Mommy & Me

About halfway through May, just as my ISA program in Sevilla ended, my mom's own flight to Europe landed in Brussels, Belgium.  She had seen my pictures, read my blog (some of them, anyway), and decided that all that plus Skype was just not enough Courtney time for her.  Thus began the best mother-daughter duo to hit Europe since the time we visited Belgium when I was six.  As it turned out, Mom and I are so popular that we were able to spend our days hopping around Europe and our nights with friends and family.  

Because of The-Event-That-Should-Not-Be-Named, during which time my camera would never be seen by my eyes again (blog post: Don't Mention the War), Dad was nice enough to send his camera with Mom so I could continue to illustrate my memories abroad with words and photos.  

Forewarning: My mom is a babe, but taken.  Sorry, boyz.

First Stop: Brussels, Belgium

Housing: The De Michelis Fam!

Activities: Talking, walking, resting, and eating.

Aunt Carrie and me :)

Aunt Carrie and I greeted my mom at the Brussels (not Charleroi--Mom flew by way of a real airline) with an obnoxiously bright WELCOME sign and lots of hugs.  My mom had some jet lag to recover from, so our first few days were rather restful.  It was wonderful to see Carrie, Nicola, and Julie again (Hey Julie! Next time don't be sick, huh?), enjoy more bomb pasta, and walk around their beautiful neighborhood. Our time was unfortunately too short with family, but we did manage to talk plenty over some excellent red wine.

Second Stop: Sevilla, Spain

Housing: Mama Rosa

Activities: All the touristy stuff, which can mainly be summed up by the following pictures...

Atop "The Mushroom," enjoying the view. 

Some things we discovered whilst strolling throughout the beautiful streets of Sevilla:

Plaza de España--look familiar? Then you've seen Star Wars Episode II.

a. Mom's ultra-cute wedges are completely inappropriate when walking constantly for seven hours every day.
b. The betchy Spanish shoe store ladies thought my mother's shoe size was amusing.  Every time I asked for a larger size (damn those American-European shoe size conversions!), we were met with a round of snickers and smirks.  So she did not invest in a pair of more comfortable shoes.
c. We share the same style of travel: walk around, have a drink. Look at stuff, have another drink. And so on.
d. Because Mom's feet hurt so much, this eventually turned into sitting, looking at stuff, and having several drinks at a time.

Cruzcampo with bendy straws in Matalascañas

The legendary heat of Sevilla really got cranking by our second day in Spain. This brought me back to the first few weeks in Sevilla, when Sarah and I nearly froze to death in Rosa's marble home. Then, I had thought that the heat-rejecting marble would keep out the heat in the hotter months.

No such luck.



Thankfully, Rosa handed us the A/C remote to our room (with very specific instructions for when and how to use it), so we were able to survive the 100°F nights.

Even so, after sweating profusely for three days, we were more than ready to board a Vueling flight to Gent and fall into the comforting arms of Nathalie.

Everyone's gotta see the cathedral.

Third (and final) stop: Gent, Belgium
Housing: Nathalie's house!
Activities: Copious amounts of catching up, eating, and touring the cities of Gent and Brugge.

Look at how attractive my international family is.

Nathalie and my neefs.

For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of knowing who Nathalie is, she stayed with my family as a Rotary exchange student when she was 18 years old.  Now, she lives in Gent with her two wonderful children Berend and Lowie, my neefs (cousins).  Now that I'm not two years old anymore, and my mom is no longer her mother figure, we are all besties.

Yeah, that's a medium.

Brugge is beautiful!  But, not as good as Gent.

Of course, all good things must come to an end sometime.  So at 5am we said a tired but very sad "See ya later," to Nathalie, hauled my mother and all her things off to the airport, and played Gin Rummy with Idaho potato cards until it was her time to go back to America.

Happy Mother's Day to the best mom I know!

Crash landing

I've been back in the United States of America for 23 days, and have yet to wrap up my End of Europe Extravaganza. That's because June has been even more eventful than my semester abroad.

It's funny, my parents worried about me constantly from January 10th all the way to the 8th of June, when I returned to my hometown in Idaho. Then they stopped. Who needs to worry about their kids when they're right in front of you? Well, that's when the real drama began.

