Back

I'm back! Safe and sound. It was really hard to leave, and I cried for like six hours straight the night before I left. And yet I knew it was time to go.

Thanks for reading about my bumbling around Spain. This is my last post on this blog, but if for some demented reason you want to keep reading random and sporadic writings, you can check in on my other blog from time to time.

I can't express how grateful I am for the friends and family I have, and the support they have given me, and the happiness the memories of them inspire within me. So yeah. I love you guys. See you soon, in REAL LIFE.

xoxo

The End [of the semester] Is Near

I had to add that extra little bracketed phrase there because I don't want to tempt fate and get run down by a Vespa tomorrow. Anyway.

I have:
- 4 (useable) days
- 3 exams
- 2 papers
- 1 more Christmas shopping run
- 2 bags to pack
- 3 special people to say goodbye to
- 8 bus rides
- 4 metro rides
- 1 cab ride
- 1 flight

until I am back in the USA. Now that I know that it's almost over, it's gotten very heavy very fast, but in a very odd way. The other night at dinner, Isabel sat down and basically said, "Listen, dudes. You'll come back here some day. And when you do, you will come over and we will all eat dinner together here. Other girls have come back,  and you will too." That paired with the fact that Luis is an active Skype-r makes it all the more clear that it's not a goodbye forever. It's not. I am going to miss them so much, but I can always find them again easily, even if it's just over the internet. Once I took the human-ness out of saying goodbye, it's just leaving a city. Granted, this city is going to be very hard to leave. I will miss the sidewalks, the buildings, the cafes, the bars, the food, the people, the language, the pride, the culture, the language, and the way it all makes me feel like I am tremendous and insignificant at the same time. I know I'll return, but never again will I be in Barcelona quite as I am now, a stranger and a local, a familiar face and an outsider, someone who doesn't belong but can tag along just the same.

So all that leaving sucks. But with leaving comes returning, and can I just say, oh baby Jesus I am so excited to see all the people and places I love in the USA again.  Like, for real. I would go on, but then I'd get too mushy, so suffice it to say, I freaking love you guys and can't wait to see you again.

Is this what this blog is turning into???

Yes. Christmas is coming, y'all!!!!!!! Like, it's coming for you.

papa mobile and the big man upstairs

A little over a week ago, the Pope was in town to consecrate la Sagrada Familia. Lots of people were upset because both Spain and Catalunya had spent an ungodly amount of money on his visit in the middle of a financial crisis that leaves more and more people hungry each month. The Pope probably wanted to consecrate a cathedral in his lifetime (and who the hell knows when another one of those is going to be built?), and so came to Barcelona, ignored the many protests (spanning issues from finance to gay rights, which was perhaps the largest) and then peaced out. If you have not seen pictures of the Papa Mobile you should definitely look down right now at the Papa Mobile.

Right!?!?!?!?! Like... what.

 It's interesting to see Spain grapple with their concept of religion. During Franco's regime, he wanted to make Spain a great Catholic nation, as done by Isabella and Ferdinand way back in the 15th and 16th centuries (in 1492 Isabella expelled all Jews from Spain, and the Inquisition began. And Colombus set sail, for what it's worth). Franco changed the entire identity of Spain in alarming and terrifying ways. Let's just do a quick inventory here.

Second Republic (1931-1939)
-Women could vote, hold public office, work outside the house, get divorced, were considered equal citizens
-State is extremely secular
-Catholicism loses followers, due in large part to ineptness of Church, and the fact that the government disassociated itself with Rome, leaving Catholicism to fend for itself (after centuries of funding it with government money)
- Education, free thinking, free speech encouraged.

CIVIL WAR (1936-1939)- Fascists, led by Franco, win. Republicans slaughtered after the victory. Spain is left in serious trouble, as the country has literally been torn apart in one of the bloodiest, terrifying ordeals. Many considered the Spanish Civil War as a prelude to WWII, as countries such as Germany and Italy supplied  the Nationalists with new weapons and technologies. The aftermath of the war lasted over twenty years; Many areas in Spain did not have street lights until the 1960s.

Franco's Regime (1939-1975)
- Catholicism forced onto entire country
- Women could not divorce, leave the country without their husband's passport, open a bank account, leave the house without their husband's permission, contraception outlawed. Women's rights non existent.
- Catalan, Galician and Basque languages outlawed.
- Censorship of books, magazines, television, movies, etc. Dubbing of foreign films became the norm, so as the content could be manipulated easily. The practice became engrained in the consciousness of Spain, and even today people prefer dubbed movies to subtitled ones, even though they obviously are not censored.
- Freedom of speech outlawed.
- Pretty much anything else you can think of that coincides with a dictator.

