Las Canarias...

Ready for some fun in the sun, Julie and I set out merrily to the airport that morning and were soon landing on what looked like Gran Canaria's Martian surface. The island looked dry and barren from the air, far from the paradise that I was expecting, and I could see the look of doubt creeping over Julie's face as well as she was likely thinking the same. Our first impression of the island was much different than we were expecting, as it lacked the pristine beaches and palm trees that we had heard so much about. It's safe to say we were a bit perplexed as we headed north to Las Palmas, where we would be staying. We had found a pretty nice hotel for the same price as we would have paid for a hostel, so at least we had that as we took a look around our somewhat sketchy neighborhood. We did, however, find a pretty nice beach with a beautiful coastal view just a few blocks from our hotel, and we literally didn't see another tourist during the many hours we spent there. They were all locals, and we quite enjoyed the sound of the crashing waves and the sun that made some short appearances on what was a fairly overcast day. That night we walked all over Las Palmas, getting lost and finding our way a few separate times, and collapsed into our beds early that night after what had been a fairly busy day.
Waking up to more overcast skies, and sure that there were nicer places to see on the island, we decided to head to the southern side of the Gran Canaria, to the famous Playa del Ingles. We caught a short cab ride to the bus station, where we were able to take advantage of the very friendly driver who answered all of our questions, and assured us that we were guaranteed to find sunny skies on the south side. The north, where we were staying, was often covered with clouds, but the south was sunny nearly every day of the year, and was covered with some of the best beaches in the world. We both grinned eagerly as we realized our trip was about to improve tenfold. About a half hour later, after a nice bus ride along the coast, we arrived at La Playa del Ingles, which was packed with happy vacation-goers, nearly all Spanish, German, and English. It was the perfect day, hot, not a cloud in the sky, and the ocean was just the right temperature. We piled on the sunscreen and stayed there all day, enjoying the perfect routine of reading our books, chatting, napping, and bathing long enough to cool down and start all over again. As the sun drew lower in the sky, and I had had enough of El Alquemista, we took a long walk along the beach, nearly everyone else having left for the day. Just as we were about to turn around, we came across a nearly endless desert, covered with huge sand dunes, and not another person in sight. The sand was soft and deep, and had just cooled enough by that time to allow us to walk comfortably across it. I had never seen anything like it before, and it felt like a scene right out of the book I had been reading that day, like we were lost somewhere in the Sahara. As low as the sun fell, we still couldn't manage to leave that place, which for both of us was something of a different world. We finally began our walk back as the sun began to set, two good friends reflecting on what had been a ten month adventure nearly at its completion.
As we headed back in search of the bus to take us north, we had a hard time finding the stop, so we walked by a group of seaside restaurants where we were solicited in English by a friendly guy in his twenties to have dinner in one of the restaurants. As we had planned to eat something once we got closer to the hotel, Julie responded naturally in Spanish by saying no thank you but asked if he could point us to the bus stop. What followed was perhaps one of the most memorable moments I have of Spain, when he looked completely dumbfounded at the two tall blonds in front of him and responded, "Joder, que sois espanoles!", (Damn, you guys are Spanish!). We eventually did find the bus stop, and were soon cutting out way through the darkness on our way back to the northern side of the island, where we found some dinner and retired to the hotel feeling a bit like fried tomatoes despite our best efforts to constantly apply sunscreen during the day.
The next morning after a slow breakfast we decided to again head south to find sunnier skies, this time journeying ever further to the southwestern coast. Upon arriving there, we found the truly luxurious side of the island, with five star resorts, even more gorgeous beaches, and all sorts of palm trees and flowers that made me feel like we were somewhere in Hawaii. We had again found paradise, and after talking to a nice man down by a sparsely occupied beach, he pointed us in the direction of the finest beach on the island, which was close by, and at first view appeared to be privately owned by the luxury resort that stood behind it. Amazingly, we found our way down to the beach and realized that it was indeed public, but its location allowed it an enormous degree of exclusivity. It was the nicest beach on the island. Perfectly soft sand, turquoise water, and palm trees everywhere. We even found a shady spot under a few palm trees growing out of the sand, offering us day-long protection from the sun between dips in the ocean. We were enjoying nearly the same vacation as those who had paid thousands of dollars to say in the rooms above, the only difference being we had to find the bus at the end of the day rather than walk upstairs to an immaculate room. It was a perfect way to spend our last day on Gran Canaria.
The next morning, we were begrudgingly awoken by the alarm at four thirty so we could make it in time for the discount flight we had booked to Lanzarote, another of the Canary Islands to the east. We took off in the dark, and a half an hour later were descending majestically onto the volcanic island as the rising sun bled a deep red over the lunar-like landscape which sat peacefully in an endless sea of deep blue. After asking around a bit, we figured out how to travel to our hotel using public buses, and soon enough were left with our jaws dropping once again at the incredible luck we had. The place was spectacular for our standards, and as we opened the blinds in the living room of what was more like a condo, Julie and I both flipped when we realized we had a perfect ocean view from our balcony. Neither of us had had any idea. It turns out we ended up paying about a third of the room’s normal price by booking it though another obscure website.