First Day Back in My Real World

- Work out (oh, so this is what a gym looks like...riiiight.)
- Earn money ("Welcome to Napa!")
- Have some after-hours fun cruising around on the boat
- Be launched from boat (no but really, launched.)
- Be rescued by brother Nick
- Experience helicopter ride to St. Alphonsus Regional Medical Center

Nautique parking.

After Europe, I no longer have any shame.

It must have been all the leftover prayers from my time in Europe that saved us, because somehow we were all okay. I was the worst off, but five staples, two days, one fractured skull, a lacerated liver, and countless colorful bruises later, I was released from the hospital to take on the world again. With the aid of lots of painkillers. Which were nice.

Today was staple-remover day, and in two weeks I will once more be free to run, jump, roll down hills, and generally frolic around like I'm used to doing.

This is my excuse post.

Now that I'm back in the game of life, prescription drug-free, and with loads of time on my hands as I have few friends and fewer things I'm allowed to do (doctor's orders: no fun), I shall blog about the last weeks of my EuroTrip.

So stay tuned, Grandma...I mean, folks.

Now that these are out, I can wear sunglasses again!

Don't Mention the War

It's been over a month since my trip to Munich and Prague, and zero pictures, stories, or references have been made to the countries of Germany and the Czech Republic on Facebook, Blogger, Twitter, and whatever other forms of media the kids are using these days.

I wanted it that way. 

However, now that I have had appropriate time to process, heal, learn, and (somewhat) move on from the events that occurred between the dates of April 26th and May 3rd, I finally feel that I can open up to the blog.

You see, things happened on that trip.

Munich & Prague Plan

Thursday, 4/26: Fly RyanAir from Faro --> Munich (No, it's actually Memmingen) 

Friday, 4/27: Morning bus to Prague (by recommendation from Joe Di Lucca, "Dude, Prague is so sick.")

Saturday, 4/28: Play in Prague

Sunday, 4/29: Evening return bus to Munich

Monday, 4/30: Frolic around the May Day poles in Munich  

Tuesday, 5/1: See famous Neuschwanstein Castle in Munich

                      Fly Memmingen--> Faro

                      Bus to Sevilla

                      Finish homework and prepare for next day's classes

It all went fine until disaster struck.

I dearly wish I could post our pictures in order to prove that one of the most fun weekends of my life did indeed occur.  But because of the events that were to come, all I have to show for it is a postcard and one picture taken by Monica's lomo.  So I've improvised.

We'd practiced the May pole dance for weeks.

Prague is one of the most beautiful cities I've seen.  We drank Pilsner-Urquell and played cards while the sun set behind the city of Prague, had a fun night with Sarah, Matt and the crew, checked Bar Crawl in Prague off our bucket list, had another Local Night, and paddle boated the Vltava River in a swan.

To top it off, we stayed in such a nice hostel that I never once had fear of bed bugs, and breakfast was delicious.  If you stop by Mosaic House on your travels one day, ask for David at the bar and namedrop Idaho.  

Look at how much fun we're having!

Munich had the potential to be even better.

Monica and I explored the beer gardens of the city, which are basically giant grassy knolls with an area where you can buy massive liters of beer, play cards, and eat sausage, pretzels, and cheese sauce. In short, Munich was made for us.  We met my friend Hilary (Thetas around the world!) for drinks at the May Day festival and fell in love with all the beautiful men in lederhosen.  From there, we took a couple metros to meet Hilary's boyfriend and roommates in yet another beer garden.  We had a lovely traditional meal and nice conversation.

Around 1am, we parted ways at a big hill that bears such an uncanny resemblance to the one on Halo I's Blood Gulch (all the way to the side of the map, where those little cliff paths are, just before the blue base) that Monica and I had to check it out.

The following took place between 1:00am and 4:00am:

Just a map reference for my gamer friends.

"Bye friends! We're going to roll down the hill, so..."

"Hello, gaggle of 15-year-olds in lederhosen and pigtails--why yes, I'd love to be your best friend!"

"Where are my shoes?"

"The teenagers will help us find them!"

"Hey...where is my purse?  

...Where's your purse?"

"I'm staying here until it's light out and we can find them!"

"You can't sleep here."

"Hello, um, officer? So, we're in the middle of a park and our wallets, money, credit cards, and passports were stolen...no, I don't know where we are...can you pick us up?"

