Fish and Futbol

Just a few pictures from my day today :)

Which included: ab ripper, Harry Potter 7 in Spanish while eating a chocolate crepe and having mango tea, buying two new pairs of boots, the Bachelor, two and a half hours of playing Rummi with my host mom, and a tour of the Racing Santander futbol stadium.

Fish Market

Hopefully he didn't find Nemo.

Racing Santander

Just a few fun facts about Racing:

They were the first team with 25 paid players.

They were also the first team to have foreigners on their team.

Some guy just bought the club and gave them like 30 million euro to stop sucking. Hopefully it works.

Before games, players have to arrive at ten in the morning. Every minute they are late they have to pay their coach 40 euro.

They have a player from Sweden on their team. Fantastic.

Before they play, they take speedy leg baths between hundred degree water and 33 degree water to get their muscles all freaking out and working.

Their weight room is less impressive than our high school one.

When they first started the club, it was people who were working and studying and also played soccer on the side. Now it is real, so all they do is play soccer. And take ice baths.

One of their players is a model. He is very attractive.

They were the first team to use advertisement on their jerseys.

At one point they were the team with the most consecutive years in the top division. Not anymore, but you've gotta remember the good ol' days.

Once, they beat Real Madrid. And everyone still talks about it. Whenever you say "Racing sucks" they say "OH WELL WE BEAT MADRID BY FIVE POINTS" and they have shirts with the date and a hand on it, one finger per goal they won by. It's a big deal. You don't mess with Racing when you are in Santander.

recipe for gezpacho

Una Receta Para Gazpacho de www.cocinayrecetas.net (Recipe based off of this website)

Ingredientes y que necesitas: (Ingredients and what you will need)

Una batidora (A blender)

Una jarra (A pitcher)

Un colador (A strainer)

Un pepino (A bell pepper, red or green is fine)

Cinco tomates, mediano (Five medium tomatoes)

Un pimiento (A cucumber)

Un ajo (A few cloves of garlic)

Un poquito de sal (A bit of salt)

Una rebanada de pan (A slice of bread without the crust)

Medio vasito de vinagre (blanco y blando) (white, bland vinegar, about half a cup)

Medio vasito de aceite (oliva) (about half a cup of olive oil)

Y agua fresca (cold water, as much as you want depending on you soupy you want it)

Primero, quítale la cortecita de la rebanada de pan. (First, make sure the crust is of the bread)

Pon en remojo. (Put it in water, it should be nice and soggy)

Quita las impurezas del ajo. (Peel the garlic cloves.)

Corta el ajo en trocitos. (Cut into small pieces)

Parte los tomates. Elimina las impurezas. (Cut up tomatoes but don't use the bad parts like the top)

Córtalos en trocitos pequeñitos. Estos son mejor. (Cut into small pieces)

Eche a la batidora. (Add all of that to the blender)

Corta un trocito de pimiento. Abre en la mitad y corta en trocitos pequeños. (Cut up the pepper and don't use the inside of it. Cut it into small pieces)

Eche al batidora (Add that to the blender too.)

Se corta un torsito del pepino y quita la peladura. (Peel the cucumber and cut it into tiny pieces. I wouldn't add it to the blender cause I like having the chunks in there when I eat the soup, so leave it out even though she says to add it.)

Corta también en trocitos pequeñitos. (Again with the cutting it up.)

Ahora, tienes los tomates, el pepino y el pimiento en el batidor. (Now you have everything in the blender but NOT the cucumber cause I said so!)

Ahora continuación, corta el pan y ensena. (Okay so now you are supposed to add the bread but I already told you to so whatever.)

Pon la sal, como quieres. Si te gusta más, use más. (Add the salt, however much you want. Aka use lots! Yum!)

Eche el vinagre y aceite. (Add the oil and vinegar.)

Y eche el agua fresco. (Now add the cold water.)

Si quieres más espeso o más caldoso, use más o menos agua. (Again, how soupy do you want it? Add that amount of water.)

Pasa a triturarlo. (Blend blend blend!)

Pon en una jarra y use un calador. (Strain it if you want, and put it in the pitcher. Now stick it in the fridge, after you add the cucumber.)

Sirve fresquito. (Serve it cold.)

Pon en la nevera. (In other words, keep it in the fridge.)

Okay and my final advice is that you should toast some white bread, but good white bread not the cheap Wonderbread stuff. But toast if after you cut it up into pieces, about one square inch pieces. Then you eat that in it and it is super delicious! The picture up top is the gezpacho I had in Barcelona. Que rica!

