erin's blog

I did not feel like this after Ghana and I did not feel like this after Israel, but I am ready to go home. Whereas I could have stayed months – years, perhaps – more in West Africa and the Middle East, I feel that m time on the Iberian Peninsula is coming to a timely close. Maybe it is because of jumping around all over the world this semester – from the US to twelve countries in Europe to the US to Haiti to the US to Europe to the US to Europe and on and on. Maybe it is because of my recent surgery in California or a brief hospital stay in Spain. Maybe it is because of the stresses associated with trying to squeeze in too many extracurriculars (about which I care tremendously) alongside academic responsibilities. But my body and mind are physically exhausted, absolutely wiped. 

Watching movies on the couch while my Grandma cooks up a Christmas feast sounds nothing short of ideal right now, which is a rare (if not unprecedented) statement coming from a girl who never stops to let herself breathe. I need it.

My experience in Spain has not matched the majestic ones of Ghana or Israel, which surprised me. I always said that Spain was a place where I could picture myself living down the road. It is a cosmopolitan, metropolitan center where I speak the language – yet just foreign enough to make it seem exotic and fascinating. But no, I don’t think that will be the case. There is not one point that I can single out as the sole reason, but it’s simply not a place where I would want to live again. Visit? Yes, absolutely! I will certainly be back to Madrid, many more times, as I have over the course of the past number of years. And I will come back with a new appreciation, a new understanding, which only someone who lived there could have. And I am thankful for this experience for a great number of reasons. 

I have loved my internship and long luxurious solo lunches at dozens (yes, dozens) of the greatest vegetarian cafés in Madrid. The three huge courses (one of which is pictured above; a Greek salad and then some from a favorite lunch spot of mine) + drink + bread + tea + you name it midday meals are something that everyone needs to experience – and do so more than once, for sure. I may have to incorporate that into an occasional weekday back home, or at least find the time to sit and eat and enjoy, rather than grabbing a bite on the go between meetings or class. There is a certain sense of relaxation that Spaniards seem to maintain for those couple of sacred hours, regardless of the stresses or situation at work or home, or even the economic or political setting of the country, which have been bleak of late, to put it lightly. Peace and food, yes, that sounds mighty fine to me!

I started writing about Spain, but after a few sentences, I found myself flashing back to long-lost notions I had of Spain as a little girl. Having spent an entire summer living here with a family, as well as numerous other vacations, I arrived knowing well what to expect. Thus, I cannot provide the insight, the advice around expectations for Study Abroad and realizations that I would like… so instead, I will go back to more recent history, to when I arrived at the NYU study abroad campus in Ghana (which I LOVED!) last year and share some thoughts about that in retrospect.
 
I did not realize the extent to which I was entirely unfamiliar with the country I was to call home until a friend asked me, only days before I departed from California, “What is the weather there like this time of year?” I could not give an honest response, for I hadn’t the slightest knowledge on the subject. Thankfully, he sent me a link to the current daily temperatures, highs, lows, and average rainfalls. But that was it: I familiarized myself with the weather, the most superficial information available, and probed no deeper. I am not proud of the fact that I carried out no research beforehand, but it was the truth. I enthusiastically entered the absolute unknown.
 
For some indescribable reason, I had long felt a connection to West Africa, a desire to visit that part of the world and experience the rich culture about which I heard so much from a close family friend, who is Togolese. Ghana, as one of the early democracies on the continent and an English-speaking nation (surrounded by Francophone countries; I speak Spanish, not French!), fascinated me above all other nations.
 
The English in Ghana fascinated me, for it is entirely distinct from the American English to which I was accustomed, or even the Australian or British dialects that I hear often from friends. I am not referring to the Ghanaian accent or local additions to the vocabulary, but rather the actual syntax of the language, common phrases, and unique structuring of words. The first example of this that became obvious to me early on in my stay was “You are welcome,” a warm greeting when entering the country, a room, anywhere. At first, it came across as quite patronizing, as if we were already indebted to those who welcomed us before we even had the chance to meet them; I soon realized, however, that it was merely the Ghanaian take on “Welcome!” I also found that plural and singular noun are used in unexpected contexts. “Slangs,” for example was a foreign word to me, but seemed to replace the singular “slang” across the board. While “and so on and so forth” is used in the US, I cannot remember the last time I heard that utterance, whereas in Ghana, particularly among elders, it is a frequent close to phrases, often incorporated multiple times in one conversation.  I desperately wanted to take a course entitled “English in Ghana,” designed around these specifics issues, at the University of Ghana: Legón, but was unfortunately unable to enroll, so I continued to explore the lingual nuances on my own throughout my stay.
 