So, clearly, there's a lot going on here. In 1978, Spain instituted a new form of government, a constitutional monarchy. The new constitution took Spain out of the dark ages, and interjected more modern and liberal ideals into the political system. In more ways than one would think, Spain is infinitely more secular than the United States, which now seems to me to be more conservative than I had thought while living there, and our government clutching the Bible tighter than I had thought. And yet we still have completely different interpretations of the term "religious tolerance." Hell, even freedom of speech differs in interpretation.

I've been wanting to write this post for awhile. It's so incredibly hard to condense everything I've learned this semester (or even just day to day things) into a blog post. I never feel like I do my subjects justice, and there's really no way I could ever. But I did want to end on this one note, that's not a history lesson, and dude, if you're still reading this you deserve something shiny. So here goes.

I put it off as long as I could. As soon as my religion teacher gave my the assignment, I felt uncomfortable. Interview a Spanish person on their concept of religion in Spain. How the government is affected by it. What they believe in. What are customs and social norms. I felt like it was a really personal thing she was asking us to do, press someone on their faith in a different language no less. So naturally, I put it off until the night before. Before dinner I tentatively asked Luis if I could interview him for a class. As my professor suggested, I approached it as a live history, and then the plan was to segue into more religious topics.  So at about 9.00, I grabbed my computer, and met him in his and Isabel's room, where he was poised by his computer. Each armed with Google Translate, the interview began. I asked him about his church community, religion in school, his own experiences with education as well as factual information about the 1978 constitution. He was, as always, incredibly patient and helpful with me.

I typed out the interview as best I could, and as I saved it in my email to print the next day, I felt like I hadn't fully done what my teacher wanted me to in the assignment. I knew she would grade me harshly for not pressing issues pertaining to his own personal ideologies. Born in 1931, Luis had lived through the Second Republic, the Civil War, Franco. When I asked him when he started school, he mentioned he was six years old, and attending was difficult. He waved his hand and looked away, "The war in Barcelona... was terrible. Terrible time." He then immediately changed the subject to something a little more positive. I didn't want to push him to talk about anything. My host family has welcomed me into their home and treated me like a daughter, joking with me, nagging me, feeding me. Who the hell was I to ask personal and probing questions? About midway through the interview, his brother called, and they chatted briefly. After hanging up, he looked at me and said proudly, "Catalan," referring to the language they were speaking in. When I ran out of questions, we discussed the decorations on the bedroom wall, his and Isabel's First Communion papers, a bridal picture of Isabel on their wedding day. Sitting in my own room afterwards, I reflected on the history of the country, what it had been through, and what individuals had faced throughout the years, seemed more real than what I had seen in literature, primary documents, textbooks, film. It's when these concepts you have learned get fleshed out, become illustrated before you do they really take root. It goes from interesting historical information to a tangible array of emotions and real experiences of the kind an outsider can only get the faintest glimpse of.

So. History, religion, government, family. They are all intertwined in such messy and subtle and unexpected ways. I have just over a month left here, and for the first time it hit me I would actually be leaving. The thought of saying goodbye to Isabel and Luis made me so incredibly sad.

Birthday Dinner

So it was my birthday the other day, thank you to EVERYONE FOR FORGETTING.

Just kidding, my birthday's not until January. But did some of you (one of the two of you) freak out for a second?? Yeah you did.

Anyway, no it was Kendall's birthday yesterday, but today Isabel and Luis threw her a party. We had cake, sweet potatoes, panellets and a little champagne. After taking a few pictures, Isabel showed us old family photos in an album. She used to be a brunette and Luis used to have so much hair! It's really cool getting to spend time like that with older generations, especially since I've never been close to my grandparents. I hope I can keep up some kind of connection with them. Luis is big into Skype (I've met a couple girls they housed in previous years through it), so I think it's an attainable goal.

Yesterday was also Halloween. It's not really celebrated over here, and for most of the day I forgot that kids went door to door asking for candy. What a sweet holiday, no pun intended. I kind of miss it. Like I've never been SUPER CRAZY INTO HALLOWEEN, but still. Candy, scary movies, costumes, cute little kids, pumpkins? Dude. Great day. Anyway, hope everyone had a great weekend! We had today off, so tomorrow it's back to ye olde grind.
Later, dudes

Walk home

Four blocks before I made eye contact with a blind man, someone lit a trashcan on fire. I could smell it before I saw it. Oddly sweet, it easily could have been a vendor roasting yams. A woman hurriedly dumped the contents of her water bottle into the flames, causing smoke to pour out furiously. The warped garbage bag had turned to a stringy black mess, parts of it badly melted onto the metal can. It looked permanent.

Halfway

There are some nights you hang out with a group of sweet Catalans for an hour and a half in a bar, go dancing with your friends, and come home the same time you wake up for school on weekdays. And then other nights you stay in wearing your stepdad's old pj pants, drinking coffee with your host family while watching a dubbed movie about Aidan Quinn running around in a ridiculous get-up in the middle ages. I mean, I'm no historian, but I'm pretty sure they didn't have sequins or bedazzlers back then. Just sayin'.