Look, a wild hedgehog!

"Hey random stranger, have you seen two purses?  No?  Um, thanks for the €1.30..."

"The police say they're not a taxi service."

"Look! A hedgehog!  Let's pet it!!"

"I shall name you Sonic, little hedgehog."

"So that guy over there has been pacing and watching us...he's now making a phone call...let's get out of the dark and deserted park, eh?"

"He's following us."

"Hey again police, so we're on the corner of Ausgang and Heigenslooten and there's a guy following us.  Can you pick us up?"

"Get in the taxi!"

"Really, you'll take us back to the hostel for free?!"

I have to recommend our hostel in Munich as well.  Although not quite up to par as far as cleanliness goes (eh, what's a little mold in the shower?), the staff is wonderful.  Specifically, my best friend Frenec at the front desk.  He's a Sim because he is always at the front desk, working.  Since he so kindly let me use hours and hours of the hostel phone and internet for free, I was able to make some necessary contact with my homeland.

The hours of 4:00am - 7:00am were spent on the phone with the U.S. embassy (guess what--it's a holiday) and my parents, cancelling passports and credit cards.

You know, I never thought I'd make a police report at a German police station.  Checking that one off the bucket list, because at 7:30am that's exactly what we did.  

I bet you don't have a picture like this.

Reported as Stolen

-Passport
-Camera (hence the illustrative creativity present in this post)

-Cash

-Credit cards

-Identification

-Czech pebbles

-Dignity

The rest of the day consisted of...

-Feeling terrible

-Kicking selves

-Finding access to money at the only Western Union open on a holiday

-Retracing steps

-Feeling worse

-Missing flight

-Detailing possible options for getting home at the internet café

-Returning to hostel, where Frenec tells us...

"Hey, I heard the good news.  Your stuff has been turned in!"

 What.

Not daring to believe him, we followed Frenec's printed-out instructions to a new police station.  We got to tour a new part of the city and meet the nice police officers near Hierschgarten (so that's where we were!), where our passports, credit cards, café discount cards, €0.05 stamp, wallet, and plastic H&M bag are all returned to us.

Two separate joggers found two separate piles of our items, by two separate trash cans.

Cameras, cash, the actual purses, and Monica's shoes and journal are still reported as missing.  So if you see a worn-out grey purse and beat-up black flats, call me or the Munich police immediately.  Our case is listed as Top Priority, I'm sure of it.

Neuschwanstein Castle: We didn't see this.

Eventually, we made it home to Sevilla.  But not without the extensive cooperation of John and Veronica Martens, Andy and Susan Barry, Little Grandma, Aunt Carrie, Frenec, our kind taxi driver, and the internet café guy.  The only reasoning I can come up with for our incredible good fortune is that over the past five months, grandparents, family friends, and church pals have ended every correspondence with me with a, "praying for you!"  

So thank you all very, very much.

For visitors to Germany, it's common knowledge that you do not mention World War II.  For obvious reasons, you just "Don't mention the war."  Well, now that this story is out on the interwebs for anyone's viewing pleasure, it is the responsibility of those now "In the Know" to be kind citizens and not exploit that knowledge.  I've said it.  The story is out there.  Don't talk to me about it, ever.

All's well that ends well, especially with the unbelievable amount of good fortune we had.  But for heaven's sakes--whatever you do...

Just don't mention the war.

Photo credits: Photoshop and other people's pictures. Except the police report.  That one's a CBarry original.

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. 

The Great Paradox: Budget Traveling

The semester for los extranjeras has ended, and the question "So, where are you going afterwards?" has become the new "Where are you going this weekend?"  For some, saying goodbye to their mamas de casa also means saying farewell to their friends abroad, daily café con leche, and our beloved Sevilla.  I will miss you greatly, home-goers.  Eat some peanut butter and Mexican food for me, and watch a TON of American TV.

Our last dinner together...aww, I'll miss you guys!!

For others, saying goodbye to our madres means leaving our bags in their attics and setting off to discover Europe.  As romantic and free-spirited as that sounds, this is where it gets ugly.