I had to abandon many of my New Yorker tendencies while in Ghana, particularly my customary beeline approach to walking from point A to point B, barely acknowledging the street signs or traffic patterns, let alone others walking down the street or passersby. The first time I attempted to walk past a person on the residential street where we lived without smiling, waving, saying hello, and asking how they were, I was met with a determined “Hello, how are you?” before I was able to leave ear shot. Although it was not an intentional slight on my part, it clearly came across as such, and I then vowed to not let a friendly Ghanaian pass by me again without acknowledgement. I learned to walk with my head up, eyes ever in search of a new face to greet, and came to love all of the newfound joyous, albeit brief, human interactions with my Ghanaian brothers and sisters (terms of endearment which Ghanaians use – and I grew to love over my time there). What a kind kind people who possessed a genuine desire to welcome myself, as a foreigner, into their country and culture.
 
The use of vibrant colors (on clothing, buildings, signs, and more) is something that I had long associated with Ghana, a notion which came from photographs I saw of events, football games, structures, and group gatherings, as well as the bright color-block flag and the patterns on the traditional Kente cloth (in my photo). I also expected Ghanaians to love football – and after attending a Hearts of Oak soccer match, I can say with all certainty, that those expectations were correct!
 

Homosexuality and religion have long histories of purported incompatibility. So would you think that Spain, in which 94% of the population has been baptized under the Roman Catholic Church, would be among the most accepting and tolerant countries in regard to its LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender) community? I certainly would not have expected such widespread openness, but am thrilled to see Spain at the forefront of legal equality for all!
 
Homosexuality was once condemned as heresy, punishable by law in Spain’s Roman Age, mainly castration for men. The allegedly ‘pure’ scripture-based forms of Christianity do not tolerate deviation from the traditional and sacred union of man and woman to procreate. Despite extreme repression and strong homophobia during the dictatorship of Franco, stigmas and taboos toward openly gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender individuals have changed dramatically in recent decades. In twenty-first century practice, followers of Christianity – particularly the dominant Catholicism – identify with a full spectrum of sexual orientations.
 
Growing up in the very liberal, open-minded San Francisco, I never thought twice about a person’s sexual orientation, especially in relation to religious beliefs. Surrounded by followers of many faiths and raised in predominantly, though not devout whatsoever, Christian area, religious law never seemed to dictate action. Gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, straight, you name it – all were together, integrated, accepted. Perhaps it is because of the city I come from, frequently referred to as the gay and lesbian capital of the world, but churches and other places of worship and religious gathering welcomed individuals without consideration of sexual orientation – and I see that to be the case more and more here in Spain.
 
Same-sex ‘sexual activity,’ as it has been officially deemed, has been legal here since 1979. Gay and lesbian people are allowed to serve openly in the military and transgender individuals can undergo legal gender changes. Same-sex marriage was legalized in 2005, making Spain one of only ten countries in the world that allows it, along with some of the most progressive set of related laws, including the adoption of children by homosexual couples. Although I have yet to attend one, gay pride parades are a part of the city’s culture. Machismo, is, however still a big part of the culture, especially in areas like soccer. But compared with much of the world - including neighboring countries in Europe and the USA - in a legal sense, Spain is leading the way for equality of all people without regard to sexual orientation. And that is a rather good epiphany that I have had while living here in Madrid!

Travelers’ Tales is a collection of true stories about Spain woven together with masterful skill. While I enjoyed reading each of the tales as individual pieces – easy, enticing, and brilliantly written sections – what stood out most was how well Lucy McCauley’s book captured the essence of the country. I recognize now, more than ever, the grandeur of the footsteps in which I walk, simply by living here in Spain’s capital city.
 