Today marks the halfway point of the semester. It's come to my attention that the goals I took with me from the US may have been a little ridiculous. But new priorities come up, and the things that once seemed like the main point of coming here have become less important. I guess that's how pretty much everything in the history of mankind goes though. I've realized that there's no way I can do all I set out to. And you know, that's fine. I treasure the time I spend with people more than any site I've ever seen. The crazy times, and yes, the quiet Aidan Quinn times too, those are the things that have real staying power.

So it's odd to think about leaving. I am going to be sad to go. But going back to the US will probably give me 897 excitement-induced heart attacks. I miss everyone there, and I think of them often.

Pause

For Karen (hehehe)

Crossing the road is really tricky here. Well, I mean, duh, you either wait for the little green man to light up on the light, or you look both ways real carefully and then make a mad dash for it. On smaller roads it's better to make a run for it, and unless you're feeling really brave, you should just wait your turn on the larger ones.

Today I was waiting with a crowd of people on the sidewalk to cross the street. Everyone kind of zones out as cars speed by, and when the light finally does turn in the pedestrian's favor, it takes a second for the green to register in people's brains, and then have their brains tell their feet they can start moving. It takes about the same time for everyone to pick up on the fact that they can go now, so there's this shared moment right before everyone starts crossing. A kind of hesitation before you're on the move again.

It's also a great time to get ahead of all those slow European walkers who were taking up the entire sidewalk in front of you. I mean, I get taking your time and smelling the roses and stuff, but... sometimes I don't want to take four and a half hours walking to my apartment. I just want to be there and take off my heavy backpack and my pinching shoes and smell Isabel's cooking and know there is nowhere else I am required to be for the rest of the night.

But that pause is nice. It's kind of a great unifier. Even if, and perhaps just because, it's only for a second.

for REAL??????

Sarah and I travelled to Cadiz to see Andrew Bird.
It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Remember that show Timmy the Tooth?

Yeah, me too. It sucked. It has very little to do with this post, but I couldn't figure out how to spell any of the tooth puns I'd come up with, so... shout out to horrendous 90's TV won.

So, anyway, in this episode of Adrienne Tries To Perform Basic, Everyday Tasks In Broken Spanish, she goes to the dentist! Hilarity ensues. She now has no teeth. Jay kay, y'all.

It all started on Thursday. I had just brushed my teeth, and was doing that ritual smile that everyone does when they're done brushing. That weird, huge goofy grin that is to... admire their handiwork? Anyway, with my mouth wide open in a really cute manner (...) I noticed something. A chip. A chip in my toof. What. Now, I don't know if y'all have ever had a chipped tooth, but I hadn't. When did I get this? Was my tooth going to break off? What have I been eating, gravel? This was my front left tooth we're talking about here. This was one of my goodies! I looked closer. It was pretty small. But definitely there. So after a little google-ing, I figured I should probably see a dentist of some kind. Pretty much every website said that chips can lead to more chips, and damage, and a bunch of gross google images pretty much sealed the deal.

So I go to a woman who works at my program, and asked about seeing a dentist. I sat on the other side of the desk as she called a number, and then made an appointment for me. She wrote down the address, and then said, "He should speak English... but who really knows?" Then she laughed, and I laughed, but inside I wondered if maybe I should just take my chances with this lil chip of mine.

At 3:20, I headed out, and found the office with little trouble. The receptionist and I pulled together all of my information pretty painlessly, except for me forgetting my phone number. Point 1 for Adrienne using Spanish. She lead me down to a little room. After about ten minutes, a nurse came in, and said something about the doctor coming now. Before I could even utter a single vale, the doorway lit up and in walked... my dentist? I wasn't aware that my dentist was a freaking golden god. Dayyyuuuummmm (but he's still got nothing on you, Mac! <3 ) After explaining what was going on with my tooth, he took a look at it.
"Is so little."
"Er... yeah." Screw you, Google! "It is, but I wanted to make sure..."
"Is okay, I will, ah, rub it down for you."
"Uh... okay."Whatever you say, guapo.

Then he got out this thing that looked kind of like what you would use to sand down a table with. Kay, hottie, let's have a plan here.
"I just rub down a little, so you cannot feel. Vale?" Goodbye, sweet teeth. I've really enjoyed your company.

I closed my eyes and fifteen seconds later opened them when he removed the sander.
"Feel, is better? And here, is not my teeth so I do not know, but looks okay?" I looked in the mirror.
"Yeah, looks fine. Thanks!"

Ten minutes later I was out the door. In the elevator on my way down to the ground floor I checked out my teeth in the mirror. Like nothing happened. Bomba.

watch yourself, you're in the DANGER ZONE

Ask anyone from Barcelona what the best weekend is here, and they'll tell you it's La Merce. Pretty much, all weekend everyone goes totally berzerk because it's the festival of Barcelona's patron saint. There are a ton of activities all over the city; concerts, fireworks, traditional dances, human towers, parades, and carnivals. It's insane. And the most fun I've had here to date.

