plan this trip around my Wednesday morning class, but my idiocy means I'll be missing it yet again. So I got that going for me. Which is nice.

Even as I write this, the temptation to use my head to put holes in my wall is overwhelming. This will be funny soon. Just not yet.

BARCELONA: La Sagrada Familia

Photo credit Megan Paolone

Vid Goes to Barcelona

Our train to Sevilla left on Wednesday morning at 9:55. Without us.

I think Megan, Sarah and I all knew when we left our building ten minutes before our train was supposed to leave the station that we weren't going to make it in time. Even so, we darted through the narrow streets of Cádiz toward the station like our very lives depended on catching that train, moving at a pace that left my calves burning for the rest of the morning. It was an exercise in futility, but at least it was exercise.

On our way to the station, we called our friend Amanda, who was traveling with us, and more or less told her not to be silly, of course we were going to make it there in time, go ahead and buy four tickets. Then as we finally neared our destination, we received a call from Amanda informing us that the train was now pulling out of its platform, with her inside. They don't always check tickets on the trains here, but it was comforting to know that Amanda was definitely going to be covered if they decided to this time.

We ended up taking a bus into Sevilla and we made it to the airport in plenty of time to catch our flight to Barcelona. When we arrived, we checked into the Central Garden Hostel One on Carrer Roger de Llúria and we were immediately impressed. It was spacious and clean and the staff were friendly and helpful. The husband of the husband-and-wife team that owns the hostel sat us down with a map of the city, showing us where he had marked various sights we had to see while we were there along with prices and routes for getting where we needed to go.

That night, we dined at La Rita, a reasonably-priced restaurant with decent sea food and a nice, upscale atmosphere. This upscale atmosphere is what inspired me take off the cap I'd been wearing all day while we ate. I'm not sure what inspired me to leave it in the restaurant when we left or what inspired someone to take it for their own when they found it lying on the floor, but that's my best guess as to what transpired, because it wasn't there when I went back for it.

A little aside to our would-be hat thief: Enjoy. It's not worth much and it's starting to smell, but it was always good to me. Also, I'm pretty sure I don't have lice, so that's a plus.

On Thursday, we woke up relatively early and headed to Travel Bar for a free walking tour of the Gothic quarter of the city. The tour was interesting and informative, but paled somewhat in comparison to my Dublin tour. Our guide Mark was Australian and although he seemed to have done his research on Barcelona, he hadn't lived there long and didn't exude the same authority that Dublin Dave did. Still, he was engaging and friendly and convinced us to come back the following day for a bike tour.

On our walking tour we met a girl our age named Pinsi, who accompanied us for the rest of the day as we got sandwiches at La Xampanyeria and walked through the exhibits at the Museu Picasso. The museum doesn't hold a lot of Picasso's really famous works, but instead a lot of his lesser-known, earlier works, so I imagine it's more interesting for those who already know a thing or two about Picasso. I myself was most impressed by just how conventional some of his really early work was.

My friends and I spent Friday morning riding around Barcelona on bikes. We stopped at Sagrada Familia, the famous cathedral designed by Antoni Gaudí, and walked around the giant building on foot, taking in the bizarre and inspiring art of a mad genius. This is one of the sights people will tell you you must see if you visit Barcelona; I agree. I'm not sure how much it costs to get inside or how long you would have to wait in line to get inside once you pay, but it's free to just walk around it outside and you don't have to be interested in architecture to fall in love with Gaudí's crazy work.

Halfway through the bike tour, we stopped for one-euro wine and then continued on. I wouldn't say I got tipsy, exactly, but riding a bike was a lot more fun after two glasses of cheap wine.

On Saturday, we met up with Sergi and Jaume, my friends and natives of Barcelona. I was grateful for the opportunity to experience the city through the eyes of people who actually lived there. First we took a tour of Camp Nou, the football stadium of FC Barcelona. Sergi and Jaume love their football team and try to make it to every game. They pointed out to me where they usually sit in the stands and talked about important plays they remembered seeing. I learned that FC Barcelona is the first team to win all six important cups, although now that I'm writing this out, I realize I'm not sure what it means.