“Spain is but Spain, and belongs nowhere but where it is. It is neither Catholic nor European but a structure of its own, forged from an African-Iberian past which exists in its own austere reality and rejects all short-cuts to a smoother life.” It is utterly unique and wholly timeless. What does it represent to me? Here are some of my raw thoughts…
 
Gabriel Garcia Marquez, flamenco, paella, gazpacho andaluz, Don Quixote (or Quijote, the unique spelling that Spaniards prefer to use), the unique ‘sabor’ of that thoroughly Spanish sheep cheese: Manchego, pilgrims making the long journey to Santiago de Compostela, the art of guitar, drawing in the likes of Orwell and Hemingway, the Alhambra’s majesty, ciestas (and the face that all houses have metal blinds to block out lights), dictatorship, tapas, Generalísimo Franco, the late afternoon snack of bocadillos, a brutal civil war and ongoing legacies, renfe (the national rail system), holidays for Santa this and Santo that creating many-an-unexpected ‘puente’ (break), Moorish architecture, la Conquista, the whimsical architectural and urban legacy of Gaudí, bull rings and the suits of matadors, mountains in the countryside ablaze each summer, the sound of the Spaniard’s ‘c’ as in Barcelona or Andalucía or Galicía (my favorite region of the country), mosques and synagogues and cathedrals, churros and chocolate as the sun rises in Spanish squares, café con leche, special laws of “those remote volcanic blips” that are Las Islas Canarias, olive oil with everything – everything, and art at the Prado or Thyssen or Reina Sofia, Picasso and Velazquez. And can I add Penelope Cruz and Javier Barden to those lists? There are my travelers’ tales, what I feel and share with others.
 
Yes, Spain is filled with contradictions in recent history: a strong tie to the church, a socialist government, a royal family, a party place, a free economy based on the Euro. But the country’s unique essence rises from this tension and diversity of narratives.
 
I am here now – and have visited Spain multiple times before – but had I never experienced this country in the flesh, this book would make me book a flight as soon as possible. And then, as it says in one chapter of the book, “stay.”
 
‘"Stay," it said. "Just stay and see what happens." For a person who loves to be on the move, it seemed an odd proposition. But the voice inside sounded so certain, so totally clear. "Stay. Stay and let things happen." And so that's what I did. And once I allowed myself to let go, things literally arranged themselves and I stood around watching like a delighted spectator as my life…was fashioned gently before my eyes.”
 
You can read amazing tales (like the remarkable ones in this book), you can hear stories from friends or visitors or residents, you can even see images on TV or in magazines, but one must experience Spain up close and in person to really “get” it. 

Is it strange how quickly I bond with people over food? Mutual love of organic, local, vegetarian, healthy, vegan, gluten-free, lactose-free, natural food – you name it – forms very strong bonds anywhere and everywhere in the world. Wherever I go, I seek out restaurants and cafés that serve this, not only because I love the food (and typically find myself in desperate need of clean, fresh, wholesome nourishment when I travel, especially for extended periods of time), but also because those are the sorts of atmospheres that I love. Like-minded eco/conscious people speak a common of food that is good for your body and the environment. Alright, enough about my quazi-hippie perspective on life, onto my safe space in Madrid…
 
I wandered into a café in central Madrid one afternoon, finding myself there after reading about the city’s vegetarian spots online. As I entered, the green color palette, leaf in the logo, fresh fruit, glass water pitchers, and raw wood panels, among other eco/sustainable-oriented details, immediately made me feel at home. A jovial middle-aged man welcomed me, leading me to one of the nine tables and proceeding to explain the menu. Dishes were marked if they were – or could be made – vegan or gluten-free. As soon as he saw this pique my interest, he told me he wait a moment and returned with an entire plate filled with gluten-free breads, chips, crackers, and toast. Not having eaten bread or any similar product in weeks (as they all have wheat!), this was heaven! I devoured all before even ordering, only to have him bring more, along with scrumptious dips. Best part? No charge. He simply wanted me to be happy.
 
A three-course lunch with dessert, bread, and beverage is standard practice in Spain, where the midday “Menu del Día” is required by law – and comes at a very low price, often less than one normal-priced dish. I am not one to pass up great food a great price, so I ordered a soup (rich, thick and topped with a whole variety of goodies... and beautifully presented as well, as you can see in my photo above), a flavor-packed rice-and-bean patty-concoction over layered salsas and a creamy base, and a huge ‘vaso’ of soy yogurt with raw honey for dessert. The meal was amazing – and teeming with fresh veggies and whole proteins that had been lacking from my diet since arriving in Spain. I trusted him to pick out things that were not only healthy, but also things I could eat. And he was so thrilled to be able to make me feel happy and comfortable, simply with a meal. We connected around food – and now, every time I come in, he tells me all that is new on his menu, at the restaurant, in his life, even the country!