Saturday night I met up with some friends to watch the correfoc. I had very little idea what I was going to. When we emerged from the metro station, the street was swarmed with thousands of people, each one bundled up in sweatshirts, jackets, goggles, gloves, and scarves. We pushed through them and found a spot in the mouth of an ally with a good view of the street. Fireworks and sparks flashed in the distance. Far away drummers pounded out a steady beat. And then the nervous laughter started. Karen and I, feeling brazen, pushed our way to the curb. The drums and lights were getting closer. Sooner than one would think, hundreds of people dressed in red and black devil costumes were upon us, marching along to the drum beats. They stopped several yards away. Someone poured a bottle of lighter fluid into a paper mache dragon's mouth. Another devil put what looked like dynamite onto his pitchfork. As if on cue, and considering it was a parade, they were probably totally on cue, which really makes that turn of phrase useless, each little diablo lit their pitchforks on fire. Sparks shot out of every prong, and out of the dragon's mouth. Directly into the crowd. Naturally. Karen and I ducked down and hid behind a tall guy to not get burned. Smoke filled the street, and in that giddy and terrified way that kids get when being chased in tag, we pushed pack to get into our safe spot in the alleyway. I think I literally shoved a four year old out of my way. Laughing hysterically, the crowd ducked and dodged behind one another, wanting a good view but also some kind of protection. After about an hour and a half of this, we decided to take off (so we could get a good place for Belle and Sebastian holllaaaaa). Leaving the correfoc, one really is asking to get singed to death. We had to run across the street to get back on the metro. I looked down dubiously at my little cardigan. Then I ran across the street with such speed I broke the sound barrier.

The goal of a correfoc is to turn Barcelona into a kind of hell, hence the swarm of little demons and monsters running and dancing and burning people. The little danger added by the sparks and fire being hurled into the crowd made it all the more fun. My camera was running out of batteries, so I only got a few pictures, but I think that's okay. You get to see things as they are, not out of a little screen.

After the correfoc, we hauled ass to the venue for Belle and Sebastian, stopping briefly on the way to get some wine. We popped into a little bodega, and asked for the cheapest bottle. The woman told us we could get three bottles for 3 euro each. Karen, Andy and I looked at each other. We did not each need our own bottle. But apparently we could either pay nine euro for three bottles, or buy two for ten. Well if that makes any sense to you, let me know, because I was like WHAAAT. But anyway, needless to say, we emerged from the store, each of us clutching our own bottle of cheap ass wine. A woman holding two 40s looked at me weird. Yeah I know, lady. I know. Anyway, after pushing our way through a swarm of people, we got a pretty good spot. They show was AWESOME, and the people around us were really fun to dance with and, like everyone here in Barcelona, infinitely patient with my horrible Spanish. I finally made it home at about 4, got to talk to Mac for a bit (he was just waking up), and then slept like a bebe.

But sadly, not for long. Kendall and I had made plans to get up and see the castellers Sunday morning. She knocked on my door, and I started feeling every sip of that 3 euro bottle of wine (all two of them, mom!). But after drinking 7 liters of water, I was ready to go. Kind of. I hung back and watched the show myself, not feeling the hustle and bustle of the crowd. I didn't expect the castellers to be so graceful. Each group, dressed in the same colors, would just kind of flow together into an enormous human tower, tall and thin. To complete the tower, a small child, usually around four years old, climbs to the top. And then the tower just melts back down. It's so fluid. Except I had a heart attack when one of the towers fell over. I saw it shake. I knew it wouldn't hold. I looked around me anxiously. They were going to fall! Was anyone watching this?? The top third of the tower, including the little kids, fell off, grabbing other tower members, bringing them down as well. Nobody seemed very alarmed though, and after I talked to Kendall about it later, she brushed it off with a, "Oh yeah, that happens all the time. It's not a big deal." Okay. I think I would have died if I were one of them. After seeing a couple of towers, I slid into a cafe, grabbed breakfast, and sat outside in the chilly air and the warm sun.

So those were my favorites. Several minutes ago, my host father knocked on my door and invited me to watch the fireworks on TV with him. The entire city had been shaking because of them, the sounds of the explosions cracked throughout the streets. On TV, the show was set to music. They managed to skillfully mash up a KidzBop rendition of I'm A Believer with Coolio's Gangsta's Paradise. Just kidding about the "skillfully" part, but it definitely was a mash up. It was also the absolute perfect way to end the weekend.

A post of great import

Dudes, we have so much to catch up on! Almost too much! The mere thought of it is a little overwhelming, and after walking about 500 miles today and eating a sandwich the size of my leg, I don't know that I'm up to the task. Which is why this was a really good time to sit down and write an update. 