Next, we went to Park Guell, which is home to more work by Gaudí and is, I was reminded many times this weekend in excited yelps from my American friends, also where one season (one episode? all seasons? I'm not really sure) of America's Next Top Model was filmed. The park, being built into a hill, offered a nice view of the city and, again, Gaudí's architecture was spectacular.

Sergi spent the afternoon trying to teach me some words in Catalan, the predominant language in Barcelona. It's not a dialect of Spanish, but is, as I've indicated, a language all it's own. Though it's fairly similar to Spanish, it's different enough that I had trouble pronouncing a few words.

Before I met Sergi and Jaume, I thought of Spain as being very homogeneous. This couldn't be further from the truth. There are four main languages spoken in Spain. In Barcelona, which is in Catalunya, they speak Catalan. In Galicia, they speak Gallego. Up north in the País Vasco, they speak a language called Euskara. And down here in Andalucía, where I study, they speak Castellano. Castellano is also the official language of the country and is often referred to simply as Spanish. Everyone in Spain speaks Spanish, but not everyone in Spain likes to think of themselves as being Spanish.

Sergi kept pointing out things that he considered to be "Spanish" and spoke of them as if they were more than a tad ridiculous.

• Flamenco ("This is very Spanish, this.")
• Castanets ("Of course! Very Spanish.")
• Bull fights (This one in particular Sergi seemed to feel strongly about, because it involves torturing and killing animals for sport. The people of Catalunya recently voted to ban bull fights in their neck of Spain.)

Sergi even expressed hope that Catalunya would someday be independent from Spain, but Jaume seemed to think Sergi's pride in Catalunya was a bit excessive. He said he was both Catalan and Spanish and that was fine by him. It was interesting to hear these two differing perspectives from young people.

Barcelona is a beautiful city with a lot to see, but by Sunday I was exhausted and just wanted to be back in Cádiz. Someday, maybe soon, I'll go back and try to see everything I missed this time around, but for now, I'm glad to have a bit of a rest from traveling.

Until I go to Berlin in less than two weeks. And I'll be flying Ryanair again. Oh, joy of joys!

Vid Goes to Dublin

I kicked off the day after St. Patrick's Day with the coldest shower I've ever taken in my life. I was staying with my friend Sean, whose water heater, we later deduced, was a bit broken. But the water wasn't just not hot. I can deal with not hot. It was COLD. I'm convinced if the water had been any colder, it would have ceased being water altogether, unless we can call ice solid water, which I suppose it is. More on water later.

I survived my shower and my friends and I rushed to City Hall where we waited for what seemed like an hour for our walking tour of Dublin to begin. The reason we rushed is that we were supposed to meet another group of friends there and we were concerned that we had kept them waiting. It turned out there was a problem with their bus (in that it was the wrong one) and they ended up missing the beginning of the tour.

Our tour guide, Dave, was friendly and engaging and knew a lot about the history of Dublin. He spoke about the tension that existed between Britain and Ireland and Dublin's role in the story of Ireland's eventual independence. He expressed his mild distaste for the architecture of Sam Stephenson (whose Dublin buildings are arguably both landmarks and eyesores) and his extreme distaste for Jack Black (whose portrayal of Gulliver in the recent Hollywood flick Gulliver's Travels is, according to Dave, an insult to the memory of great Irish satirist Jonathan Swift). He informed us that like famous Irish writers James Joyce and Oscar Wilde, Courtney Love attended Trinity College, but she was kicked out for selling massive amounts of LSD. All in all, it was an entertaining and informative tour and I'd recommend it to anyone interested in learning about Dublin without having to spend any money. The tours, which are run by Sandeman's New Europe, are completely free. Tips are suggested.