Spain has not one, but many sprits. Its history led the development of cultures quite distinct from one and other, without much fusion among regions. The legacy of this is beautiful. On one peninsula, you have a taste of it all – various languages, cultures, customs, environments, cuisines – and Madrid is a key central place, the capital city where these elements converge. Add to the mix a strong influence of other nationalities, which number over 180 in the metropolis alone, and you have an incredibly rich place. It is no wonder that Hemingway titled a short story, which was based in Madrid, “The Capital of the World.” As a foreign observer living here, I see this wonderful diversity daily – and nowhere more clearly than on the morning rush hour subway. Oh yes, the glorious 10 train.
 
Everyone fits because no one fits. Entering the train station at my nearby stop to the familiar chorus of an immigrant’s broken Spanish, “Señora, señora, ayudame por favor” (Miss, miss, please help me), I descend the stairs. I insert my monthly pass, the automatic doors open, I walk through and then make my way down the escalator – bypassing the slow-moving elderly folks. On the platform (pictured above, as captured on my iPad), some are chatting, men in suits tap their feet as they look up at the electronic sign that indicates the arrival times of the next trains, tourists hold up maps and point with confusion, and musicians stand with accordions draped over one shoulder beside amplifiers attached to small carts with bungee cords. I observe, earphones blasting music in one ear, the other taking in the conversations around me. And then the train comes, everyone moving en masse to the many doors, leaving little room for passengers to exit without inevitably stepping on a toe or elbowing someone else (resulting in a brief spurt of angry words from the ‘victim’ before both shake their heads, wave their hands, and go on their merry ways). People then beeline for the seats, pushing their way onto the train in hopes of scoring a prized spot. I typically stand, my heavy bookbag resting on a handrail, looking around. The two-stop ride to school is too short to actually be productive, so without taking out a book or worksheet, I simply enjoy that time.
 
My one-eared music is typically drowned out my the vocal stylings of a singer – out to make a Euro or two – or, like last week, a teenage girl squealing in pain as her mother tried to pop a pimple on her nose. Most people read, books or newspapers, which always have highly depressing headlines about the treacherous state of the economy. And a couple talk on their phones, as the metro line does have a signal somehow. Spanish is the dominant language of all of these interchanges, though of different dialects. With my Blackberry and iPad set in Spanish, should someone look over my shoulder in curiosity (like I do so often), he or she wouldn’t be any the wiser as to my origin. In that atmosphere, we all fit in.
 

Whenever and wherever I travel, I love to find a good, cozy café. And Madrid is no exception! A couple of blocks from my friend’s apartment is an adorable spot that is the perfect place to spend a few hours just hanging out and relaxing, either by yourself or with company. The exterior of the Blue Café is unassuming, the bottom floor of an apartment building on a fairly small cobbled street. In the mornings when the café is closed (and thus, without sandwich board), one could walk past without giving it much of a second glance. It has a door to the left side and an open-air window to the right, in front of which customers gather and enjoy the fresh air or a cigarette break.
 
Entering the café, there is a counter where one orders straight ahead, covered with a many jars and plates of baked goods, chips, even napkins. Behind the bar sit many a bottle of alcohol and quality coffee machines. To the left, one can peer into the small, narrow kitchen, with pantry items strewn about. The menu is written on a few chalkboards, all of different sizes and framing styles, which hang on the walls behind the counter, alongside odd mirrors and mismatched light fixtures.
 
The customer seating area is divide in two, by natural trunk-like wooden poles: an area to the right when one walks in, which features a few tables, chairs, and bench seating, and the rear, where a long tables are crammed together with two-tops. Wall paint colors fall into the blue-green family, though nothing matches precisely. The furniture is a quirky mix of beachy-vintage items, like rickety, multi-colored wooden tables and red and blue slotted chairs, and more mod sleek items, like a tiled counter and some velvet-covered stools. A fan purrs over the jazzy soundtrack at all hours, keeping the atmosphere breezy and comfortable.
 
But why is this café such a great hang out spot? The eclectic mix of people is a definite draw: skinny-jeaned hipsters, groups of high schoolers, an intellectual reading the paper, couples on a date, and even a family coming in for an 11p dinner with two small children. Laid back staff, creative food specials (and vegetarian-friendly options!), cheap glasses of good wine, and endless chips and nuts to accompany drinks make it quite appealing, but the high speed wireless internet and late night hours seal the deal. Sitting with a friend, what began as a powwow to finish homework assignments can – with a few shared plates, a bottle of wine, and far too many bowls of homemade potato chips – turn into a long evening of sharing photos, searching for cheap flights throughout Europe, and joining tables to chat with new friends.
 