So instead of talking about stuff that actually matters, I am going to dedicate a good bit of this post to talking about McDonald's, which I suppose in it's own way matters, but that is a discussion for another time (never). 

First I would like to say that it's been a long, long time since I've paid a visit to the yellow arches. Like... maybe two years. Probably more. And I'm not one of those people who come to Europe and eat like, one small pastry every day because it's the only thing they're familiar with, or they're too scared to eat anything else. I mean, I ate the head off a fully fried little fish the other day, I think I'm game. And, really, what would YOU do if you found out McDonald's offered enormous cups of beer on tap? That's right, you would go there immediately for a novelty lunch, order some meat and bread concoction, and look around at the weird mixture of Europeans in the cafe-style seating area, laughing with their mouths open so you can kind of see bits of chewed up burger and fries on their tongues. And, of course, when not giggling hysterically at your friend, you would sip your enormous cup of beer through the yellow and red straw provided to you. At absolutely no time would you think, "Wow, this feels like I'm back in the US!"

That's kind of how a lot of things go here. You think it's one way, but it turns out to be way different than you would ever expect.

I have lots more to say on this, but for now, a little siesta.

Sometimes it's hard.

That's what he said. Anyway. In this episode, Adrienne gets a little emo, so feel free to scroll down to the far more exciting and enjoyable Pasapalabra post. Because sometimes it's hard, and sometimes it's not.

My crazy hilarious Spanish teacher Ata pulled up a graph on the projector screen (after struggling with it for several minutes, muttering, "Oh I luff my life."), charting the typical moods of a study abroad kid. These first few weeks we’re supposed to be in the honeymoon period—everything is novel, every interaction is awesome and quaint and full of excitement and life!!!!!! From this initial honeymoon phase, the line drops sharply ("this isn't new and fun anymore, this is actually life/ Jesus Christ this place is annoying.") and then the rest of the semester is a slow climb up ("Oh hey I'm adapting!"), before it finally levels out at a mid-range level ("Hey this is normal life to me now."). And then once back in America the kid is supposed to plunge into another deep depression/ culture shock. Well that’s a whole lot of awesome to look forward to, I thought. But the thing about it is, if this is the honeymoon period, why don't I feel like it is? 

Sitting with some girls at a cafe yesterday, we started talking about it. Each one of us was incredibly grateful and thankful to be here, we love Barcelona, and thus far, everyone, Spanish, American or otherwise has been nothing but helpful, friendly, and open. And yet none of us were experiencing this amazing feeling of euphoria that our friends in other places were (and every time I hear from them, I get so incredibly happy that they're thriving, the kind of happiness that just fills up your lungs so much that it's hard to exhale. You know what I'm talking about? I hope so or else I probably have some serious medical condition in my lungs I need to deal with soon. So keep talking, people). We were kind of depressed, actually. Maybe it's the language barrier, but none of us really thought that was the reason. After mulling it over, we decided that maybe not having a honeymoon period is okay. Maybe that chart was crap. Maybe we were getting our homesickness out of the way. Maybe we were just seeing things as different, not better or worse than our cultures back home, just different, and that was what was hard. 

You know when sometimes you just get so wrapped up in your head and what you're going through you get so annoyed and you just want an out of body experience to get away from yourself? If you don't know what I'm talking about, here's an example. Imagine your body is you, and your thoughts are Julia Roberts in Eat, Pray, Love. You need to get out of the theatre ASAP because she is a-n-n-o-y-i-n-g. Now, I'm not a religious person. But yesterday I needed to feel stillness and I needed to get over myself. So I found my way into the small 12th century Parroquia de Santa Anna, a church located next to Las Ramblas and Placa de Catalunya, and yet almost impossibly tucked away. Once you enter the courtyard, the hustle and bustle of the city disappears and it becomes eerily quiet. I entered the dark, still, and kind of creepy church. It was like a mini Gothic cathedral, with rib vaults and a high ceiling. I sat in a pew in the back. You know that feeling that old churches have where you can feel the energy of all of the people who've been there before you; the fear, the hope, the desperation, the boredom, the anger, the joy, the resentment? Because of it, even though the only other person in the room was arranging flowers up in the front near the altar, I didn't feel alone, and I didn't need to think about me anymore.

 After a time I walked outside to the cloister and watched ants eat a peach that had fallen off one of the trees. 

Pasapalabra

So there's this game show here in Spain called Pasapalabra. I like watching it snuggled up next to Isabel, my host mom after a ridiculously good dinner. Basically, it's like a mixture between Jeopardy and a crossword puzzle. The host, who looks like this:

(?!?!?!?!) asks a bunch of questions, and the contestants have to answer, but the answer has to start with the letter of the alphabet they're on. If they don't know, they can pass their turn, or the word, hence the title. Here's what the contestants look like. Enjoy. 

Sorry about the weird spacing, I don't know what's going on here.