This side of the grass is greener

I've been sick for the past few days, which, when combined with not having school Thursday or Friday, meant that I slept in far too late and did far too few productive things each day. I was skyping my friend yesterday, and she asked if I was scared to come home. It is funny now, to be getting closer to returning, and to be having the same "I can't wait but am kind of sad" feeling that I had when I was getting ready to come here. It feels like this abstract idea: it will happen, but I have been waiting for it for so long that I almost feel like it is a fake life. The whole idea that I have even lived in Spain for the past five months also seems pretty fake... each day has felt like normal life, yet at the same time I feel like this has been someone else's life. Like I am watching myself live here, have a daily life here, be a part of the Santander community, but the real me is waiting at home in Steamboat. Which sounds maybe crazy or like I possibly have a mental disorder involving split personalities, which I might, if you ask one or two of my ex's. Really I think the best way to describe it though, and the way I try to every day when I wake up and wonder how this is possibly my life, is that it isn't normal, it isn't average, and it isn't something that can just be put into a few words. This is an experience, one of those that I'll get home and try to explain but know I won't be able too. It is just so different from life in the States, where your schedule is set and teachers have expectations (and degrees in something real) as opposed to a life where every day is different and there is nothing set or promised.

Talking about the idea of being scared to return made me realize that when I get back, I know Steamboat will be the same, but life has been going on there without me. Margaret will probably be taller than me, Emma will be going to her senior prom and then graduating, and friends will be getting married. But even with all of that, even with all the changes, the wonderful thing about returning will be that after a year of transitions, of meeting new people, and having a few weeks during Christmas with the ones who know me already, I will return to family and friends. The people who already know me and love me; that concept is so much sweeter to me now. Being away and being in a place where the closest person you have is your host mom and your skype account makes the idea of being somewhere where your real mom is a phone call away and your friends are a ten minute drive so anticipated. It is funny to think of what I am excited for: things like real classes, professors with a syllabus, normal sized dogs that aren't the size of a football, car keys, and phone calls that are unlimited and free.

But with a month left, I am already starting to worry about the things I will miss from here. Yesterday morning I was woken up by Claudia and Paula who wanted to play with my Memory board game that my mom sent over for Maria. Claudia can't pronounce her "r's" which I just figured out yesterday to be the reason why I never understood what she was saying. During the afternoon, I learned to play Rummikub (maybe you know it? it's a number game kind of similar to Scrabble) with Tete and her daughter and daughter-in-law. For the past five months this has been my life. The catastrophes of Claudia peeing in her bed, Paula having temper tantrums over the type of yogurt Tete gave her, and entire afternoons filled with board games and eating. The other day when I was leaving from babysitting Maria she said "Bye, bye my friend." which is the first civil departure we have had, since normally she gets really angry that I can't stay and decides she hates me. And stringing together four words almost made me cry because after all this time she is finally starting to speak English without being prompted too. It is that life, the pieces of the community that I have become a part of, that I will miss. And the beach, but that's a given.

The last month here will be filled with far too many classes as we try to make up for the lost hours when the Uni couldn't find a professor. It will be filled with shopping and throwing out old things, filled with eating and last minute weekend trips. And most importantly, I am going to focus on being here, not on going home. Because I really can't wait to be back in the States. Seeing everyone again, being back where life is easy and relationships are already set is going to be amazing. But this last month is all I have left here, this part of my life will be done. The part of my life that I have been dreaming about since I left Sweden in the eighth grade. How incredible it is, that I am no longer 15 and fantasizing about living in Europe. Now I am. This is real life. And this last month is it, until next time, that is :)

Wanna be Popeye?

I used to hate spinach when I was little. Well, I liked it with my butter and salt. Mind you, that meant about three table spoons of butter and a ton of salt with a tiny amount of spinach. Tete makes a spinach soup, and it is pretty fantastic and I can now add it to a growing list of foods I now like since coming to Spain. So here is the recipe, in case you want to try it sometime. As I said with the paella, most of her cooking is "you just add a bit of this, or just add however much you want of that..." and most importantly "use as much olive oil as you want, but more is better even if it makes you fat."

What you'll need (ish....):

-1 large can of spinach. You can use fresh spinach if you want, Tete says that you don't need to boil it prior to cooking with, but you might want to anyway. Otherwise, just follow the recipe normally but with your fresh spinach.

-1/3 cup olive oil

-2 large eggs

-paprika

-garlic, three cloves, sliced

- 1/4 cup flour

-2 cups water (as soupy as you want it...)

-1 chicken bullon cube

Okay here's what you do:

First off, drain the water from the spinach if it was canned.

