Hasta Luego, Europa

Like most things in life, John Denver said it best:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KoPT5Mq1pzQ

In that 3.20 minute stirring live performance, you were supposed to pick out the lyric, all my bags are packed, I'm ready to go...

Because after taking 6 metros, feeding the bus station locker fifty-five €1 coins, lugging two massive cases up and down 8 flights of stairs in and out of various metro stations (where are the ADA elevator regulations when you need them? Oh...in America), and dragging them down one of Madrid's main roads to my hostel, I've completed my assessment on the copious amounts of stuff I probably don't need.

Please. I just want incredibly delicious oranges within easy reach forever.

Then made an emergency trip to the Chino store to get my Príncipe cookies, Melacoton y Uva juice, and a couple oranges.

Whatever doesn't fit in those guys will have to join everything else in the backpack.

Europe, it's been real. I'll reflect on you later, after I've pounded through the Principe cookies on the plane and I realize that I'm really, actually leaving you. Right now, it feels as though I should be getting my Visa and passport checked an inappropriate number of times in preparation for a routine RyanAir flight.

But that's a couple years down the road.  Next stop, Texas.

Ryan Air: An Exposé

I've mentioned a certain airline many times over the course of this semester, but never have I gone into satisfactory depth.  Now that I have finally booked the remainder of my European Adventure with said airline, I feel it's time to bring RyanAir to light.  It's time for the rest of the world to know the ins and outs of my best friend, worst enemy, and everything in-between.  Our relationship status over the course of this semester has gone from hot, to lukewarm, to freeze-your-toes-off-cold...then back to hot many, many times.

When RyanAir + Courtney = BFFs
Location: Online, typically on Cafe y Te's WiFi, on a sugar/caffeine-induced high.
Event: Purchasing tickets to go to other countries.
"Have you heard of Crete?"
"It's a €24 round trip...who cares? LET'S GO!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Lukewarm Acquaintances
Location: Airport, prior to flight.
Event: Attempting to pass the "Bag-Fit Test" by shoving carry-on bag into the teensy-weensy and unyielding metal box.
"You have to fit your purse in that too.  No extra bags."
"I know, I know..."

It's not Brussels-(Charleroi); let's call it Destination: Middle of Nowhere

When RyanAir + Courtney = Unhealthy brother/sisterhood
Location: Visa check desk, security boarding gate, airplane.
Event: Getting passport and visa checked 6 times.
"Can I see your passport? Can I? Can I?"
"Me too! I wanna see it!! Where's your boarding pass? I wanna hold it in my haaaaand."
"Gimme! I wanna see it!!"





When RyanAir + Courtney = That Moment at a family holiday when That Relative does something awkward, but everyone looks away and pretends everthing is fine
Location: Standing-room-only cattle car bus.
Event: You know, if you parked the plane closer to the gate, we wouldn't have to take a bus to the plane...
"Hm, what's that now?  No, this is perfectly normal.  All the airlines are doing it.  I'm sure of it."

When RyanAir + Courtney = Partners in Crime
Location: On airplane, seated and buckled.
Event: Drinking Stella illegally.
"It is not allowed to bring alcohol onto RyanAir flights...for me, it is not a problem, but don't let my colleagues see."
You know what, attractive German male flight attendant? You're cool.

When RyanAir + Courtney = Valiant Competitors
Location: In line at the gate of any RyanAir-supported airport.
Event: Passing the "Bag Fit Test."  This is why I even took my heavy coat to the Grand Canaries.  When I sit down on the plane and uncover the purse I've hidden in the coat oh-so-casually thrown over my arm, I have the sense of elation that only comes with Winning.

Shhh.....

"Ha-HA, RyanAir, I have 2 bags on your little aircraft!"

When RyanAir + Courtney = Mortal Enemies
Location: In line at the RyanAir-infiltrated Charleroi airport security.
Event: Having to check the carry-on because the wheels on my mom's teeny-little suitcase are a teeny-bit too large for the Box Fit Test of Death.
"That will be 60 euro.  Go wait in three separate lines to check the bag, pay, and collect your passport."