In Spain in the Membrane

Sorry about the title, y'all. But I just can't help myself.

WELL. The cliffs notes version before the more "interesting" stuff. Arrived safely, homestay is awesome, my family is great, location is sweet, Spain is very cool, my roommate is nice and we shared a mutual gladness that the other wasn't a crazy lunatic drunk ass. So, yes. I am finally in Barcelona, and have been since about 8:45 am September 1st. Jet lag has worked it's unfortunate magic on me, and now I have absolutely no concept of what time or day it is. Also they use military time here, so that's even more confusing. Basically I have no idea what's going on half the time. For example, a story:

Soooo today was the first day of Orientation. The sheet and the IES guy were very misleading, and I was under the impression that Orientation lasted from 9:00- 3:35 today. What a long Orientation! I thought, but then dismissed it. I mean, this is a foreign country and stuff. Okay, that's not unreasonable or anything. So at about 8:45, my roommate Kendall and I mosey on down to the bus stop across the street. How convenient it is to have a bus stop right in front of your homestay! Please note that we soon learned it is not so convenient that you can waltz down there 15 minutes before Orientation and expect to get to your destination in less than a half hour. Anyway, so we roll into the study abroad center, quickly look up which classroom we were supposed to be in and jet towards our respective rooms. I slid into a desk near the door. It took a minute or so for the woman at the front of the room to see that there was a new kid in the class. She welcomed me, even as I apologized for being so awfully late, and handed me a guide book and a sheet of paper to write my name on and fold over on my desk so everyone could see. That's nice. Getting to know my new class! As soon as she finished giving me all the stuff she had to give me, she sat down and continued from where I had interrupted. She basically outlined everything it said in the pages of the book, sometimes pausing to ask or answer questions. Mind you, she was doing this all in Spanish. The kids in the class were asking questions and making comments that were long and well put together, using words and tenses I don't know. But I continued to nod and look like I understood what the hell was going on. I looked around the room. Was I seriously the only one who was missing large chunks of information? I mean, what kind of ridiculous 2 semesters of Spanish did THESE people take?? I can't be the worst person in the class! Several people were staring off into space. How were they doing that? I was hanging on every word said, quickly translating it and trying to keep up with what was going on. I looked over at this guy named Juan who was telling a joke in Spanish. Why is someone named Juan in an Intermediate Spanish class? I guess he's just trying to fit in with the locals or something. Whatever, Juan.

About half hour later it was over. The dude next to me confirmed that we were done for the day. Okay, sweet. I met Kendall in the hallway. She's in an advanced language class, and so I asked her how it went, and then mentioned something about it being entirely in Spanish. She looked at me. "Mine was in English." What? That's weird. "Adrienne, I think you were in the wrong class." No, no, no, man, I read that piece of paper, I know when I'm supposed to be places! This evening I discretely looked at that sheep of paper, and... I mean... oops.

So after that very relaxing and informative Orientation session, Kendall and I walked around for about an hour. All of a sudden, I looked up and BAM! WAS THAT YES IT WAS THAT. Gaudi's Casa Batllo. CAN YOU SAY SAY WHAAAAAAATTTTTT. I spent the rest of the walk making up Gaudi puns in my head (I'll spare you). We met Kendall's mom for lunch in this little cafe, and it was like exactly the lunch I needed. I was kind of feeling a little blue (probably from the lack of sleep and food. Plus that was one draining and slightly depressing Orientation session, and frankly I really really miss my boo) Not that the food was especially good or anything, but because we just talked for awhile, and  I made them laugh and that was something that I just needed to do. Make SOMEONE laugh, and that laugh meant that they understood the joke, the things I was saying, my humor, and we shared a background, experience, and knowledge of the same familiar culture. Kendall's mom was super sweet and helped me get oriented in the city, and after we all shared stories of already missing home and the US, I felt a LOT better. And then I finally figured out how to get the internets in my room, so things are looking up for Aidy.

Sorry if this is way too long, there's so much to say it's hard to trim down. Maybe more tomorrow?

Ms. Pack Man

I'm pretty good at packing. Every time I pack a suitcase, I pack it more efficiently, effectively, and wiser than the last time. I remember my first suitcase. It was green, red, yellow and blue, meant for little kids, with wheels and a handle. I used to pretend it was a Hoover vacuum, and I would "vacuum" the carpet of the elevator in my Dad's apartment building as we waited for it to climb the eight floors. I really grew to enjoy packing (maybe not for every weekend, but for other trips and adventures). I would always leave it up to about 8:00 the evening before I left, when the sun was down but the day wasn't too heavily invested into the night. I would lay out freshly laundered clothes on my bed and put them in my suitcase just so. I never felt like I was forgetting anything, and I would always have the smallest and lightest bag.

So, naturally, packing for Barcelona should be no big thing.