We were both exhausted after such a long morning, and after the initial shock of everything wore off, we collapsed into our beds for a few hours of blissful, much needed sleep. While the weather in Lanzarote proved to be much cooler over the next few days, we were still able to take advantage of the beautiful beaches, and most interestingly, spent a morning on a guided tour through the island’s volcanic national park, where NASA actually does some of its training for lunar landings. The eruption that occurred on the island in the 1700s is one of the largest and most famous in history and the shear amount of molten rock that way released was hard to fathom as it stretched into the distance, homes buried deep below. The camel ride we took over the rough terrain was a once in a lifetime experience.

While I loved Lanzarote for its beauty, it is hard to imagine a place more geared towards tourism. Like Gran Canaria, it basically looks like an English/German colony, and the locals seemed shocked when we spoke to them in Spanish. Still, my trip to the Canary Islands with Julie was very near the top of my list of favorite trips during my year abroad, if not my favorite outright. We had the best possible time together, in a true paradise, just a few short weeks from the end of our year in Spain and our return to the United States. As we sat on the rocky coast at sunset, peering unsuccessfully off to the invisible coast of West Africa, it was hard to imagine that we were sitting where we were, hard to imagine us somewhere on a map, so far away from all that we had known our entire lives. We spent a long time talking about how impossible this whole year would have seemed just a few years earlier, or really, just 10 months before, when we were preparing to leave to Spain for the first time. That we would be sitting there, so far away from everything, ten months later, with a true friend that we didn’t even know existed at that time. My year abroad was full of moments of reflection such as this, when the world seemed to stop just long enough to allow me realize exactly where I was and what I was doing, and just how ludicrous it all would have seemed just a year ago, when my heart and mind were invested in a different life and a different future.

The pictures from this trip might be the best of any, but I'm still waiting to get them from Julie. They should be up soon, so check back...

La mudanza del piso...

