Not Completely “All Play and No Work”

Journal Entry: March 20, 2012

So, I know I’ve been talking about the trips I’ve been on and the friends I’ve made, but I can’t forget that I’m doing something else while I’m here, too— school.  Yeah, sadly, I’m still a student and can’t just go off gallivanting through Spain whenever I feel like it.  Sometimes I forget that school exists, though, because we never have any homework.  But then I get an assignment like THIS one, and it’s a rude awakening.

In one of my classes (Social Psychology Applied to Advertising — it’s not as interesting as I originally thought, mainly because the profesora isn’t very good), we had a group project where we had to create some advertising and promo items for a conference. No sweat, right? If I could survive ADV4800, I can handle anything.

But what happened was that we decided to do the whole thing in one sitting. Everything done, all at once, Sunday night. Even though it was due on Wednesday.

So, to make a very long, miserable story short: I left my house at 6 PM, thinking I’d be back in time for dinner at 10 PM.  I came back at 8 AM the next day.

That was my first school-related all-nighter in Spain! (remember Barcelona? Those were like 2 or 3 all-nighters in a row)

Good news: We finished!

Bad news: After getting back home I had the most massive, unhealthy (death by carbohydrates) breakfast imaginable, then slept through my first class that day.

Hopefully that won’t be happening ever again.

Oh, and fun little anecdote: We went to do the project at my friend Ana’s house, where she lives with her parents.  Her mom is a little firecracker, and she got a kick out of the fact that I’m an American. While we took a brief dinner break, she ended up grilling me about all sorts of fun topics like American politics, Obama, and abortion. SO. MUCH. FUN.

(NOT!)

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Barcelona: Stranger Danger, Hunger Games & Finnish Giants

Continuing where my last Barcelona post left off (I had just finished unpacking and putting my belongings in my personal locker in the hostel I was staying in)…

It was around this point that I realized one very important fact: I. WAS. FAMISHED. The last time I’d eaten was at 3 PM, and now it was nearing 1 AM. Katherine and I went downstairs and asked the Italians where we could possibly go nearby for food. The younger one pulled out a map and showed us a place called OpenCor that would be open until 2 AM, where we could buy groceries and such in order to cook our meals. Katherine and I happily took the map and stepped out onto the street in order to find our way to OpenCor.

Apparently, Katherine’s sense of direction is far, far worse than mine (and believe me, that’s saying something). In no time at all we got a bit turned around and confused about where to go. Let’s re-cap really quickly so you know the situation we have put ourselves in: it’s about 1 AM in Barcelona, we’re on the street, slightly lost, we have a map pulled out in front of us, and we’re speaking loudly in American English.

Any mugger within a 5-mile radius was probably crying with joy at the prospect.

I had noticed while we were walking (in the wrong direction) that we had passed by a guy, coming from the opposite direction. We briefly made eye contact as he passed. He had a shaved head, a long baggy T-shirt, and loose jeans. He looked like he was of Latin American origins, probably Central American. A red flag immediately went up in my head, but I just looked away from him and started trying to figure out the map with Katherine. After a minute, we solved the “Where are we, and how do we get to where we want to go?” question, and finally started heading in the right direction to OpenCor.

I would like to take a moment to thank the Brazilian from the Barcelona airport and everyone who told me horror stories about Europe, because congratulations! I became the most paranoid American in Spain! It was thanks to this paranoia that I decided to glance behind me as Katherine and I were making our way to OpenCor. Guess who had changed directions and was now about 15 yards behind us? Yup. You guessed it.

I immediately had the suspicion he was following us, so without saying anything to Katherine so as not to panic her, I started walking faster, and she subconsciously kept up with me. I glanced behind me again, and the guy had gotten even closer to us— he was walking fast to keep up, too. At this point I knew he was after us. I started looking around to see what we could do, and I saw up ahead a large group of about 10 Spaniard guys and girls who looked to be around my age, dressed like they were ready to go out, and I immediately knew they would be our ticket to safety. They were walking away from the direction of the OpenCor, but at this point safety overruled hunger, and I didn’t care about my growling stomach anymore. I just knew that there’s safety in numbers, and 12 is a bigger, safer number than 2. The Spaniards turned up a street and I grabbed Katherine’s arm to turn there and try to catch up to them before the guy following us caught up to us. For a moment, Katherine protested, “This isn’t the right wa—”

“Just trust me, Katherine.”