We have found our “spot,” our home away from home, the perfect place to unwind and enjoy new elements of Spanish culture with the locals.

I am in love with Barcelona – the vibe of the city, the people, the food, the plazas, the markets, even the chaos of animals, artists, and tourists on Las Ramblas. Wandering the streets, flitting from church to café and getting miserably lost on the subway is one of my favorite ways to spend a day. But one thing stands out to me above all else, one things keeps me coming back to this coastal metropolis in eastern Spain time and time again: a man named Antoni Gaudí. I am not alone in this feeling, as Gaudí’s architectural creations are among the most well known in the world and modern era, not to mention that La Sagrada Familia is the most visited in the entirety of the city.
 
The first time I saw his brilliant works, I stood in awe, gasping at the way in which Gaudí redefined architecture. He infused such spirit, innovation, and meaning into something as simple as a building, a true artistic pioneer.
 
Casa Mila was the first of Gaudí’s masterpieces that I visited. Approaching the building, it is remarkable to note how it stands out amid an otherwise standard urban architectural setting. Its curves, lines, and fluidity evokes Dalí’s clocks and leads my mind to notions of warped realities and the manipulation of that which we may view as concrete, fixed. Even the rooftop exterior is wondrous, as are the stairwells and corners where two walls come together. I was struck by these details, the ways in which viewers and visitors today can see the extraordinary attention which Gaudí paid to each and every element of his craft, ensuring that even the smallest nuances of the structure were accounted for and approached in his distinct manner.
 
Parque Güell was another marvel. It felt as if I were walking through a fantasy land, discovering the new and unexpected with each new pathway. Even with the masses of tourists that visit Gaudi’s works all year round, I still felt that magic; it is inescapable and unmatched elsewhere in the world.
 
And there are no words that capture the grandeur and impact of the Sagrada Familia (pictured here). The fact that such a structure is still being built in 2011 is a feat in it of itself. Its towers and archways are reminiscent of centuries ago, yet its style is wholly unique. 130 years after construction began, this monument is still a work-in-progress, though one which I, like so many others, enjoy visiting immensely. Sitting in the shadow of the towers during pre-crowd early mornings is not to be missed. It is a phenomenal cathedral by any and all measures.
 
I wrote this, immediately after my first visit:
Para mí, lo bonito de la Sagrada Familia es la creatividad de la arquitectura que viene de la combinación de fe y naturaleza. Al contrario de su grandiosidad y altura marvillosa, todavía tiene detalles magníficos. Gaudí desafió los estándares actuales que el estilo gótico ya no es utilizado; inventó su propia obra inconfundible. A causa de su fascinación con combinaciones impares, pero brillantes, usó torres de piedra que se parecen a castillos de arena, sobrepasadas por tazones de uvas moradas con columnas de árboles adornados con flores y hojas. Después de estudiar y ver la Sagrada Familia, puedo decir sinceramente que Gaudí creó una obra maestra absolutamente alucinante.
 
This still rings true in my mind today. The way in which he is able to combine modernity with the classical, tradition or religion with striking originality, geometry with nature amazes me. Gaudí’s style is unmistakably individual. For me, Barcelona is so culturally and artistically rich because of his prolific and genius contributions to its cityscape, as well as his lasting influence into the present day.

Earlier this summer, I was at work and told a friend about my plans to study abroad in Madrid this fall. He immediately responded with, “Go to the bookstore and buy Ghosts of Spain.” Brian had led a trek through the mountains on the border between Spain and France (and Andorra too!) a few years ago and this was the one and only book recommended to him by the local guide. He said it offered incredible context into the rich history of the country I was soon to call home. So off I went, to find this “brilliant read.”
 
Ghosts of Spain is precisely that: an in depth chronicling of the Spain’s past and present, exploring the nation’s changing times with far more intimacy and critical perspective than many other books. From the introduction and opening chapter, Giles Tremlett’s tales and literary style grab the reader and leave you wanting, even needing to know more.
 