After the tour, we went to O'Neill's Bar and Restaurant on Suffolk Street, where we got a discount for having taken the tour. I got Fish and Chips, which I'm told is very popular in Dublin. It was delicious and the atmosphere of the restaurant was very friendly.

That night, my friends and I went on a pub crawl, also run by Sandeman's New Europe. It was a lot of fun, although some bartenders seemed less than happy to see us waving our colored wrist bands about, yapping in accents that clearly originated outside of Ireland. One in particular let us know that he hated these pub crawls and that, although my two friends and I didn't "seem so bad", we represented a major nuisance for him and he'd be glad when we moved on to the next bar. It was all a little confrontational, but at the time I was in good spirits, and allowed my mind to twist his blunt honesty into a sort of friendly confidentiality. From what I can remember, the pub crawl was fun and it's a nice way to both meet other people visiting Dublin and to experience the Dublin nightlife.

The next morning, I was a tad hungover. Of course, Saturday was the day we decided to visit the famous Guinness Storehouse, so as I stumbled around in my miserable alcohol-induced haze, I got to learn all about beer and how it's made and just how gosh-darn great it is. I tried to keep sickened groans to a minimum.

Perhaps my experience at the Guinness Storehouse was colored by my hangover, but I wasn't all that impressed. Our tickets cost eleven euros online and there are plenty of other, free attractions in Dublin that I suspect I might have found more enlightening.

The first floor of the Guinness Storehouse is devoted to Guinness's four ingredients: hops, barley, yeast, and water. Each ingredient gets its own visual displays and plaques of information.

• Learning about hops: Fairly interesting. Maybe you're like me before I went and you aren't entirely certain of what hops are, or what they look like, or where they're grown.
• Learning about yeast: Also fairly interesting and relevant.
• Learning about barley: At least somewhat more interesting than it sounds.
• Learning about water: A good reason to spend your eleven euros somewhere else.

The Storehouse tried to turn water into something new and fascinating by installing a miniature waterfall inside, with mixed results; it wasn't fully capable of distracting me from the inane information about water painted on the floor and written on plaques, but it was cool enough that many people seemed to want to take pictures in front of it.

After I took my free pint on principle and gave it away immediately, we exited the Storehouse and took a taxi to the Kilmainham Gaol, an old prison in Dublin that houses a lot of Irish history. The jail is known mostly for its political prisoners, especially the fifteen rebels sentenced to death after the Easter Rising of 1916, who were executed by firing squad in the courtyard. The tour was a little eerie, but it only cost us two euros each and the jail is so steeped in Irish history I think it would have been a mistake to miss it.

On Sunday, we rose bright and early to catch our Ryanair flight out of Dublin Airport. I tried to sleep on the plane, but I think maybe it was designed to make this impossible, or at least incredibly uncomfortable. After landing in Malaga, we took a city bus to the bus station and bought tickets for a bus back to Cádiz. The weekend had exhausted me and I wanted nothing more than to be back in the city I've grown to love, snug between my cheap Chino store blankets and my not-that-comfortable mattress. Of course, this was denied me for just a little while longer when our bus broke down somewhere between Algeciras and Cádiz.

I think because we were overtired, my friend Megan and I almost immediately burst into laughter at the seeming absurdity of this occurrence and we kept laughing as we waited for another bus to come pick us up. Our chuckles drew suspicious glances from some of the natives, but by that time I was too tired to care.

I guess I can sort of break it down this way:

• Dublin: fun
• Traveling all day long: not fun
• Bus breaking down: funny(?)
• Sleeping after arriving home in Cádiz: AWESOME

Happy St. Patrick's Day from Dublin!

Today, after about twenty hours of travel, my friends and I arrived in Dublin, Ireland. The crowded streets in the city center reminded me of Carnaval in Cádiz, except everyone was speaking English and wearing the same costume--green*. I stopped to take a picture with good ol' Jimmy Joyce and my friends and I continued on to O'Shea's, where I enjoyed their famous Irish lamb stew. Next we hit up the only bar we could find that would take us (many turned us away due to lack of space) and I had a glass of Guinness. Satisfied that we had fulfilled our holiday duties, we retired after one drink and headed home so we could finally get some decent sleep. Which, if my heavy eyelids are any indication, will be happening soon.