Arriving back in Madrid after my trip to northern Europe, it finally started to dawn on my how very little time I had left in Spain. I was officially under one month, and after looking back at just how quickly the prior month had gone, it felt like I would be back in the States before I knew it. What's more, I would be moving out of my apartment in just a week and a half, on June 14th, the morning after my one remaining final exam. My final days in my apartment went flying by. I taught my last English lessons of the year, and realized just how attached I had become to all of my students, despite how much I liked to complain about them. Casilda, my youngest at four years old, gave me her sad puppy face as I was about to walk out the door and I explained to her that I wouldn't be coming back to teach anymore, and I just about melted into a heap.
With just a few classes left to attend, my last week or so in Madrid was fast paced. I had a really hard time sleeping knowing that my time was drawing so quickly to a close, and often found myself just not being tired until oddly late hours, the result of a constant case of jitters that always had me planning or doing the next thing. I had a one week stretch where I didn't go to bed before six or seven in the morning, the result of catching the first few Celtics-Lakers games at a bar in Sol or going out with friends. A short night's sleep would be followed a long day of studying at a cafe to limit my distractions, but eventually Olechka and I would lose our determination and end up studying side-by-side at a certain cafe near our apartments, me pouring over Ancient History of Spain notes and her over a mountain of complex medical notes and studies. Watching her as her mind whirls around three times faster than most is truly inspiring to see. She's nothing less than brilliant. I can't even count how many hours we spent together in the cafe that week, the number would be astronomical, but it passed by like a flash.
Any moment I wasn't studying or spending time with Olechka during that week, I was starting the process of saying goodbye to my friends. A few last times out for tapas and I was able to say adios to a few whom I would be seeing in Madison in a few short months, and most of whom I didn't know when I would see again, Spaniards, Americans, and others alike. It was harder than even I expected, and strange knowing that I might never see some of them again. The world suddenly began to feel like a much bigger place, where house parties with people from the United States, to Spain, to Russia, to Chile, to South Africa were not the norm.
Before I knew it, I was taking my last final exam, and walking home to my apartment, where I knew that the half-finished job of packing my belongings awaited me. And perhaps too fittingly, at that very moment I saw the large, building-sized advertisement that had covered my apartment building every month that I had lived there, being slowly removed. For the first time all year, my very last day living on Princesa, I could enjoy the beautiful view from my balcony. It was glorious, and almost too odd of a coincidence... The golden Spanish sun was unobstructed as it illuminated my room, where I slowly labored with last loads of laundry and the daunting task of condensing so much into a few suitcases, and decided the small selection of clothes I would be wearing in Madrid, the Canary Islands, Benidorm, and Morocco during the following three weeks. As always, it took a bit longer than expected, but as the sun lowered in the sky, I stared around at my empty room marveling at the fact that my material life had been reduced to the small amount of baggage that lay in the corner of the room. I had a hard time sleeping that night too, after spending some final time with the Italians and finally getting to chat with Emma, whom I had hardly seen during the prior weeks due to our respective travels and us both being constantly out of the apartment.
As the alarm jingled for the final time a few hours later, I arose to pack a few final items and do some final preparations for my trip with Julie to the Canary Islands that morning. I found Emma awake just as I was about to head out the door, and she offered to help me carry my things to Olechka and Julie's apartment, which would be serving as a sort of base-camp for me between my travels in the coming weeks, as I was quite keen on not paying the last half month's rent when I would hardly be in Madrid. Not having seen Emma during the prior weeks had been my greatest regret of my last time in Spain. I didn't like the fact that busyness had made me take her for granted, because she was like a sister to me in Madrid. I could have never asked for a better roommate or friend. It was nice to have her there to walk me out of our apartment and on to my temporary home, and fitting, as we had stumbled upon our apartment together ten months before. It was certainly a tough goodbye for me, even knowing that I'd be seeing her for one final semester in Madison in the fall. We both knew that our lives were going to be far different the next time we saw each other... too different for our liking, I think. But I tried my best to push those thought from my mind. I still had the best three weeks of my year ahead of me, and it started out with a bang as Julie and I walked out the door to catch our plane to the Canary Islands.

Amy viene y los viajes al norte....

