The End of the Beginning

Yesterday was a positively great day. Find it eloquently described below:

I awoke unnaturally early to head to my espinning class where I promptly won el premio. I hadn't even been trying to win the prize, I just got down to business pedaling away since the class had begun late when I noticed everyone looking at me, giggling warmly with knowing eyes. For better or for worse, I've unintentionally made a habit of tuning Spanish out unless I know it is directed towards me. Well evidently, yesterday morning, an uncharacteristically chilly and windy morning, the cycling instructor indicated that the first person in the class to bravely remove his or her sweatshirt and ride in mangas cortas wins the prize. The prize was nothing except class recognition as a bad-ass, but that's better than the title of Ugly American.

After a shower and a quick bite for breakfast, I met a few girls from my class at Plaça Catalunya at noon for a leisurely stroll through Barri Gòtic, or Gothic Quarter characterized by narrow cobblestone streets and very old buildings, some dating back to the 13th century. As anyone who knows me well can probably guess, I was in hog heaven because I love love love when old world meets new, just as the trendy and hip design shops, restaurants, and hotels in the Barri Gòtic so complement all of the awesome medieval architecture. Accordingly, Barri Gòtic is my favorite part of Barcelona thus far. I look forward to returning for an inside tour of the Barcelona Cathedral as well as free admission to the Picasso Museum, which should be epic.



Side note: it was in the Barri Gòtic that I finally located that delicate lifeblood and the cherry on the sundae of my life in Barcelona: peanut butter. I happened upon it in a trendy health and nutrition store. It was natural, organic, overpriced, and all mine. I had a peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwich for breakfast this morning. It took me home.

For lunch, the girls joined me at the aforementioned Viena, where I ordered an Ibèric, Mark Bittman's favorite. Please be sure to watch the link, also note that I sat in his VERY EXACT SEAT. That's how hard I was channeling Mark Bittman. Obviously meant to be.

If I had my own show on the Travel Channel, I'd describe the sandwich as the following: the ham was like butter - fatty, smooth, salty, melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I find it very difficult to describe the texture, but perhaps like the ginger you get folded neatly alongside your sushi, though less chewy. The ham just fell apart as soon as you bit into it. And the bread was flaky and light and warm and toasty and nutty and the perfect backdrop to such a buttery meat. Needless to say, the sandwich was delicioso, even for someone who isn't too crazy about ham because this ain't your mother's ham. This is Jabugo.



Post-almuerzo, I uploaded my pictures, obviously, and then headed to class for my second-to-last day of Español para Negocios. So now only one test stands in the way of me and Granada, where I'll be spending a long weekend thanks to the feast day of St. Thomas Aquinas.

After that, I begin my classes: Entrepreneurship; International Marketing; Spaniard Economy, Demographics & Sociology; and Logistics Management - all in English. Maybe I'm missing out, but I just couldn't stomach the idea of taking business classes with business vocabulary in a foreign language.

Anyway, that's about it for my day-in-the-life post. As always, thank you for reading and check back for photos from Granada.

<3

21 Dias

Okay so I haven't actually been here 21 days, just 15. But 21 Dias is actually a very popular television program here that follows journalist Samanta Villar as she participates in experiments for 21 days straight - everything from living without Internet to fumando porros. I learned about the show from a few friends I had dinner with last night. I'd tell you their names, but I couldn't decipher the Spanish pronunciations so I actually have no idea.

One is a girl who I see sitting by herself at dinner a lot. She has long bleach blond hair with very blunt, edgy bangs and she apparently loves eyeliner and track suits. Even better, every time she smiles, her teeth sparkle. I don't mean to sound sentimental or metaphorical, but her teeth actually sparkle. One of them is pierced with a diamond. As in, she's iced her teeth. I'm sure I've never heard of anyone every doing this but the girl can rock it. Anyway, I think she eats alone because no one can outlast her dining ritual. I've never seen such a petite girl eat so much. Most of the girls here eat lots of fruit and then steal all of the clementines to hoard back to their rooms, probably to eat while chain-smoking or something - idk, but I've seen this girl down 4 full plates of food - we're talking meat, pasta, french fries, 4 pieces of bread with olive oil, etc. - and then go get some dessert. She must only eat once a day or something, and I'm always shocked when I see her glide out of the cafeteria with the same lightness of foot with which she entered. She's fabulous, my new anonymous Spanish bestie.

Anyway, last night three of her guy friends joined us. Upon learning that I was from the U.S., they spoke a little bit about 21 Dias, and then we had a conversation that went a little something like this:

Ellos: Has ido a Los Burgers?

Yo: Que? No entiendo.

Ellos: Las Bregas?

Yo: No se. Lo siento.

Ellos: Las Begas?

Yo: Oh!! Las Vegas. No, nunca he visitado a Las Vegas. Soy de Tejas y nunca he ido mas oeste que Colorado.

Ellos: Tejas? Llevas un sombrero?

Yo: No no no. Vivo en Dallas, una ciudad grande and urbana.

Ellos: [Laughing & chattering]

Yo: Que?

Ellos: Ranger de Walker.

Yo: Chuck Norris? Yo conozco a Chuck Norris!


And that was the beginning of an hour-long conversation that I had with my new Spanish friends about American sensation and my very own neighbor on Meadowcreek Drive, Chuck Norris. We spoke of the list of Chuck Norris jokes, Dodgeball, the time when Chuck Norris' delinquent nephew egged my house, and how the guys should meet him in the U.S. so that when they return to the clubs of Barcelona, they can whip out a picture of themselves with Chuck Norris so no one with ever mess with them again. I approved of this plan.