"Ha, oh yes, no, I plan on taking one suitcase, midway filled, as well as a backpack to carry onto the plane with my paperwork, some toiletries and a change of clothes. Oh, what's that? You're taking two enormous suitcases? And a carry on? Oh, how droll!" --Me about 48 hours ago.

What a douchebag. We've come a long way from packing up our trusty Hoover vacuum, people. No more pleasant 8:00 Packing With Adrienne. No, no, gentle reader. The house has been turned into a war zone as I've snatched up what I'm taking and left the rest for casualties. Piles of clothes and Spanish/English dictionaries explode out of the cushions of the couch, and the dining room table has become a POW camp for abandoned art supplies. I have to get up stupid early tomorrow to finish it all up.

But beside all that, I finally have one suitcase, weighing just over 40 pounds. I have several well-assembled piles of important documents and miscellaneous belongings waiting for me around the house to grab before I go. I kind of, kind of have things under control. Kind of. I just can't shake the feeling that I'm forgetting something. Or lots of somethings. And not just "Damnit, I forgot my pink tee shirt!" but like, "Damnit, I forgot my pink tee shirt and my visa, my computer, my cell phone, my plane ticket, the directions to my sister's apartment, and my wallet."So, yes.  I am currently packed in one suitcase, But at what cost?

I don't know, maybe it's just my anxiety. I guess I just didn't expect it to be that easy to pack for Spain. I mean, packing to live in a foreign country for almost four months? Where if you leave something at home, it is not getting shipped to you. Where if you need more of that thing you're going to have to find your way in the city and figure out how to get it using a different language and a different currency. And, really? After I shovel a few extra things into that enormous bag I'm done? Huh.

Autumn comes early in the mountains

It's been overcast all day, and the wind's picked up quite a bit. Even a few hours after having breakfast, I've been checking the clock to see if it's time to start making dinner yet. Up here in the  mountains, the tail end of summer is always nipped off too soon by fall, which comes rich with the suggestion of both beginnings and endings. After finishing various chores (yet with many more still to go), I've curled up on the couch with the cat, a book, and a quilt. I'm reading a gothic right now, which fits the weather and timing perfectly. It's fun enough for a summer read, yet possesses the thrill and suspense that so superbly complements autumn. My toes are chilly from being exposed, and as I tuck them under the blanket I am considering closing a door or two to prevent the wind and increasingly cool evening from slipping in. But then, why postpone the inevitable? Fall's coming. It's a good season. One that I rarely give enough credit to.

Wichita Falls

The name of that town even sounds like a black and white horror movie. As I write this a coyote is freaking out outside. Atmosphere? Oh yeah.
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SCENE 1: THE HOTEL ROOM

The time is 9:30. The place, a small dimly lit hotel room in Wichita Falls, Texas. Our protagonist, Adrienne paces the room as her mother finishes a phone call to someone back home. Upon hanging up, Adrienne sits on the edge of the bed and bounces anxiously.
Adrienne: Let's go! I'm starved!
Mom: I am too! I'm thinking... Denny's?
Adrienne: Yeah that sounds good. I could go for some pancakes.
Mother and daughter collect their belongings and exit the room. The door shuts violently behind them, making them jump. 


SCENE 2: THE LOBBY
The two women make their way through the deserted lobby. A fly buzzes loudly over the desk, where an small vase of dying flowers sits. In theory, there is supposed to be someone working at the desk, but considering the town and the time, they are probably off doing something more productive with their time. I know I'd be watching TV in an empty room. Or taking a nap. Anyway, so they're walking through the lobby. They reach the automatic doors, which open slowly and begrudgingly, as if they're doing a real favor. 
Adrienne: Would it be weird if I got hot chocolate and bacon? Like, just those two things? That's kind of all I want.
Mom: Get whatever. I want to get those crepes. Are those at Denny's or are they at IHOP? I can never--
Adrienne: grabbing Mom's arm and looking down in horror. Mom! Don't move! Do you see that?
Mom: looks down at the ground and moves back several spaces, back through the glass doors. She is followed by Adrienne. What are they? Oh my god-- they're crickets!
Adrienne: They're EVERYWHERE.
Camera pans down to the ground, which is alive with hard shelled black bodies leaping about and squirming. The pavement is completely covered. Some more unfortunate members of the cricket party have hopped inside and have been crushed. Their squashed and mangled corpses liter the floor. Although their legs are pretty intact. It's actually pretty gross; their insides totally spirted out over everywhere, but their freaking legs were still propped up, totally ready to jump around. Now I'm kind of grossing myself out. Anyway, back to script-mode.
Mom: Okay, let's make a run for it, I want my strawberry crepes.
Adrienne: looks longingly at car parked about 50 feet away. Ehhhhhhhh.
Mom takes off outside the doors. After a beat, Adrienne looks behind her at the empty front desk, and follows after her. Splitting up in horror films is the stupid thing to do, you know. 
Mom: from the cricket pile OH IT'S SO BAD BECAUSE THEY JUMP AT YOU.
Adrienne: Don't open your mouth, they could jump in there!
An audible crunch and a near jump-attack send Adrienne into full board linear panic, and she begins to run. Mom follows suit. The car is so close. Mom fiddles with the keys, but not as long as most people in movies do, and unlocks the door. They fly into their respective seats and slam the doors closed. Adrienne does a quick check to make sure one isn't in her hair or in her pants. You never know, people. Those things are cheeky. Breathless, the two look at each other and do a kind of half laugh, like heroes do at the end of the movie. A sort of, "we made it by the skin of our teeth. Boo ya," moment. 
Mom: When we get back, let's park at the other entrance. It doesn't have as many lights, and the crickets probably won't be as attracted to it. That's the scientific breakthrough part of the movie. 