Cut spinach up so it is in small pieces.

In a medium soup pot you are going to heat the olive oil.

Once it is heated up you are going to add the garlic. Cook it till it browns.

Once it browns you will add the flour, mix it quickly.

Now you will add the paprika; Tete uses five or six shakes from the can. I'd guesstimate that is about three teaspoons.

When the flour is mixed in and turns light brown, add the spinach.

Again, mix quickly and try to even out the flour through the spinach.

Now take it off the heat and add two cups of water. (and I'll say it again... however much you want, the more water, the soupier it will be)

Once you add the water you can put it back on the heat to let it cook a little bit.

Break up the chicken bullon and add it to the pot.

Keep cooking it over medium heat while you mix.

Once you've cooked it enough to make it all mixed and even, you'll add the two large eggs.

Remove from heat when you add them, mix them up quickly and then add to heat to cook.

The eggs will turn white when they are done, this really doesn't take much time of cooking, maybe about three minutes.

You can add however much salt you want, depending on if you are like me and are obsessed with salty food, or if you are healthier and don't need to pretend you are a fish who survives on sea water.

Now I officially know two recipes from Tete's kitchen, and hopefully I explained them well enough that you can make them too, if you want. Cause they are pretty delicious, just saying.

What a beautiful day :)

Sometimes, when I see flowers like this or have days like today, I wonder if this is real life. Because the world is awfully beautiful, isn't it? Little love notes from God, I guess :)

Tide pools make me wish I was miniature so I could swim in them. Then again, I suppose that's basically what a lake is for us.

Snapdragons in February :D

Perfect afternoon= starwberries, sun, and Bridget Jones on the beach.

I just checked the weather for this weekend and it says: AM Drizzle. I didn't know that they categorized their types of rain, or that doing so would hinder activities, until I moved here. I can carry on a normal day if it is just AM drizzle, but if it is afternoon torrential downpour I'll need a heads up. Perhaps Colorado should consider something like this, although, similar to Santander, the weather changes about fifteen times a day so what good would that really do.

Today on the bus I was once again that crazy lady making faces at a stranger's baby. About five minutes into a game of peek-a-boo I remembered that not only was I on a bus, but that I was full on baby facing a two year old while the entire evening rush of people on the bus watched. What's a girl to do those, some babies just have to be ogled over.

And now I am going to bed after a day of sleeping in, strawberry eating on the beach, and baby creeping. I hope that back in America, or wherever you are, your day was as beautiful as mine :)

Welcome to Fort Perry

Friday: You know that whole "I could go to class or I could stay in bed...." fight that you have when you are trying to break the whole I am a good student and can't skip class rule? I lose. Nearly all the time. I lost on Friday, when I woke up and went to one hour of Spanish before we headed to Barcelona. I figured that since it was the day after the test and there are only five students, we would probably be getting our test grades back. That was either going to be a really good way to start my weekend, or it was going to ensure a foul mood. So perhaps it was a good thing that upon arriving in class I learned that we were going to spend the first hour discussing the details of how to sign up for the official Spanish language exam that tells you exactly what level you are. It is a sort of SAT type test, and we got a full-detail work up of how to study, online materials, etc. etc. It was after forty five minutes that they mentioned the test was May 30th, two months after we leave.

I'll just preface this next part with a disclaimer: I love Barcelona and would go back in a heartbeat. It is one of my favorite cities in Europe, thus far. And yes, I do happen to have about seven favorite cities but still... I love it.

The weekend was an experience. It is my personal belief that "experience" is best used for situations that are just so absolutely strange/stressful/hilarious that you really can't decide if it rocked or sucked. The flight to Barcelona was painless and we took the bus into the Plaza Catalunya, which is the main center. Our hostel was about a ten minute walk away, which was pretty fabulous since it was only 17 euro a night and included breakfast. We were assigned to room 503, and entered it to find Fort Perry: bed number 11, with six bags of trash, a yellow Santa hat, a cowboy hat, two suitcases, three pairs of shoes, a huge empty can of tuna, and other similar homeless person belongings. Fort Perry, we would learn, is the three month long home of Perry Hicks who is sixty years old and homeless. Well, not homeless, because he lived on the bottom bunk of my bed. This is Fort Perry:

After a bit of Fort Perry freak out time over the stench and inhabitance of a homeless person living in our hostel room, we realized that there were thirteen people assigned to a twelve person room. So either someone was gonna shack up with Perry, or we were gonna be kicking someone out. I made a fantastic first impression on a kid named Ryan, who walked in to the room wearing a towel having not realized it was a mixed dorm room, and informed him that we had a situation since he was in one of our beds. Thus began the list making to determine who was not supposed to be there. Bed six was the culprit. So the manager moved the person sleeping in Bed six's stuff onto the floor and told the kid who was really staying there that he could just send the person down when they got back.