After the trip to Barcelona, I really had reached the point at which I could procrastinate no further. I spent the following two weeks catching up on my studies and furiously writing papers before my sister was to arrive in Madrid for a week-long visit. While I didn't have everything completely finished before she arrived, I did have the majority done and I was able to offer her a fairly decent view of my life in Madrid, although it would have been nice to have had a bit more free time and a weekend to travel. We were able to have dinner with Olechka and Julie, and towards the end of the week went out a few times with Emma and her friends who were visiting from Madison, as well as some of the Madrid folks. After such a long year away from my sis, it sure was nice to spend some quality time together on the other side of the Atlantic, even if it was a very tiring week for me, doing all the sightseeing and going out with my sister while still attending classes, teaching English, and finishing up papers for the semester. Emma's friends, Michael and Chris were great company, and we were even able to have one of the typical potluck dinners in our apartment.
I would have liked to have taken Amy to visit Toledo, but her first full weekend in Madrid fell just before my finals, so after a very busy week of Flamenco shows, tapas, bullfights, walks through the park, and everything else under the sun, the last few days of her stay were a little less exciting for her, but it was nice just to have her company. I think I actually managed to wear her out when she told me she preferred to stay in on Friday night after I would already be gone for my end of the year dinner with my study abroad group. The dinner was really fun, and a great way to cap everything off by getting dressed up and dining on the best paella I had ever tasted. After way too much food and a bit too much wine in everyone’s stomachs, the group divided up and before long I was at one of the bars, Chapandaz, which we frequented at the beginning of year, seemingly bringing the year full circle. We all knew it would be one of the last times we would all be out in Madrid, and probably the last time so many of us would be together at the same time like we were that night. Olechka even surprised me by showing up after I had hardly seen her the whole week being so busy with my sister and school. That night I figured out that we had too much of a spark between us to let the quickly approaching end of the year be a reason for holding back. I realized that night that I had never met anyone like her in my life. She is a truly unique person, and I realized I would be stupid to keep plodding along with her pretending to be just slightly more than friends when we both knew there was way more to it than that.