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

*UPDATE: I almost forgot drunk--green and drunk, both equally important on St. Patrick's day, or so it seems.

Carnaval Sights AND Sounds

On Saturday afternoon, I took my camera around the city in an attempt to document the beginning of Carnaval. As I mentioned before, all the little kids were in costume...

..as were a lot of the adults.

There were street vendors everywhere.

I tried these things called buñuelos. They're basically little donuts they fry right in front of you. You can choose from a number of different toppings like chocolate, white chocolate, dulce de leche and strawberry. I paid 3,50€ for about six tiny buñuelos covered in a strawberry sauce. It was worth it, but just barely.

Some people stood on street corners, selling costume parts like masks...

...and hats and wigs.

I ran across this artist on Calle Ancha. She was in the middle of sewing an intricate tapestry. It was an interesting process to behold.

The sign says: No se vende. Mi trabajo es para todos. Gracias. (Not for sale. My work is for everyone. Thank you.)

Oh, and guess what? Somewhere between pouting about my broken Flip and eating those emotions in the form of overpriced bite-sized donuts, I realized that my regular ol' camera ALSO has a video feature. So here some of the sights and sounds of Carnaval de Cádiz 2011:

Lions and ninjas and clowns, oh my!

I just went for a quick run along the waterfront (which is always more enjoyable than I expect it's going to be; I think I'll just have to bring a view of the bright blue ocean with me whenever I go for a run) and by the time I returned to Plaza de San Antonio, Carnaval was in full swing.

All the little kids are dressed up, as well as some adults. So far I've seen a lion, a dinosaur, a couple Spider-mans, a couple Batmans, a Mario, a Snow White, a Woody from Toy Story, a couple clowns, a Linguini from Ratatouille, a ninja, and a couple ninja turtles. There are street vendors everywhere selling balloons shaped like Spongebob, Patrick, Dora the Explorer (interesting side note: In Spain, Dora teaches little kids to count in English), and a number of potentially Spanish characters I don't recognize.

There's a giant stage set up in Plaza de San Antonio, which is right near my apartment, and there seems to be some type of performance going on as I write this. I stopped and watched part of it on the way back from my run, but from what I can gather, the show consists mostly of costumed adults crawling around the stage on hands and knees while circus music blares through the speakers. To be fair, there was a costumed little girl on a swing they'd set up above the stage; that was pretty cool. Also, I think a lot of the performances happening during Carnaval are put on by townspeople and not professionals. I suppose one has to appreciate the authenticity and charm.

Anyway, being there in the midst of all the festivities made me wish I had brought my camera on my run with me (on the other hand, trying to run with a bulky camera in hand would have made me wish I'd left it at home) and it also reminded me that my Flip is broken, so I won't be able to film any of the cool street performances this week. Which is pretty lame. So I apologize for the lack of video content, but expect some pictures of Carnaval de Cádiz 2011 in the near future.

Carnaval

Last night was the first night of Carnaval, a ten-day period of festivities before Lent. Cádiz's Carnaval is world-famous and supposedly people come from all over just to celebrate with the Gaditanos (people from Cádiz). There are no classes during Carnaval, so I'll have plenty of time to take part in the merriment. In the coming days, I expect to see a lot of choruses, street performers, and costumed foreigners imbibing to excess. I've been warned by some natives that things can get a little out of hand, so I intend to be careful, while still trying to get into the spirit of things.

Photo credit Elsa Pedro

Blog Redo Part VI: I wanted another Sugu

...plus, my dad has informed me that this series of blog posts is a little confusing, so I thought I'd conclude them with a post offering some clarification.

Every installment of what I unimaginatively dubbed "Blog Redo" was written and posted today, Monday, February 28. The italicized date found under the equally unimaginative subtitles of each post is the date that post should have been written and I tried to word each part as if I was writing it on that date, instead of weeks later.