When RyanAir + Courtney = It's Complicated

Location: Destination.

Event: The passengers clap, music plays, and a cheerful woman's pre-recorded accent comes on the PA system..."Congratulations! You've just arrived in yet another on-time flight onboard RyanAir..."
Let's just ignore the fact that we're clapping because the plane landed, shall we?

Monica, Maddy, and I are in the midst of our post-study abroad program travel plans.  Nearly all of our flights are through RyanAir, because despite of all the aforementioned issues that may lie between us, RyanAir is still maintains the least expensive and most attractive website around.  So here's to another round of trips with Europe's cheapest airline.  But please, if you must raise a glass--make sure you brought your own non-alcoholic beverage aboard, because a 6-oz can of Coca-Cola costs about €4.

¡Salud!

Eating Clichés

Apologies for the formatting...iPhone blogger technology isn't quite up to par yet.

The day began at 4am in Paris. Monica, Maddy, and I stumbled out of our creaky hostel mattress beds, packed our stuff as quietly as possible so as to not wake our roommate (you try shoving airplane-approved liquid plastic baggies in a backpack without disturbing the peace), and hopped on the airport shuttle.


Breakfast: leftover baguettes from the downtown bread lady.

EasyJet landed us safely in the Italian town of Pisa. You may have heard of it...they have a famous tower with some faulty foundation work. Well. We had several hours to kill, so we spent them with the hundreds of other tourists, taking the exact same pictures as they did. Okay, the same photos, with the exception that we were unshowered and dressed poorly. But hey--YOPO*.

While acting like 5-year-olds, we met a wonderful kind stranger who once was in a similar position we are in. She traveled 35 years ago for 8 months...on $10/day. She handed us €20 for "coffee money," saying she wished someone had done that for her back then.




We weren't about to go against her wishes, so:


Lunch: Cappuccinos and pizza (not at the same time), just down the street from the tower.



From there, it was time to hop on RyanAir's flight to Crete.

Crete: a Greek island in the Mediterranean. Commonly mistaken for Athens, which does indeed harbor rioters. However, Crete is a happy place full of tourists and marvelous beaches.

Dinner: The Best Gyros Ever with a side of Coke. Total cost per person: €3.30

Don't get me wrong, I loved Paris...but I couldn't even sneeze at the copious amounts of pollen drifting through the air without paying €5 first. Right now, we are about to pass out from pure exhaustion (let's just say the bus from the airport wasn't exactly a direct line) in our little baby apartment-hostel. We have a pool, a balcony, kitchenette, sheets, towels, outlets that work, and a TV at this place we will call home for 6 days. All for €8 per day, which, if you don't think about the exchange rate...sounds a lot like $8!

Today began with baguettes in Paris, pogo'd over for pizza in Pisa, and ended with gyros in Greece. On the menu front, it truly can't get more stereotypical than that.

Today was a good day.

*YOPO-- You Only Pisa Once. Really though, because there's actually nothing much to Pisa except the tower.

Bonjour, Mr. Eiffel

So, this was my night...

Maddy, Monica, and I have officially begun our travels together.  For the next couple of weeks we will be bopping around Europe; trying the different cuisine, sitting on various grassy knolls, and playing by famous national monuments.

We are starting in Paris.

The first hostel on our two-week tour has a view of the Eiffel Tower, if you walk outside and crane your neck.  They also provide sheets if you have 7 euro you're not doing anything with. 

Yesterday, we had one thing on our agenda:
The Eiffel Tower.

We climbed it (668 steps before they let us use the elevator), gawked at it, took dozens of obnoxious photos with it (No, I'm sure I'm the first to jump in front of the Eiffel Tower), stared some more, then enjoyed the sunset with a bottle of wine (alright, 5) and some Pizza Hut.