Now here's the dramatic cliffhanger ending:
The next morning, driving out of Wichita Falls. The sun is shining, Mom and Adrienne are sharing a joke. All of a sudden, Mom points. A lone grasshopper clings to the passenger side rear view mirror. IT'S NOT OVER. 


But it totally was because it fell off like 50 miles later, so all's fine.
*******************
Finally home! It's good to be home!

If ANYONE Ever Tells You BBQ Isn't Good For The Soul...

I pulled the pillow Mac had left at the house out of the backseat and stuffed it between my head and the car door. There's nothing like a nap in the car. I take naps when the scenery around me is boring or ugly, and when I shut my eyes, I do so with the hope that the next time I open them I'll be somewhere prettier, more exciting. And I don't know about you, but when I think about those adjectives, I definitely don't think Willie's Woodhouse, a barbeque joint adjacent to a Shell gas station somewhere between Houston and Fort Worth. And it was here, in the most mundane of barbeque joints that I found the kind of beauty I was looking for.

For this to make any sense, or maybe to just convince you all I am a crazy, or maybe just to brag about this awesome sandwich I had, let me describe this lunch. Imagine yourself sitting on an enormous picnic bench, across from your beautiful and amazing mother, who seems almost comically far away on the other side of the table. There's a sweet tea on your red tray next to a steaming chopped beef sandwich in a little box. You open the box and proceed to dump nearly all the barbeque sauce you have in your little plastic cup onto your sandwich, and after deciding the best place to take that first bite, you begin to eat. Sauce, sweet and sticky and just a little spicy, drips down your hand and nestles itself into the cracks of your fingers and hands. The meat's okay, but the sauce is so damn good you would probably eat dog food if it had this shit on it. Little kids sit by their moms and their dads and their uncles and neighbors all around you, and ask innocent questions, like "what does wonder mean?" or "why is your tea not as sweet as mine?" They're not annoying, which really is something to marvel at, that many kids in one room and not one of them is screaming or driving everyone crazy. It's not a special place, you remind yourself. It's connected to a Shell gas station. But it's light and it's clean and it's friendly and you know exactly what to do there, and what everyone expects of you and Goddamn, isn't that a comfort? And it's not you sitting on that bench in the middle of God Knows Where, Texas, it's me, and the thoughts that are racing through my head are mine, and they are for the first time in several days not terrified ones. Instead they are memories, memories of things that make me so happy I start to laugh. Mom looks up and smiles. I can't stop giggling at everything. A little girl sneezes and I almost lose it. My sweet tea-- it's hilarious. The butchered remains of my sandwich-- hysterical. The moist towelettes-- oh God don't even get me started on the moist towelettes.

I don't know what came over me, but something in that barbeque joint let me know that everything was going to be alright.

"Are you laughing at anything in particular?" Mom asks, knife and fork hovering above her brisket.
"No... I'm just happy."
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Now that you all think I am looney-tunes and totally unfit to leave the country by myself, I picked up my visa today! SO IT'S OFFICIAL!!! I think I look like an international spy in my visa picture. Mainly because it looks like a mug shot, only it has sweet stamps all over it/my face. It's pretty rad.

Goodbye to San Antonio

I just watched Mac drive down the street. Probably one of the hardest things I've ever done, watching him leave and knowing it's going to be four months before he's tangible again. Sitting on the couch, I try to kid myself into thinking he's just in the other room, or that he went to work and will be home in a few hours. It's not really working.

This summer has been amazing. I've met so many new people and grown very close to some brilliant and vibrant individuals, I've gotten to know San Antonio better than ever, and have had more fun than most summers can shake a stick at. And yet I find that I am ready for change. Something new. A new place, new foods, new language, new streets. The possibility terrifies and intrigues me, and now that saying goodbye to Mac and my adopted brothers, Eric and Scott is over, I feel like I can fully look forward to the future.

Knowing (and yet completely not knowing) what's in store for me is exciting, and I'm up for the challenge. And knowing what an awesome place I'm leaving, the upcoming months will be exactly that-- a challenge.

I'll keep you guys posted.
Love,
Adrienne