“..Okay.”

As we were approaching the group, I whispered to her that there was a man following us and that we ought to stick with this group for safety reasons. She was surprised but immediately agreed that this was the best plan, and we caught up with the Spaniards.

While we were walking with the group, I kept glancing over my shoulder at the man in baggy clothes, making direct eye contact with him so he knew that I knew where he was, and that I knew he was following us. The longer we walked with the Spaniards, the slower he got, and he started falling back. The last time I made eye contact with him, he came to a complete halt, held my eyes for one second, then turned around and walked in the opposite direction. He knew we had figured him out and that Katherine and I wouldn’t be easy targets for him, so he had given up.

We followed the group a little bit longer until he was completely out of my range of vision, and then Katherine and I scurried around the block to get back to our hostel (we had basically walked in a big square). We were so nervous that we’d see the guy again as we were rounding the final corner, but when I peered out onto the street and saw it was deserted, I felt a huge sense of relief. Katherine and I ran the rest of the way to our hostel and after getting buzzed in by the Italian, we told him everything that had happened. After I described the man’s actions and how he was dressed, the Italian said, “Wow, yeah, he was definitely going to rob you, it’s a good thing you noticed him when you did.”

Unfortunately, while attempting to avoid being mugged in the streets of Barcelona, I had neglected my poor stomach. The Italian noticed this, and mentioned that there were vending machines downstairs with candy bars and such. I grimaced at the suggestion and he completely understood. He then said, “Tell you what. I have two bananas and a mango. You guys can take them downstairs to the kitchen, cut them up, make a fruit salad, then bring it back upstairs and the three of us can share it.” I was taken aback by his generous offer, because he was working the night shift and this was the food he had brought for himself in order to last through the night. I refused, but he insisted, and went and retrieved his fruits and handed them to me. I asked if he was sure and he gave me the affirmative, so Katherine and I headed downstairs to make the fruit salad.

When we got to the kitchen there were 2 or 3 people hanging out there, and Katherine and I told them what had just transpired. While we were in that conversation, I started feeling bad about the fruit, so I told Katherine what I was thinking, and confirmed it with the older Italian (named Salvatore) that these were, in fact, the only food the younger Italian (named Alessio) would have to last him through the night. An American guy (Taylor) staying in the hostel for a few months had some groceries he was willing to share so that we could make an omelet. So it was decided, and Katherine started cooking the omelet. Meanwhile, I ran back upstairs and gave the fruit back to Alessio, saying that I didn’t want to take his food and that we had figured out something else for dinner. He protested one more time, saying that really, it was no problem, he wanted to share it, but I refused one more time and he finally realized I was serious and that I didn’t want to take his food. Alessio smiled and said, “Fine, have it your way,” and took back the bananas and mango.

I went back downstairs to the kitchen and hung out for a bit with Katherine, Salvatore, Taylor, and a Mexican-American woman named Rosa who had checked into the hostel the same night as I had. Katherine finished the omelet and everyone had a bite of it, and before I started eating it I took it upstairs to share a bite of it with Alessio, as a way of thanking him for his offer. I went back downstairs to finish eating. The omelet was really spicy, with peppers in it and a few other things, but it was delicious, and my starving stomach was placated.

In the kitchen at Yellow Nest Hostel

In the hostel’s kitchen with Taylor and Katherine

We stayed in the kitchen chatting with the others for a while, then Katherine and I washed the dishes and pans that were used for the omelet’s creation. We decided that we needed to plan what we were going to do the next day, our Gaudí Day, and went upstairs to grab our notepads and pens. When we got into our hostel room, all the lights were out and there appeared to be nobody there. We walked to our bunk bed and grabbed our things, when suddenly our bedroom door creaked slowly closed.