We would have enjoyed the foie gras for dinner, but I am not quite sure that that is...and my fancy food fund was spent on not sleeping directly on a bare mattress. 

I'm in Paris.  

I'll say it again, because I will never ever get tired of saying that.

I'm in Paris.

Mm, quite.

Salud from Santander

Today, i traveled 15 hours across the span of Spain by taxi, bus, and multiple trains. My suitcases are tucked away at the Estacion Sur de Autobuses storage lockers in Madrid. Thanks to the official Spanish-world takeover of Corte Ingles I was able to get wifi and obtain a hostel in Santander, where I now sit with my glass of vino tinto.

All this in 15 hours, with only the guardian angel pin sent from my grandma for company. And yet, I still have to be home before midnight.

After all that, we wouldn't want to be locked out of our hostel now, would we?

Hallo from Gent!

For the past week I have been bopping around Belgium, then Spain, and back to Belgium with my mom! We have been having a lovely time together in Europe.

I have had very limited access to Internet/English keyboards/Time to myself, so I have been amiss with my blogs as of late. However, she brought me one of those fancy machines from the states that the kids these days are calling "The iPhone," so I have some access to the inter-webs via this shiny apparatus. The keyboard and baby-sized screen are not very conducive to extensive writing, so this will be brief...

No actually, she´s my mom, not my sister.

Who: Susan and Courtney Barry, with our BFF Nathalie (see Dia de Andalucia blog from March), who was our Rotary exchange student 18 years ago.

Where: This weekend, Gent.  But today, a day-trip to Brugge!

Belgium: So great I had to come back.

Barry Time

As family, friends, and acquaintances have known for many years, I have a very poor sense of time management.  I would like to say it runs in my family, actually--a learned defect. Some friends like to call it Barry Time.

It may help to think about it mathematically:

STh + .50h = ATh

(Let STh be Scheduled Time, h = hours, and AT = Actual Time)

Translation: I am typically a half hour late everywhere I go.  But not for lack of trying and many guilty apologies.  These things just happen to me.

The Sevilla oranges don't care if I'm late.  They are delicious regardless.

Since studying abroad in Spain, my character trait has since been forgotten.  Here, that´s just Spanish Time.  However, now I realize that I possess something even more dangerous than previously thought: Courtney Barry has zero sense of time.  My semester in Spain has flown by so quickly that I honestly feel as if I've dreamed it all up.  Any minute now I'll wake up back in my twin Sevillana bed, where I've probably been creeping Sarah out with all the giggling I apparently do in my sleep.

But then, when I consider the first days here when no one knew each other, I couldn't even order a meal in a Spanish restaurant, and my roommate Sarah thought I was an interesting combo of lesbian-hick-beauty queen, (due to advance facebook creeping--can't say I blame her) it seems like years ago that we were unpacking our suitcases and trying churros con chocolate for the first time.

I would say it was unfortunate that the last week of our program was finals week...but who am I kidding.  That was the least amount of studying I've had to do since 7th grade P.E.

Here is a brief repaso of our final week as Spanish locals:

Sunday

"It's 80 degrees--let's go to Isla Magica!"

"I have a paper to write...but *YOLO!"

Because 75 degrees is basically winter in Sevilla, we had the entire park nearly to ourselves.  We rode El Jaguar until my head was literally pounding.  Spanish theme park rides evidently have different safety standards than the standard smooth rides we are accustomed to in the U.S.

"That cookie ice cream bar made me a ltitle sick...but hey, who's up for Mexican food?"

Another paradox.

Spanish "Tex-Mex" is an interesting concept. They somehow manage to combine all the basic elements of a taco into something that does indeed look and act like a taco...without tasting remotely like anything that's ever come from anywhere south of Michigan.

*YOLO = Dirtbag expression for You Only Live Once

Monday

"Alright, no more playing around. I'm really going to write that paper now."

3 hours later

"Look, I finished my journal! 500 pages full of study abroad secrets. I shall call it Gretchen Wieners."

"How's that paper coming?"