First Issue: Sevilla to Santander

It turns out, you can't just "Go see Europe."  There are details involved.  To start, the plane tickets.  Sure that €6 flight from Santander to Paris sounded great a month ago, and was of course the best impulse buy I've ever made, but how to get to Santander...

• Plane:  My dear friend RyanAir, who tricked me into thinking I could just "go to Paris," in the first place, has suddenly become evasive and distant on SkyScanner.

  

  Maybe these guys could give us a ride...

• Bus: Delightful.  Make sure to buy the ticket in advance, or you may not be able to sit next to sweaty strangers for hours at a time, and could even have to resort to...
• Taxi:  Expensive, but not unheard of.  However, it's not recommended to take a cab further than home from the bars school, let alone cross (or to another!) the country.  
• Train: Chyeah, see you in about 5 hours and  €350
• Hitchiking:  Alright, I know it sounds crazy to accept a ride from a stranger on the side of a highway several miles outside of town who just happens to be going the same general direction, but my cousin Kevin did it all the way from Belgium to Morocco.  Besides costing almost nada, WOW, does he have stories.  So, it's not completely off the table.

I mean, we built a sleeping fort in the airport before...

Second Issue: Where to Sleep

After logging hours on convenient websites specifically designed for budget travelers, I have learned a few things:

a. There are a total of 5 places to stay in Santander.

b. Good luck finding anywhere to stay for less than €70/night in paris.

c. Ohhh, so you don't want to share a twin bed with three people?  Fine, that will be €200

d. Because of aforementioned b and c, we can't stay in Paris forever.

Third Issue: So...where are you going?

Our adventures* after Paris depend almost solely upon hostel prices.  Specifically, the cheapest place to stay...in Europe.  But wait! You have to get there first.  this is where it gets tricky...

Back to SkyScanner

From: Paris (any airport)                   To: Everywhere 

Results and Analysis:

Croatia is on their own Croatian kuna or pebble or something...so that means living there is basically free after you pay €250 to get there, right?

We could get to London for €23, but then they use the British pound, which is worth even more than the euro. This translates into...ballpark, infinity x infinity in expenses.

So no London.

Back to Skyscanner.

*Adventures could turn into singular adventure if the euro doesn't crash very soon, so my bank account can stop doing such an uncanny impression of a sieve.  "What do you mean, exchange rate?"

Fourth Issue: Storage

The one concrete thread in this international tapestry of travel plans is that I will only have one regulation-sized, RyanAir approved backpack with me throughout the 3 weeks of travel.
FACT: I have not been living out of a backpack for the previous four months.  Try my backpack, giant suitcase, a normal airline carry-on, pink duffel, and aaaaalllll the wonderful European things I've acquired in my stay here.

It's all fun and games until someone has to PACK.

Like, shopping in Sevilla is fabulous.

How do you pack a flamenco dress? 

Does it roll-up okay?

Storage options:

Airport:  €4/day.  So €4 x 15 days. Warning! Items left in storage past 15 days will be given to Lost & Found.  Neat.

Rosa's House: Free, unless you count the detour through Sevilla to pick it up on the way to catching my flight from Madrid to the U.S. 

Storage Unit:   €20/month, plus two trips through whatever metros, buses, and taxis with four massive bags to get to and from the unit.

Bring 'em Along: {*Sound of RyanAir laughing darkly as my debit card is torn into a thousand pieces*}

Perhaps this should be First Issue, because the plane tickets I purchase depend upon the mode of storage I choose.  And vice-versa.

Issue 5: It's Nice Outside

Please. All I want to do is play on the swings.

This would all be quite manageable, if paddleboating on the Guadalquivir, sipping iced café con leche in my favorite plaza, and tanning on the roof didn't all sound so darn appealing.  How am I supposed to focus on the cold, dark, money-sucking world of the interwebs when I could be outside playing??

Cue the deep, Spanish-woman sigh: ¡Ooehwei! 

First-world problems are just killer.