Instead of making up for lost time, I seem to have merely confused people, but if you read these posts in order, starting with Part I, everything should make a little more sense.

Blog Redo Part V: Move-in Day

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Move-in Day went without a hitch. I've met most of my flatmates already.

There's Marine, who's French. She's very friendly and outgoing. There's also Tati, short for Tatiana. She's from Germany and is new to the apartment, like me. And there's Audriana, the other American. She seems very funny. I still haven't met Kati, short for Katarina. She's from Germany, too, but right now she's in Morocco. We also have staying with us for the time being Cata, short for Catalina. She's from Romania and knows about six languages fluently.

I'm already bad with names, but it's going to be extra difficult with names like Cata, Kati, and Tati.

Anyway, here are some pictures.

The bedroom, where I do my sleeping:

 

The kitchen, where I do my eating:

The bathroom, where I do my bathing:

The living room, where I do my living:

And last but not least, the terrace, where I do my relaxing:

Blog Redo Part IV: An Understated and Belated Thank You to Yael and Matthias

Saturday, February 12, 2011

This weekend, I'm staying with my friends Yael and Matthias in their apartment. I don't move into my apartment until Monday, but I needed to skedaddle because the American girl is coming to stay with Carmen and Rafa today, so Yael and Matthias have been kind enough to offer their place for the time being. It's a much nicer option than staying in a hostel for the weekend, and cheaper.

So thanks, Yael and Matthias!

Blog Redo Part III: An Understated and Belated Thank You to Dierdre

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Two of my American friends and I recently split a membership on EasyPiso.es in order to facilitate our apartment search. It's a pretty cool website where you can search for habitaciones disponibles (available rooms) in apartments around the city you're living in. You can view photos if the owner has uploaded any and you can contact the owner if you're interested in seeing the place. A premium membership is 20€, which isn't too bad when split among three people.

With the help of our friend Dierdre (thanks Dierdre!) we've been calling people and setting up appointments to look at open rooms together. Speaking on the phone with native Spanish speakers has been more difficult than we anticipated, and Dierdre helps out a little here and there if there's a communication problem. In other words, we make Dierdre call everyone.

We saw a nice three-person apartment yesterday, but we were reluctant to take the first thing we saw after having just paid for a membership on EasyPiso. We were also concerned that if we all lived alone together, we would never practice our Spanish together.

Tonight, we looked at an apartment building that seems much more promising. It's right near the ocean and it's filled with other foreign students all eager to practice their Spanish. The inside is really nice and it has a terrace on the roof with a nice view of the ocean and the city. It was pretty much exactly what we were looking for and we've decided we're going to take it.

On February 14, I'll be moving into the fourth floor apartment and I'll be living with one French girl, two German girls and an American girl from New Mexico. The French girl, Marine, seems very friendly and she said she was excited to be living with another American.

Blog Redo Part II: ¿Me debo ir o quedarme?

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Tonight I decided I'm going to try to find an apartment in the city.

It turns out Carmen and Rafa thought I was only staying with them for three weeks, until the end of my immersive Spanish course. Carmen offered to let me stay on for the same price I'm paying now, but she needed to know if I was going to stay up until June or if I might leave before then to live in an apartment. They were offered the opportunity to host an American girl until June, which would be a better deal for them than allowing me to stay until I find somewhere else to live.

For many families in Cádiz, hosting foreign students is a source of income. The student pays a certain amount of money per day, and everything is taken care of: meals, laundry, cleaning, etc.

It's not a bad deal at all, considering that staying with a host family is also likely to improve one's Spanish. On top of that, I have it a lot better than some of my friends. I have my own room, my own bathroom, my own work area... I'm staying with an incredibly friendly family and Carmen is an amazing cook.