YOLO!

Tuesday

Start and Complete: 4-page Spanish paper about the links between food, emotion, and memories.  I knew I wrote something similar last semester for a reason!

Wednesday

"I have a Spanish grammar test tomorrow."

"It's 91 outside...let's go paddleboat!"

YOLO!

And oh, what fun we had on the Guadalquivir. It's only €15 for the unlimited amounts of pure joy you can have in an hour on a boat.  Why didn't we do this every day??

Unfortunately, here is where the "last times" really start to kick in: 

• Last time Sarah and I walk to class together.
• Last dinner with friends.
• Last time walking home across the puente at night with this group of people.
• Last time I have to study for  Spanish grammar test (not all "last times" are bad).

Thursday

Spanish Grammar: So maybe it isn't my best work, but that thorn in my side has now been collected along with the final exam.

Photography: Final projects turned in on the Flickr account made especially for fotografia: Nearly all of my assignment interpretations (It is art, therefore there are no rules) are of me and others playing in Europe.  We all toast with the sherry our professor (and dear friend) Pablo brings.  Not to brag or anything, but I'm definitely in his Top 5 Favorite Students. Kudo points are easy to score when you are one of three to show up to class field trips.

Memory Project Cover: The time we went to a Sevilla futbol game.

Rosa makes a traditional Spanish favorite: Salmorejo, a cold, refreshing, and rich cold tomato-ey soup dish. Thank goodness, because I haven't stopped sweating since I woke up at 9am in 85-degree heat.
I meet for the last time with Elena, my intercambia.  Elena is quite possibly my favorite person in all of Spain.  Besides always telling me how good my Spanish is (debatable), we can drink Coca-Cola for hours and talk about everything from Magic (her boyfriend is a fan) to **canis.  Look for me on Twitter soon, because I'm going to make an account specifically to stay in contact with this wonderful person who has taught me the ways of the Spanish culture and language.
Last night experiencing Spanish nightlife, as it's unlikely I'll be toting my mom around to the bars after midnight when we visit next week.


**Cani: Basically, the Spanish version of a guido.  Gold chain, music like "oomp-ss, oomp-ss," exhibits many qualities of a tool.

Friday

NO.  There is no way it's our last day.  First of all, how on earth to fit four months of stuff into three bags...
Sarah and I keep our minds off the task at hand (packing enormous amounts of stuff) by blasting Call Me Maybe and Boyfriend on repeat.  I'm not proud of our recent musical obsession, but I'm not ashamed either.

When we leave the house after our last lunch as a study abroad family, it is 101 in the swimming pool of humidity that Sevilla has turned into.

Last ice cream at Rayas with our traditional Wednesdays at White group. Typically, we meet at our favorite café for tostada and a decent amount of petty gossip. However, this emergency meeting was called in order to say--not adios, but--hasta luego.

Our little familia.

Rosa, Sarah, and I sit down to our last meal as a family in front of the TV as always. The only thing that's changed since January in that regard is that we no longer use the estufa that resides under the table. To a resounding cry of "¡Aye, mis niñas!" Sarah and I leave Rosa a framed picture of the three of us, and she gives us traditional Sevilllana abanicos (fans) to ward off the heat but attract the hombres.  

For the last time, we bid buenas noches to a semester of familial love, Spanish women drama, and a lot of hilarious cross-cultural misunderstandings.

At this point, I know that I will return to Sevilla in just a few days to show my mom the sights, but this feels strange nonetheless.  My inability to grasp the concept of time has become abundantly clear as I reflect through all the adventures we've had in the last four months.

Today

I mean hey, it's not over yet.  At this moment, it's time to give in and shut off the light as Mom and I have some serious relaxation to enjoy on the beach early in the morning.  I am back in Sevilla, living in my house in the neighborhood of Triana for the last few days before I say goodbye for good an indeterminate amount of time.  But not forever. 

Sevilla, you've been good to me. 

Yeah...I lived here for four months.