After my sister left Madrid, a mostly sleepless week began, as I attempted to make up for my lack of studies during the semester and pull off some miracle grades through shear grit and some hard core cramming. In the end, all of my exams went pretty well.
The brutal week spent in the library was followed nicely by a weekend trip to Amsterdam to meet up with my Madison friends, Jen, Mandy, and Tiffany, as they had been traveling through Europe during the prior weeks. After catching a few trains from the tiny airport in the middle of nowhere Belgium (20 Euro plane ticket), I arrived at our hotel in Amsterdam to be greeted by the smiles of three lovely ladies waiting for me outside. The hotel made a mistake on our reservation and actually gave us a free upgrade to a fabulous apartment just a few blocks away. Amsterdam was an unbelievable place, and honestly exceeded my expectations in nearly every way. First, it is stunningly beautiful, with its old canals and elegant buildings creating an ambiance that seemingly created a mixture of Freiburg and Venice. The people were so friendly as well, and everyone rode bikes. Everyone. It made me sad to realize just how doable that would be in nearly any city in America if people just made the switch. There were bike lanes (marked or just known to exist) on every street and even special stoplights for bikers on the major streets. The busy mix of foot, bike, and automobile traffic moved along with remarkable efficiency, as everyone was alert and understanding of the need to share the road with everyone. Instead of loud engines polluting my ears, we walked along the canals to a symphony of harmonious bicycle bells.
Glad to be back in the company of such great friends, we spent our three days in Amsterdam sampling the tasty sweets, visiting the spectacular Van Gogh museum, and the Vondelpark. We spent one day riding our bikes around the city, enjoying the perfect weather and doing some quality people watching. Everyone just seemed so happy to me, a result of low stress and a general attitude toward life that I think is required of everyone that lives in Amsterdam. When Mandy left a day before the rest of us to meet her family in Greece, the three of us rented bikes again and followed the river outside of the city, past beautiful parks and open fields, windmills and country cottages. It was a truly glorious day, and I couldn't help but be reminded of how Holland was portrayed in Band of Brothers during the American liberation. It was exactly the same. The people were the same, the countryside looked the same... it even smelled how I expected it to smell. Steven Spielberg didn't miss a single detail in that one-of-a kind miniseries. Eventually, we arrived at a small town called Ourderkerk a/d Amstel, where we had a tasty lunch and enjoyed the hospitality of a uniquely kind waitress that reminded me of someone I might meet in Duluth, Minnesota more than anyone I had met the entire year. She was a small sliver of the "Minnesota nice" I had come to miss in Madrid.
The following day, as the girls took an early afternoon train to Frankfurt to fly back to the States, I spent a few more hours taking in some of the places we had not reached the previous few days. This included the eastern limits of the city as well as the famous red-light district. To preserve its mystique, I'll just say I'd never seen anything like it and leave it at that...
As the afternoon rolled on, I decided to continue my journey on to Brussels, where I still needed to find a place to spend the night before a day of sightseeing and a late afternoon flight back to Madrid. The train was relaxing as always, and before long I arrived alone in yet another new city. Taking my time to stroll through the central squares, which were magnificently surrounded by beautiful architecture, I kept my eye out for hostels where I could find a bed for the night. Without any luck, and without thinking much of it, I continued to wander through the city, taking in the sites, and with many hours of daylight left, not too worried about finding a place to stay that night. I was more content with getting my bearings and traversing as much pavement that day to take advantage of my limited time there. After hours of walking around nearly every corner of the city, I soon realized that hostels simply did not exist in Brussels. This was confirmed by two other weary looking backpackers I met looking quite discouraged as they sat under a large tree. They hadn't found a single hostel in hours either and every hotel seemed to be booked up, according to them. This turned out to be false. There were hotels, but nothing under 60 euros for the night, and being alone I just couldn't justify paying such a price.
In the end, I made the decision just to ride out the night on the streets, which turned out to be quite the new experience. With nothing else to do, and the faint hope of finding someplace to stay ever-present in my mind, I continued my marathon trek to every corner of the city, mostly just to kill time. With weary legs and a sore back from carrying my things all day, I spent a few tranquil hours in a quiet bar, burying myself into some ancient history of Spain, and occasionally nodding off to catch a few moments of shuteye. When the bar closed, I remembered a hotel I had visited earlier in the day that was close by. Without a reception desk, and holding only 6 rooms, I had also found that the door to the building remained open during the day, and it turned out to remain that way at night. Waiting until about thirty minutes after the bars closed to assure the majority of people would be in their rooms for the night, I quietly snuck in and ascended the narrow, winding staircase to the third floor, where, I unrolled my sleeping bag into the small space between the two hotel room doors, and managed to uncomfortably fall into a light slumber for about two hours. This, however, was abruptly interrupted by the "alarm system" I had for myself, which consisted of a lone, timer operated light switch on the bottom floor which turned on every light in the small building up to the third floor. When the light turned on, and the downstairs door closed, I jolted awake, and as I quickly rolled and stuffed by sleeping bag into by backpack and gathered my things, was just hoping whoever had entered had a room below the third floor. Unfortunately, he did not, and just as I had managed to corral everything into my backpack and fling it over my shoulder, I met the gaze of a very startled and confused man, whose existence I didn't bother to acknowledge as I quickly escaped past him before he had time to ask me any questions...
Glad for having managed a few hours of sleep, but a bit perturbed by my horrible luck, I found myself again on the streets at about four in the morning. The people you find to be awake and outside at that hour are quite interesting, I must say... In the end, I found my way to what must have been the Turkish ghetto of Brussels, where I found a string of kebab shops open serving the all-night crowd, where I sat until the coming of the new day. It was quite a night...
I finally started getting really tired about seven that morning, and allowed myself a few cups of coffee and an English newspaper to put myself in a better mood. I actually did manage to see a number of interesting places that day as well, including the beautiful cathedral where I met a Dutch historian that gave me a very long winded explanation of nearly every aspect of the cathedral's history. (I remember very, very little). I took a nap in one of the city's beautiful parks, climbed to the highest point to enjoy the view over the city, and by mid afternoon was quite content to catch an early bus to the airport. I had had quite enough of Brussels and was ready for a hot shower in Madrid. Despite a slightly rough last day, the trip was spectacular.