“Spain has a wealth of stories to tell… the story does not go stale either, for Spain changes at breakneck speed.” Tremlett’s words ring so true. The history of this country and its people is teeming with a multitude of narratives, distinct eras, and changing ways of life. Religion, origin, political or philosophical approaches, languages or vernaculars, and culture, among other factors, have proved highly influential. Royalty, nobility, and powerful civilians – revolutionaries, artists, liberals, conservatives, socialists, soldiers, workers even – have led various segments of the population (of differing size, for differing lengths of time) in new and unique directions, some successful and others short-lived. Marked by wars, monarchies, military demonstrations, popular movements, economic and industrial development, social hardship, and perhaps most prominently, the Civil War and dictatorship of Franco, Spain has slowly emerged in the modern era.
 
Why do I offer you this laundry list of influences on Spain? Because this is exactly what Spaniards do, as Tremlett addresses in the book. I too have experienced this phenomenon, on previous visits to Spain and how while living here. Spaniards love to talk, to share, to rant, but this chatter often lacks weight or significant meaning. As Tremlett writes, “Spanish noise is fun, but it is also distraction. ‘Mucho ruido y pocas nueces’ – a lot of noise but few walnuts – is what Spaniards say when something is all show and no substance.”
 
Despite the jovial and talkative exterior, there are topics which Spaniards do not like to discuss, whether because it makes them uneasy or because they simply feel is not worthy of attention. Tremlett discovered one of these, a very powerful one: the mass graves from the country’s brutal civil war.
 
He embarked on a journey to unearth these stories – to go beyond the sangria, sun, and flamenco – and was met, in large part, with this public disconnect from, even denial of, the past. I see this sentiment as quite unhealthy; one must know his or her origins to be able to truly progress. Knowing the truth of the past is the sole way to understand the present.

 
I can’t quite figure out my Spanish mother. The other day, I heard her outside my door, telling the maid that she was worried about me because I was sleeping in… it was barely 9.30a and, as I did not have class that morning until 11a, I was savoring that precious time for rest. She pounded on the door.
 
“¿Estás enferma?” Are you sick? She asked me. For the sake of reader’s ease, I will translate the rest of our conversation to English…
 
“No,” I replied, “just tired.”
 
“Well that is no excuse for not going to class.”
 
“I don’t have class until 11am today.”
 
“Well it’s nearly 10am (LIE!) and Mari Paz needs to clean your room.”
 
“No, that’s fine. I don’t,” Mari Paz chimed in.
 
“Wake up,” my Spanish mother affirmed.
 
And so I did. That experience but a bad taste in my mouth and similar patterns have followed.
 
If I walk out of the house without breakfast, she tells me I am too skinny and need to eat. If I sit down with a bowl of granola, she tells me I am going to get fat if I dare to finish the entire thing. She asks why I do not go to the grocery store more often, yet gets frustrated when my food takes up more than the half of a tiny shelf she allotted for me.
 
My Spanish mother frequently reminds me that it is only because I am a generally neat personal that she allows me to have food in my room (pictured above), yet she follows me in with a placemat and trivet, such that I should not leave a single spot on her plastic-covered furniture.
 
I am forbidden from doing any wash myself – not that I am complaining about that face one little bit, but she comes in and takes any partially-dirty article of clothing to wash, returning it perfectly pressed and folded and clean. For that, I am quite quite fortunate.
 
I stay home to do homework on some nights and she knocks on my door to probe as to why I am not going out, yet when I do not come home until very late, she tells me that I cannot keep up such a schedule or else I will not do well in school. It seems to be a lose-lose situation.
 
Last night (after coming in from an overnight flight absolutely exhausted), I apparently showered too late. When I opened the door to walk out of the bathroom, she was standing there shaking her head and wagging her finger in my face. Perhaps these are cultural differences, though I tend to think that she is just a crazy older woman who is trying to find a young person to micromanage.

I arrived in Spain fluent in the language and confident in my ability to speak, listen, read, write and understand. Upon arrival, in the cab ride from the airport to my home, the driver thought I was a Spaniard (a true moment of pride for any foreigner!). During orientation, my friends and classmates frequently appointed me to speak to locals, give presentations, translate, or the like, all of which I was more than happy to do. After studying abroad in non Spanish-speaking countries for the past year plus, I am eager to have the opportunity to practice and speak the language once again.
 
Living with a family in Madrid, I maintain conversations about a number of topics throughout the day, forgetting that I am speaking anything but my native tongue. I read signs, answer questions from passerbys on the street, and write notes without thought. While words, grammar, and vocabulary remain second nature, I am frequently reminded that I am not, after all, a Spaniard.
 