Friday afternoon, following the minor hostel situation in the hostel, we went out to explore. Exploring lead to lunch and a ramble down Las Ramblas, which is a large pedestrian street full of vendors and flower shops. The famous Barcelona market is also located off of Las Ramblas as is a cathedral. After our late lunch/dinner and our walking expedition, we found a grocery for wine and chocolate and headed back to regroup at the hostel. We then remeet three of the boys staying in our room with us: Ryan, the banker who is attempting to have a euro mullet or just got a really terrible pre-trip haircut, Bill/Will who works for his uncle Bill and looks like he spent forty minutes blow drying his hair into a large swoopy poof, and Clever, from Brazil who is studying in Ireland. This progressed into them following us out for the night.

In total, the group was five girls and then our friend Shawn and his friend Max who were staying with their friend Ty who is from Barcelona. Not confusing or anything. So we went to meet up with them with our tag alongs and progressed to wander around for an hour and a half in search of the Dow Jones bar. The bar was probably one of the coolest I have been to: on the wall they have the stock market "prices" of drinks at their highs and lows based off the stock market crash before the Great Depression. On the huge drink board there is also a really big stock market graph of the crash, and at random times the drink market will crash and for a few minutes all the drinks drop to their low prices. We headed home around two, since we were waking up at eight to start sight seeing. Perry was still not "home" when we got back, but in Bed Four the other sixty year old man was sleeping.

The bed situation worked out as follows: I was supposed to be on "top" of Perry, while Amber's feet should have been right by his head in the bunk diagonal to his. Obviously that wasn't going to work out, since there was no way I was going to be sleeping on a bunk with a homeless man and his entire existence and the smell was too awful to sleep on the same level as him with a ceiling of bunk beds trapping his smell into Amber's bed. So she ended up in Jessica's bed, Olivia didn't want to sleep across from the other old guy so I ended up in her bed and she ended up in Christina's. Which meant that when the kid who got kicked out of Bed Six got home to realize that all the beds were taken, he ended up on top of Perry.

Now we get to the really fun part of my night. I was asleep for about an hour when Bill/Will stumbles in and passes out IN my bed. Next to me. You know, no big deal or anything, let's spoon and pretend like we know each other because that is totally fine and normal. For the next hour I laid awake contemplating my escape options. Either suffer through sleeping next to a stranger, or sleep by Perry, or try to fit a third girl into the beds of the other girls. The result was me laying awake and continuously shoving Bill/Will over and squishing myself up again the side of the wall. Let's just say that I was not a happy girl the next morning, and will absolutely never stay in a mixed dorm room again. Between random kids passing out in my bed, a sixty year old homeless man and two guys snoring, by the time the alarms went off we were all about to die from horror and exhaustion. Oh, I forgot to mention that Perry joined us at around four thirty. At which time he started going through all his "trash" bags searching for a snack. The general sound of people chewing makes me pretty much want to barf, so I was about ready to smother him with his Santa hat, and if it weren't for my utter fear of his massive hair and lack of clothing I might have.

As I said... it was an experience.

So begins Saturday: breakfast, and then we went in search of the beach. Christina hurt her Achilles tendon last week, and I have a stress fracture in my foot, so we were gimping along down the subway steps and ended up at the Port of Barcelona. That's when the boys met up with us, after our failure at finding the beach. We spent the morning walking around the center area and sight seeing. The Segrada Familia Cathedral was (pause as I attempt to find a word) amazing/strange/unlike anything I have ever seen. We didn't go in, which I am kind of bummed about, but the line was two hours long and since we only had one day (half of which would be spent lost) we didn't have time to go inside. But based off the postcards, if you go there, you should definitely wait and go in. At noon, we headed back to our hostel to switch rooms (Thank. God.) We got moved into a room of Irish students who were spending five days getting belligerently drunk.... you always think that Irish people drink a lot but until you witness the amount they consume it just is an understatement/thought.