But apartments are rather cheap in Cádiz during the Spring and the idea of being more independent appeals to me. I may not eat as well on my own as I do here with Carmen, but not having to adhere to a strict meal schedule will be nice and I don't mind doing my own laundry. Living in an apartment will make traveling easier and it will mean I can have guests if a friend wants to visit me here in Cádiz.

In an already awkward conversation concerning money, made more awkward by the language barrier, I may have unintentionally insulted Carmen by saying that her prices were a bit too high for me. I think this is sort of a cultural thing; I was trying to express that I was a poor college student and that I would be spending considerably less money daily if I lived in an apartment, but I may have accidentally insinuated that her cooking and other services weren't worth the money I was paying. This is, of course, not what I was trying to say, and I felt badly afterward.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have made the conversation about money. The economy in Spain is even worse than the economy in the United States right now and a lot of people here are en paro, which means "out of work." Some friends have said that one or both of their host parents recently lost their jobs. I feel a bit like an insensitive American, trying to bargain for a lower price the way I did.

When I changed the subject to matters of independence, Carmen was much more willing to see things my way. She assured me that it was normal for someone my age to want to be more self-sufficient and that there would be no problem if I wanted to find an apartment. She just needed to know one way or the other, so she could finalize things with the American girl.

Although I'll miss everyone in my host family, I think I made the right decision in telling her that I would be leaving. Carmen and Rafa have both been very understanding of my decision and have offered to help me on my search. I'll let you guys know when I find something.

Blog Redo Part I: In which Vid reveals his plan to eat a lot of Sugus

I live in an apartment. Did you know that?

I was all ready to write up a post that should have been written two weeks ago, letting all of my vidlings know how my move went and sharing photos of my new apartment, when I realized that a casual reader of this blog had no way of knowing that there had been any such move.

So what follows is all at once an excuse to eat a bunch of Sugus, an overcompensation for my lack of blogging lately, and an approximation of what my blog would have looked like if I had done this thing right the first time.

Spanish Candy: An Experiment in Self Motivation/Discipline

The vidlings are growing restless, so I must appease them with another blog post. That is, I think maybe one person complained about my sporadic updates as of late, and I got to thinking about how maybe my unreliability and seeming lack of sticktoitiveness in terms of blogging could be generalized to the rest of my life and it made me feel bad about myself. And, you know, there's no better motivation than the need for reassurance that you're not as slothful as, say, a sloth. Except for maybe...

SUGUS!

Sugus are basically Spain's version of Starbursts. They're actually Swiss in origin, but now they're owned by Wrigley and I guess they're pretty popular in Spain. They're available everywhere I go in Cádiz.

Like Starbursts, they're highly addictive and they make you feel disgusting if you eat a whole bag in one sitting. Which I've done (sloth, gluttony... let's see how many deadly sins I can rack up in one blog post).

Unlike Starbursts--packages of which contain a measly four colors and flavors--each package of Sugus boasts a whopping FIVE colors and flavors, which I will now list in order of how much sense each pairing makes, from most to least:

1. orange=orange

-Okay, I'm with you.

2. yellow=lemon

-Seems reasonable.

3. red=strawberry

-Not really breaking any ground there.

4. purple=cherry

-You know what? Sure. Cherries sometimes have a sort of purplish tint to them. Seems like an elegant solution to the whole strawberries-and-cherries-are-both-red-fruits thing.

5. blue=pineapple

-Wait, what?

Seeing as I have both a terrible sweet tooth and a proclivity for procrastination, I devised a clever plan to make myself update this blog more often and it involves Sugus. So today I went to Carrefour Express (a grocery-store-type-deal not far from where I live now) and purchased a big bag of Sugus (pictured above).

Here's the plan, pure and simple: I get one Sugu every time I finish and post an update to this blog. I'm killing two birds with one stone here, because in addition to motivating myself to update more often, I'm curbing my Sugu intake, as it's unlikely I'll write 100 blog posts in one day. 

It's already past midnight and the idea of eating even one Sugu at this hour is actually sort of nauseating, but I think breaking a rule already would set a bad precedent, so... I think I'll have a red. Want one? Too bad. I need them for my blog.