The subtlety of expressions and idioms, not to mention cultural customs or specific gestures are often lost on me entirely. Many such things cannot be taught in a classroom, rather must be learned through experience out and about. In my office, I am learning the professional ways; out to dinner, I see the social norms; in school, I note the academic distinctions – but this takes time. And some are lost on me entirely, like this retail display I came across a few weeks back (pictured above).
There is a scene in one of Quentin Tarantino’s films, Inglourious Basterds, that frequently runs through my mind, related to this very issue. A group of characters are gathered around a table in a bar and one counts to three, showing the number with his fingers. After making this small gesture, one which we do without any forethought whatsoever, the person is attacked. Because of the fingers he chose to use (simply indicating the number three with or without the thumb), the others immediately became aware of his foreign identity and lies. This is clearly an extreme example that has been dramatized for cinematic effect, but the message rings true. The littlest things, the habits which we don’t even notice, are what set us all apart.

So yes, I can pass as a native Spanish-speaker for much of my time here, but coming across as a local? … that’s a whole different story. I will work hard to take note of mannerisms, of gesture, of quirky Spanish ways, but I am not trying to fool anyone. Just like I can spot someone from Northern California, a Madrileño knows his kin. 

Friday, August 26, 2011 began just like any other day. I woke up to over a hundred new emails, most focused upon Project Green Challenge, the upcoming nationwide initiative of my non-profit, Teens Turning Green (TTG), on which I had worked all summer. Some centered on The Schoolbag, an initiative I am leading in Haiti this September, to bring sets of school supplies to over 11,210 students with my team of international volunteers. Others still dealt with One Young World (OYW), the youth summit at which I represented the United States in Zurich Aug 31 – Sept 5. There was a great deal on my plate, but this work feeds my soul. I sat in my den, responding to every last email in my inbox, while simultaneously updating my blog and twitter feed, adding to The Schoolbag Facebook page and TTG website, and completing a few final edits to my OYW speech.
 
I felt that I had finished, that my work was complete. I closed my laptop screen, turned off the Food Network (my background noise), and headed downstairs. Only now, less than twenty hours before my plane took off for Madrid, did I finally let my mind settle upon Spain. I was making a cross-continental move, but somehow, this fact did not phase me.
 
Last year, I spent the fall living in Ghana, an entirely foreign land to me. With no idea what to expect, I packed suitcase after suitcase with clothing (for every season), kitchen supplies, sheets and towels, and gluten-free and vegan bulk and dry food staples, even DVDS, books, and magazines. I made numerous lists, to ensure I would not forget anything and began my preparations weeks in advance.
 
Before departing for Tel Aviv last spring, a place in which I had spent but a couple of short weeks traveling last summer, I made copious notes to ensure I did not forget anything I may possibly need. The sheets, towels, endless amounts of clothing, and food staples came along with me once again, albeit slightly less.
 
While excited for Spain, I was entirely at ease. I packed two suitcases in a matter of a couple of hours, a typically laborious and drawn out process (check out the picture of the floor of my room above! That is my mid-packing state of mind). Having lived in Spain for a summer in high school and having traveled there on four other occasions over the past couple of years, I knew what to expect, moreover, I knew how I fit into the culture – and that I could find anything and everything I needed at ease.

I tossed shoes and various articles of clothing into my bags, accompanied by only a few Nature’s Path granola bars (my daily staple, regardless of where I am in the world), and I was set! I carried my relatively small and contained baggage upstairs to the front door, just as my mom was coming home. She was shocked to find me so calm, entirely prepared, and ready to go out to the market for ingredients to make dinner.
 
Spain is a wonderful place for me, a familiar yet majestic land in which I feel at home upon arrival, each and every time I visit.

I love getting lost in a new city. There is no better way to get to know a place than to simply wander, stumbling upon the unexpected at each turn. Map in hand, I often set out for walks – either solo or with a group of friends – without an intended destination. Not only do I gain a better understanding of orientation, relative locations, and distance between places, but also have the opportunity to see the hidden gems that lie between established neighborhoods or highly trafficked areas. I have found many of my favorite boutiques, restaurants, markets, even churches and temples by accident, beautiful accidents.
 