The boys didn't want to wait so they headed to lunch and told us to meet them at the subway stop so we could go together. Which, of course, meant that when we got off we got lost and after an hour and a half of trying to find them gave up and split a huge homemade paella and sangria. Somewhere during our journey around the whole city we managed to get stuck in one of the train stations... apparently the metro passes let you in the gates for the train station but once you realize that isn't where you want to be, they don't let you back out. Turns out you have to have a special train ticket to swipe yourself out, which meant that I got to explain to a really unimpressed security lady that we had accidentally gotten stuck and could she please let us out. And so we were given special "Exit Only" passes that they have for the special people like us who get stuck on the wrong side of the barriers. If only it was a Hogwarts barrier or something like that, then getting stuck would be fine. Then we began our trek to the Park Guell (also known as the Gaudi Park.) By trek I mean that you literally hike up a mountain to get there. Half of it is escalators, and the other half is to work off the sangria you are drinking/get your ass in shape. By this point Chris and I were pretty much ready to cut off our feet and just crawl up the hill, but I am proud to say that we survived. The view from the park is gorgeous and you can see the Segrada Familia standing above all the other buildings like it owns the place. Which it does.

In the Gaudi Park, which is a park full of buildings that Gaudi designed, there is a large plaza type area. I just realized maybe you don't know who Gaudi is??? He was an architect. That's actually all I know since I pretty much fail at things like that. But now you know... he designed lots of popular architecture way back when. In the plaza there are all the guys who sell things like bracelettes, sunglasses, little trinkets, and tourist type things. The only issue is that they are mostly illegal immigrants, so whenever the police show up they all scoop up their sheets of chachkies (tourist trinkets) and book it. I would gladly have them on any college track team or perhaps they could sign up for the Spanish Olympic Walking Team that I think needs to exist. Because they run faster than me if Perry tried to get in my bed.

After the park we headed back to the hostel to give our feet a bit of a nap and love. Later we set out for dinner, which we got at an Indian restaurant. It wasn't as great as Doner Kebab, but what is? Then I spent 15 euro on dried fruit and chocolate, as a present to myself for surviving sleeping in a bed with a stranger. And the latest issue of The Economist, which I spent the night reading while the group went out. Due to the whole not being able to walk issue, I didn't go out with the group and instead spent a few hours listening to the Irish group play some really crude and stupid drinking games before they left for the night. However, I was able to nurse my inner nerd with some politics and business news and get a few hours of sleep before people started getting back at five. Cumulatively I got probably seven hours of sleep the entire weekend, which is actually not bad compared the the three that the rest of the group got.

That rings us up to today. This morning we were up at seven thirty, breakfast at eight, and on the phone getting directions to the train station to go to the airport at eight thirty. The subway to the train station took it's sweet time getting there... the supposed ten minute ride took us twenty minutes, which meant that we got off the subway six minutes before the train was leaving for the airport. Which meant that Chris and I got to commit murder on our feet running in a semi-panic/freak out through the train station trying to figure out where it was leaving from. Once in the airport we had one final crisis involving Lauren leaving her passport at the security point. Which thankfully was waiting for us when we went running back.

And the thing is, after this whole eventful psychotic weekend, all I want to do is eat some cheese. Some nachos or just one of those huge bricks of cheddar that my mom gets at Safeway. Because after Fort Perry, after a fractured foot being abused all weekend, after some fantastic small streets and adventures and after some of the strangest experiences of my life: I just want some cheese. What a surprise, right?

It's been one of those days

Part of being away rocks: new culture, new food, new friends, new country. But part of it, the part that means you are an ocean away when someone back home dies, the part of it that means that when you have a really crap day and want to call and cry to your sister, or the part that means that you count the days till going home when you really wish you were counting the days you still go to stay... that part isn't so great.

Growing up in Steamboat means that every time there is a death, which seems to be far too frequently, it hits home. Literally. Either you knew the person, or you know their family and friends. Today I found out that the brother of a boy in my grade died. So all those memories of the deaths we had in high school, middle school, in our families and in our community come right back. And if it isn't you that lost a loved one, you feel for them just as much because at some point in the recent past, that was you. And you spend each day thanking God that everyone you love is alive. That is how we grow up. That is the bittersweet side of a small town: you have the support and the suffering of each person in the community.

So tonight I don't really have a funny story to tell, or something happy to report about being in Spain. Tonight is one of those "I wish I was home" nights; in part, because Steamboat lost Brad Bonner today, and in part because it's been one of those all around crawl in bed and eat chocolate kind of days. Instead, I am settling for some Nyquil and setting my alarm for eight am to drag myself to Spanish. And then I will head to Barcelona for the weekend, and on Sunday I will have at least one funny story for you, along with a ton of pictures. And I will be counting my blessings: the people in my life, the journey I am on, the trip I will take tomorrow, and I will be sending lots of love and prayers to Steamboat.