And since the content of this blog post thus far has been only tenuously linked to Spain (in that Sugus are a popular candy in Cádiz), here's this week's installment of

SPANISH FOR VIDLINGS: Sugus Edition

• naranja: orange (the fruit)
• limon: lemon
• fresa: strawberry
• cereza: cherry
• piña: pineapple

UPDATE: My test was not as difficult as I had anticipated. I passed with an 8 out of 10, which is apparently "notable." 

Cádiz in Pictures

Yeah, I know, it's been a while. For what it's worth, though, not much has happened in the last week.

Every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday (and occasionally Wednesday and occasionally not Friday) I wake up and head to class at 9:30am in this building:

I'm referring to the three week immersion course I've been taking since I arrived. Real classes don't start until next Monday, but this immersion course feels real enough; I have a test this Friday and I'm not exactly looking forward to it.

Class goes until 2pm, but we get a half hour break at 11:30am for a snack. People in Cádiz don't eat lunch until about 3pm, so I've been taking advantage of snack time. I usually get a caña con chocolate, a messy but delicious pastry with melted chocolate inside.

After lunch, I usually meet up with my friends at around 4 or 4:30pm, and we just sort of walk around the city. Stores are closed for siesta from about 2pm until about 6pm, because naps are awesome and Spanish people know it. It's occasionally sort of inconvenient--and kind of jarring, coming from America where grocery stores and fast food restaurants are often open 24/7--but I'm already used to it.

Speaking of walking around the city, though, reminds me that you guys haven't actually seen much of the city. So here are some pictures I've taken (you're welcome to ooh and aah if you feel so inclined):

 

Okay, that's all for now. I'll try to update more frequently from here on out and I'll let everyone know how my test goes on Friday. Anyway, I better wrap this up; those preposiciones and construcciones pasivas aren't gonna study themselves.

SPANISH FOR VIDLINGS:

Here are some useful phrases in Spanish and their approximate equivalents in English.

• Ya voy: I'm coming.
• Nos vemos: See you later. 
• Hasta ahora: See you soon.
• Vale: Okay.
• Encantado: Nice to meet you. 
• ¿Cómo?: Uh... what?
• No entiendo: I don't understand.
• Sí, vale, ya entiendo: I still don't understand, but I feel like an idiot, so I'm not going to have you repeat it again.

Pastries and Sea Urchins

This weekend, the people of Cádiz and I celebrated pastries and sea urchins. As near as I can gather. If it seems like a bizarre combination, that's because it is, but don't worry, each thing got its own, separate day of celebration.

Saturday was Pestiñada and at around ten in La Plaza de San Francisco, they started giving out free pestiños, tasty pastries that are made with honey and are popular in Andalucia, especially around Christmas and Easter. I got three, because I'm all about free pastries.

un pestiño, courtesy Google image search

They were also giving out free shots of anís, a liqueur that's made through the distillation of anise seeds. It burns a little going down but it's also very sweet and tastes a bit like licorice. All in all, it's pretty pleasant.

Meanwhile, people gathered in the plaza to hear the chorus sing. A lot of people. You may not be able to hear the music very well over the crowd, but anyway, here's my amateurish attempt at multimedia blogging (ignore the less-than-inspirational camerawork):

On Sunday, Erizada, the festivities began at around noon. Erizos are sea urchins and apparently people in Cádiz eat them. At least during Erizada. I myself was not brave enough to try one, but I am told that they are fishy and salty.

¡Qué asco! (Photo credit Megan Paolone)

I actually spent most of the morning getting lost in the city, so I missed out on all of the free beer being served in La Plaza de San Antonio. By the time my friends and I showed up after lunch, la cerveza gratis was all gone. This irked my friends and I, because we wanted to join the natives in taking advantage of the nonexistent open container laws, so we found a nearby store and bought, for 2 euros each, liter bottles of Cruzcampo.