In a city with a metro and bus system as sophisticated and well laid out as that of Madrid, getting around is a breeze. I can type in a starting point and end destination on Google Maps (on my iPad even) and within seconds, have a direct route that includes all relevant bus and metro connections. Technology is mindboggling and such tools are of great use when I am on a tight schedule, but if I have the time, walking is certainly my preferred mode of transportation. In any city, particularly one in which I will stay for an extended period of time, I want to know it.
 
A few days back, some friends and I went to lunch at a restaurant we found online – a delicious vegetarian spot called Crucina, for those that may be interested! Despite the fact that the eatery was a good distance from any metro stop or main thoroughfare, with a free afternoon ahead, we set to walking. The map seemed to indicate that a trendy shopping area lay to the east, complete with a bustling flea market. So off we went! We zigged and zagged, stopping to marvel at the urban architecture (see my photo above) and smattering of cafés on the fairly quiet streets. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, we found ourselves surrounded by swarms of people, tourists and Spaniards alike. The streets were lined with tables and chairs, restaurants and clothing stores, art galleries and travel agencies and multilingual chatter abounded. A couple of coffees and a frozen yogurt later, we had walked the length of the main street and found ourselves crossing a main road, the dividing line to a trendy neighborhood that was known for its bars and nightlife. Walking through the small streets, we came to a square filled with outdoor cafés and lined with modern art hotels; this was the very place friends of ours had raved about only a couple of days before, yet could not explain a route to get back there. The rest of the afternoon was spent in an adjacent neighboorhood, one of the ritziest shopping areas in the city. I marvel at this ability to completely change settings in a matter of blocks, a matter of minutes.
 
This is what I love to discover in new cities: paths that go places, anyplace, someplace, an unknown place.

I’m a little late in joining the party, but thrilled to be here nonetheless! My name is Erin Schrode and I am a junior in CAS currently studying abroad for the term in Madrid, Spain. I spent last fall at our NYU campus in Accra, Ghana and the spring at the site in Tel Aviv, Israel. Both of these experiences were thoroughly fascinating, offering in depth insight into distinct cultures with which I was previously unfamiliar… but I will leave the tales of West Africa and the Middle East to those studying there now… or perhaps reflect on them in future posts. For now, I will focus on the glorious European country I will call home for the next few months: Spain.
 
The summer after my freshman year of high school, I first came to Spain as a part of the Rassias program. With a group of twenty American students, I traveled throughout the country, getting a taste of its diversity and gaining familiarity with the general paisaje (landscape), as we made our way from Ávila, Merida, Sevilla, Salamanca, and other cities. Guided tours provided rich historical context, enabling a deeper appreciation for all I was seeing: the buildings, walls, museums, you name it. Ample time for free exploration allowed me to sense the pulse of the nation, the young modern vibe which I quickly grew to love. I was hooked on Spain within a matter of weeks.

My subsequent homestay with a family in Pontevedra, a city in the northwestern province of Galicia, solidified my sense of comfort with and interest in the culture. I grew incredibly close to my mother, father, and three older siblings (see our photo above) – and now call them my second family, having been back to visit twice with other family and friends. Each morning, I had intensive Spanish classes (focusing on speaking through rapid-fire exercises), followed by a dance class at the gym, and then went back home for the main meal of the day: lunch.
 
Lunch is quite something in Spain, a multiple hour ordeal (from around 2 – 4p) for which much of the population returns home to enjoy with family or takes the three-course ‘menú del día’ at one of many restaurants. Stores close for this midday break, which, for some, still includes a siesta, though the practice of napping is becoming less common.In general, fresh bountiful food plays a huge role in daily Spanish life and I fell in love with the cuisine: gazpacho, paella, tortilla española, and manchego cheese, to name but a few, are among the traditional dishes and elements I enjoy most.
 
Afternoons were a mellow time, spent going on a walk, shopping, reading, or meeting up with friends at a café, followed by a light dinner – and then an evening out. In the Spanish schedule, everything happens later, which includes meals and bedtime. It is entirely common to see a family with young children arrive at a restaurant for dinner at 11p. Teens, twenty-somethings, and adults alike pass the early morning at bars and lounges, soaking in all that the nightlife culture has to offer, so that is the lifestyle to which I became accustomed.
 
Only a few days before I left for this term, I had yet to start packing or really giving any mind to the fact I would soon be making the cross-continental move.
Immersing myself in Spanish culture felt completely natural five years ago – and being back here, I feel right at home once again. Spain and Erin get along quite well indeed!