Despues del gran retraso...

Okay, so it has been a ridiculous amount of time since I have written anything here, but my hope is that now that I’m back in the States, I’ll find some time to retrace my steps and write a bit about what I have been up to lately. It will all be a bit less detailed, seeing as so much as happened and I could probably write novels about the last few months, so at least this way I will save you all from wasting way too much of your time and hopefully entice you to actually read it... I’ll begin by saying that the since my last post, my time in Spain has exceeded all my expectations, hopes, and dreams of what it could have been. While things were really looking up after my trip to Greece, my last two and a half months redefined my study abroad experience in a way I never thought possible. In the end, it is an understatement to say that I was not quite ready to go home.
Just a few short weeks after my trip to visit Mandy in Greece, and after neglecting the studies I had promised myself I would get to, I was off to Santander and Bilbao, two cities in northern Spain, with my friend Bailey. Santander proved to be the perfect place to spend just a few days, as it lacked the charming atmosphere of other Spanish towns, but it was quite beautiful near the water and out first afternoon was spend lounging on the flawless beach, taking in a bit too much sun, and enjoying a long walk around the parks and palaces that lined the coast. We spent our evenings dining on the wide variety of delicious tapas and getting lost on Santander’s crooked streets. After a few relaxing days, we were ready to move on to our next destination in the Basque Country, my ex roommate’s hometown of Bilbao. While unfortunately Alfonso was not there to show us around, the city exceeded all of my expectations. One of the most modern cities I have ever visited, Bilbao is full of impressive architecture, most notably the Guggenheim contemporary art museum, which leaves one with a sense of bewilderment at its seemingly impossible design. The once polluted river is the cleanest it has been in decades, and the brand new street cars zoom silently past almost unnoticed. In stark contrast to such modernity, the city’s historical section is lined with beautiful cathedrals from nearly all of Europe’s architectural movements, including one style that is truly unique to the Basque region. We were even able to take a cable car up to the top of a mountain overlooking the city, which offered a picturesque view of all that the city had to offer, situated in a wider panorama of the green rolling hills of the Basque Country, highlighted by the towering mountains in the distance.
While Bilbao was absolutely spectacular, one long day proved to be just the right of time to see most of what it had to offer, and we returned to Madrid the following day with illusions of starting some of our major semester papers as the due dates seemed to be fast approaching. Of course, Madrid life and a new found romantic interest made this nearly impossible and before I knew it I was off to Barcelona for a weekend with my friend, Julie. The trip was absolutely phenomenal in every way. Graced by the presence of such great company and sunny, warm temperatures, our weekend was spent sightseeing throughout the architectural marvel that is Barcelona, and enjoying the energetic atmosphere. Antonio Gaudi has left his mark seemingly everywhere in the city, from the entirely unique La Sagrada Familia cathedral, which is still under construction, to Park Guell, to hospitals, to apartment buildings. That man must have worked tirelessly every day of his life. He is Barcelona.
While the city itself is way too full of tourists, and therefore seemingly lacking an identity, and certainly is far from being Spanish in nearly every way, the atmosphere is simply contagious. It has what Madrid seemingly lacks at times, a variety of tasty food. Tapas there are as they should be, creative and always different. Ethnic restaurants have a much greater presence as well, and everywhere has a certain level of class and sophistication that is lacking in most Madrid eateries. The boqueria market is a marvel, La Rambla provides constant action in the center of the city, and the waterfront is unbelievable for such a large metropolis. Our last afternoon in Barcelona was spent sunbathing on the beach, and for the first time since Portugal in the fall, I entered the water without hesitation and worries of hypothermia. Above all, I came to realize just how close of friends Julie and I had become over the course of the year, and was a bit unwilling to make the return trip except for the anticipation I had of seeing Olechka, her Russian roommate, to whom I was growing much closer.