Mmmm, I can taste the cheap. (Photo credit Megan Paolone)

After this eminently sensible purchase, we spent the afternoon wandering the city, people watching and taking photos. We also ran into a cool drum performance and I managed to capture some of it on camera:

The weather here in Cádiz has been inconsistent since I arrived, but we really lucked out this weekend and enjoyed a dry Pestiñada and a sunny Erizada. Speaking of weather, it's a beautiful day and I don't want to spend all of it inside, blogging.

But before I go: I've been thinking about maybe ending some of these longer posts with mini Spanish lessons or something. It'll be like a prize at the bottom of the cereal box, except less exciting. I probably won't do this all the time, just when I learn something interesting or useful. So without further ado, I present to you the first (and possibly last) installment of...

SPANISH FOR VIDLINGS:

• guay: cool, sweet (¡Tu cámara nueva es tan guay!)
• friki (also friqui): geeky, dorky (¿Vid mantiene un blog? ¡Qué friki!)

AWESOME

Cell Phones and Bieber Fever

If the story of my travels thus far were to have some sort of moral, some sort of simple, meaningful message that could benefit all mankind, I think it would be this:

If you're traveling to Spain for the first time and you're still relatively unfamiliar with the exchange rate and therefore unable to judge the appropriateness of prices, don't buy a cell phone from the first person who offers to sell you a cell phone; shop around a bit.

I know that's sort of specific and you may have some trouble applying it to your daily life, but I still think it's a pretty good moral. I would add that this advice should not be disregarded even if your mother tells you to "buy a cell phone as soon as you get over there!" (Hi Mom!)

No sooner had I gotten through customs in Madrid than I encountered this lady yelling about a "teléfono cellular." And I just shelled out some cash without asking any questions. I figured if she was allowed in the airport, she must be legit. And it sounded like a good deal. It just... wasn't... is all.

The phone itself was 50 euros, which is more than anyone ought to pay for a cell phone that they'll only be using for five months. Then I paid to put 50 more euros on the SIM card. That's right, my vidlings, I parted ways with 100 euros within my first twenty minutes in Spain.

The lady told me I'd be able to call anyone anywhere in the world using the money I put on my SIM card. Questions I should have asked at the time include:

1. Can anyone anywhere in the world also call me?
2. How much money will I be charged per minute?
3. Is 100 euros a lot of money to spend on a temporary cell phone? Because it kind of feels like a lot of money to spend on a temporary cell phone.

The answer to question one, I soon learned, is "no." Apparently, people in Spain cannot call the number I was given. Which, you know, is a bit of a problem if you're living in Spain for five months.

I still don't know the answer to question two. It's probably something like "too much."

As for question three, the answer seems to be "yes." One of my friends here bought her phone for 19 euros. I think maybe the SIM card was an additional 20, but that still only brings her to 39 euros as compared to my 100.

If you need to buy a phone in Cádiz, the consensus seems to be that Yoigo is the way to go. They sell cheap cell phones and cheap plans. I bought a new SIM card there today for 20 euros. I'm on a plan which charges me 8 cents a minute and 8 cents per text message. Not only that, I start with 20 free text messages. But most importantly, I now have a new phone number and people can actually contact me, so I got that going for me. Which is nice.

On an unrelated note, a car passed me today blaring Justin Bieber. I wasn't totally surprised; American music seems to be more common in Spain than Spanish music. But I was amused to see that it was not, say, a mother carting her tweenage daughter around Cádiz, but an older gentleman, alone in his car, simply rockin' out to the Canadian teen idol's hit "Baby." Not that it matters, but it occurs to me as I write this that a casual overseas consumer of American music might easily mistake Bieber for a female. I can't decide how this changes my perception of the event, if at all.

My Digs

 

While I'm here, I have a section of the house all to myself. This is my computer room. I am sitting in it now.

I also get my own bathroom, which is pretty sweet.

 

This is my bedroom. It's got two beds, which will be nice if I decide to clone myself while I'm here.