When I looked back to see what was causing it to close, I saw the most massive, muscled, blonde-headed guy I’d ever seen closing the door, with thighs as thick as tree trunks, wearing the tiniest little white boxer-briefs. The thought that passed through my head: Whaaaa—?!?!

He approached Katherine and I and just started chatting with us in a thick Northern European accent, and I learned his name was Mikael and he was from Helsinki, Finland. I was so close to losing my composure and bursting into laughter from the whole ridiculousness of the situation, but I didn’t want to offend the Finnish giant in tighty-whities. I was working really hard on acting as casual and comfortable as he was, because I didn’t want to seem like some uptight American who couldn’t handle seeing a guy in underwear. I majored in Advertising for Pete’s sake! Scantily-clad people are a big part of the profession! But let me tell you, there’s a big difference between seeing a guy on a sheet of paper and then a 6’4” Finnish muscle man in his undies standing right next to you in a dark hostel room. Can you blame me for feeling slightly uncomfortable and awkward? I never felt unsafe, he was a really sweet guy, but I just felt… yep, “uncomfortable” is the best word for it.

After about 10 minutes of the conversation (and me trying my hardest to not burst into laughter every time I made eye contact with Katherine, who also looked like she didn’t believe this was really happening), Mikael climbed up onto his bunk and went back to sleep, and Katherine and I scurried (we did a lot of scurrying this night) out of the room and down to the common room. As we passed the front desk and saw Alessio I finally could not contain myself and broke down into peals of laughter while also relating the story of what had just happened to Katherine and me in our hostel room. He laughed and said, “Wow, everything is happening to you tonight!”

Katherine and I went downstairs to plan for Friday, and after a few minutes Alessio joined us and the three of us stayed chatting for a bit. He cut up his mango and shared some of it with us, then Katherine and I decided to call it a night and go to bed. After we had changed into our pajamas, I remembered I needed a safe to put my iPhone and passport in, so I went downstairs to get a free one the hostel offered. Alessio wasn’t at the front desk, so I went looking for him in the common room and ended up accidentally startling him while he was sweeping the floor. He laughed and we went back upstairs so I could get a safe for my valuables, and he offered to show me how the safe worked and we chatted for a few minutes more. When I’d finished stowing everything away, I said goodnight and finally got to bed after a fairly eventful first night in Barcelona.

~~~~~~~~

Next post: My first full day in Barcelona!!

Blaaarrgggghhh

Journal Entry: March 6, 2012

That’s probably the most accurate description for how I feel right now.

Honestly, I’m a little surprised it took me so long to get sick in Spain. Anyone who knew me through college can attest to the fact that I catch everything. It seemed like I was on antibiotics at least once or twice every semester. So, it was only a matter of time before I caught some sort of illness here in Spain.

So what do I have? I have gripe, as it’s called here. Back home we call it the flu. Cough? Check. Fever? Check. Massive headache? Check. Entire body in pain? Check. It hit me yesterday when I woke up, and I’ve been bed-ridden since. I’m feeling a lot better today though. It’s miraculous what sleep and Motrin can do! But hopefully it’ll clear up within the next day or so, because I’m flying to Barcelona this Thursday! I’ll be really mad if some stupid flu ruins my weekend in fabulous Barcelona.

And trust me, you won’t like me when I’m mad. I get angry when I’m mad!

I Can’t Feel My Fingers.

*Journal Entry: Feb. 13, 2012*

Ever since I arrived in Spain I’ve been in a constant state of near-hypothermia (I might be slightly exaggerating [only slightly]). In any case, you get it. IT. IS. COLD.

Well, at least for my poor Floridian hide, it’s freezing. The kids from Massachusetts and the Great Lakes region walk around like it’s no big deal, but I’ve been living in Florida since I was 13. The Sunshine State! On Christmas Day I went outside wearing flip-flops and a t-shirt! I have no tolerance built up to handle this sort of temperature.  But then again, those kids from up North see a palm tree and they freak out. I just politely nod and smile at their enthusiasm.

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