Moral of the story? When in doubt, speak the international language of Chuck Norris: ass-kicking.

Hasta luego.

<3

P.S. - Check back later for pics from Parc Guell, which is where I'm off to now that the rain has passed.

Speaking the Same Language

I realized not a long while ago that I never delivered an update concerning my housing situation. Thankfully, I did manage to find a lovely place to lay my head at night: the Residencia Sarria, a dormitory-like setting for college students in Barcelona's uptown, or Zona Alta, right next to my school. And remember that gym I spoke so highly of in my earlier post? Well students of Residencia Sarria get a free all-access gym membership - that's really what did me in. Forget the clean, modern, fully-quipped rooms with bi-weekly maid service, free Wifi, and a convenient location. Give me a gym membership and I feel right at home. After a class of "espinning," I've concluded that exercise in an international language - I followed along seamlessly to the instructor's counts of "3...2...1...Arriba!" and "3...2...1...Abajo!" Definitely one of my more satisfying study abroad experiences thus far.

One of the lesser exciting elements of my stay in a residencia is the meal plan. The food is tasty and fresh and produce abounds, but I prefer to have a hand in my food's preparation. Nevertheless, I've come to love going to the cafeteria and catching up with other students here. As the vast majority of students here commute from different parts of Spain to go to class in Barcelona during the week, lunch and dinner are spent listening and desperately trying to follow the elusive dialogue between enthusiastic Spanish-speaking twenty-somethings. Still, everyone is nice and my requests to sit down next to a new friend are always met with "Claro que si." If anything, I'm just becoming more of a listener than a talker.

For my first three weeks here, I'm taking an intensive language class called Espanol para Negocios. While I'm proud to say that I qualified for la clase avanzada, the fact that my teacher knows absolutely no English is not incredibly convenient. To add to the language barrier, I've ironically become close with my two companeras in the front row, Laure y Yohanna. They're French. And they don't know any English either. Nor am I familiar with any French expressions beyond bonjour and au revoir, so we literally have no choice but to communicate in erroneous Spanish. It's been amusing, to say the least!

Speaking of which, I'm off to tour La Pedrera with them ahora!

Hasta luego. Y como siempre, te mando besitos y abrazos.

<3

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A picture from La Pedrera below. See more by clicking on the Photo Gallery link to the right.

The Sartorialist in Barcelona?

If I were the Sartorialist, this dapper Spaniard would definitely make the cut:



You feel me?

First Impressions of Barcelona

What a beautiful city! I mean, it’s actually just remarkably aesthetically pleasing – the architecture, the weather, the people. For such an urban location, it’s not at all as dirty as New York and it caters to an outdoor, pedestrian lifestyle from the Mediterranean all the way to Mount Tibidabo. Despite the foreign food, language, and customs, I immediately feel at home here, and I’m so sure that choosing to study abroad in Barcelona is the best decision I’ve ever made.

It hasn’t been all gravy, though.

Comida. Okay so I know that jamon serrano, among other meats, is like THE THING in Spain, but I have to admit I’m not feeling it on this one. I’m not a pig person, yet the sliced “turkey breast” here has a freaky gelatinous texture to it that represents that floppy foam paper from craft stores you used to buy for elementary school projects. So, never one to compromise or settle, I moved onto another lunchtime staple: peanut butter. Evidently, good ol’ PB is an American thing. So no more of my absolute favorite PB, banana and honey sandwiches – very unfortunate considering the bread here is fresh and cheap and practically made for a panini press. The produce is also divine – fresh, flavorful and very inexpensive compared to NYC prices, at least as far as I can tell with both the kg to lb and euro to dollar conversion. I should really keep a food diary while I’m here; the last couple of meals have made a mockery of my normally clean and veggie-ful diet, at the risk of making me a little bit hungrier, crankier, and itching to work out. So that’s what I went looking for next.

Gimnasio. I’m sure I had seen neither a fitness center nor a running Spaniard since I started walking the streets about 72 hours ago, but I had heard talk of a city-run civic center located near my school campus in Sarria where I could get a student discount. It’s too cold to run outside right now, and I can’t be certain my running shorts won’t mark me a tourist in my labored effort to fit in as a ciudadana. So onward and upward, literally, to Sarria we went to find this promising fitness center known to locals as Can Caralleu.

I was expecting a local YMCA-like operation for the prices quoted on the Internet, but this place knocked that out of the water. This was like a swanky health club with a jam-packed schedule of spinning, pilates, yoga, and strength-training classes, a pool, a track and field, a café, and an indoor fitness center to boot. So I just put in a few minutes on the elliptical overlooking spectacular views of the Mediterranean. NBD.

Here’s a pic of the rents from a street in Sarria with Mount Tibidabo behind them:



Residencia. Unfortunately, I may have to spend a lot of time at my little home gym away from home, as I am still homeless in Barcelona – I send, once again, a hearty “thank you” to the Fordham ISAP staff as well as IQS here in Barca for their overwhelming assistance in this matter. Please pray for me as I continue the search once again tomorrow. You’ll be the first to know when I’m all settled in.

Until then, abrazos y besos from Spain. And thank you for reading.

<3

P.S. - Lemme know if the Bridget's Sexiest Beaches title links get old. I probably won't do anything about it because they tickle me to death, but I'd be glad to know you're are watching them.