Pouting Abroad

I should be studying, so today I'll just leave the one picture. However, please do note that the "study" part of "study abroad" has begun to make itself known.  You can know this because...

a. I've been banished to my corner office (the bed).
b. This does not mean I'm unable to access the unlimited distractions found on the internet.
c. Specifically, Facebook.  My fb friends could note a spike in activity, such as posting on things that do not pertain to me specifically, but have attracted my attention because I do not want to do this thing called "work."
d. "Work" is actually a loose term here.  I have to write one 4-page paper (hey, it's in Spanish), compile my cooking class recipes, and study for two finals.
e. The words write, compile, and study are misleading, and should be replaced with copy and paste from old papers, copy and paste from others' notes, and glance at Sarah's notes.
f. I'm wearing my Never Give Up running shirt.  This could be taken as an inspirational note, except that my running shoes are actually dusty (not the dirt kind, the dust mite-and-dog hair kind), I've given up approximately 57 times in the last two hours (Pinterest needs me), and I only put it on in the first place by accident. I'm going sleeveless because it's hot.  I want to enjoy the weather.

Look how dark and photoshopped it is in here.  Feel sorry for me!

I would make reason "g," but I think I found another YouTube video to watch.  

Also I need to pout more.

Feria de Sevilla

La Portada at night

Keeping with true Spanish form, Feria itself has no commemorative significance.  It is today, and always has been, an excuse to party.  For months, Sevilla's finest workers have been constructing la portada, which is the entrance to the fairgrounds.  On Monday evening, la alumbrada occurs.  This is when the entrance is lit up, and the 7 days of Feria officially begin.

Feria is a magnificent but complicated event, with many elements.  I'll break it down into the main points.



Flamenquitas

Imagine prom, with the labor of shopping, hours spent poring over magazines, and hundreds of dollars spent on all of the "perfects"...The Perfect Dress, The Shoes, The Jewelry, The Hair, The Nails.  Take all those elements.  Multiply that by 7--one for every day of Feria.  Tighten the dress (who needs to sit, anyway?), making everything flashier, and remove the age limits.  Oh, and put a flor on top.  There you have the women of Feria.

Riding Sidesaddle
Los hombres ride around on horses, wearing their typical suits and flat-brimmed hats.  Somehow, these Sevillana women have been born with an innate ability to wear the tightest, most fitted flamenco dress imaginable, and still mange to swing gracefully atop the caballos to ride sidesaddle with their well-dressed men.

Careful in those puddles...

Collectively Hot
Personally, I would like to know where these men of Feria come from.  Also, where they go at the end of the week.  There is something about a nice suit that will make any guy's attractiveness level skyrocket from a 5 to a 9.5 in the amount of time it takes to put on a tie.  Teach him how to dance Sevillana, and we find the masses of Perfect 10s that roam the casetas of Feria.

Maybe NEXT year we'll get the carriage

Horse & Carriage
Families will rent out a driver, carriage, and a team of horses to bring them to the grounds of Feria. With the recession hitting Spain so hard, this mode of travel was less popular this year than in the past. The basic carriage rental starts at 500 euro a day. And that price doesn't even come with the horses decorated like walking Christmas trees. We took the bus. 

Chillin' in a private caseta. We know people.

Caseta
Casetas are what brings all the elements together. It's a family party with all your closest friends; eating catered food and drinking rubijitos, the typical drink of Feria. Well-off families, business, political parties, clubs, etc. rent out their own tent for the week. They are elaborately decorated, and typically include a bar, tables and chairs, and an area for dancing. Los privados have a bouncer at the door, so namedrop if you can. If not, there are also several large public casetas. But there, you have to hang out with the peasants, tourists, and common riffraff. It is much better to just have a connection to a private tent (or a connection to a connection) if you can't drop the dough for your very own.

Feria in the daytime.

Sevillana
I highly recommend you take 39 more seconds out of your day to learn more about the Spanish culture and find another reason to move to Spain.  I posted a link below.  This is the typical dance of Feria, and just about everyone knows it beautifully. For los extranjeros who neglected to take lessons beforehand, you may either clap along to the beat (easier said than done) or make a fool out of yourself on the floor. I chose to do both.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krD420Rdwj0

Sevillana dancing

Blanquita

While Monica was told time and time again how Spanish she looked, I usually received an awkward side glance..."What do I say to the blonde?" I just told everyone I'm Swiss. Or I made conversations in Spanish with an Irish accent. At this point, people may be wondering why and how I, a whitey-white girl, was able to participate in such a spectacular show. The story of how, where, and why should be another blog post in itself. But in order to save myself some time and embarrassment, I'll merely thank Ron and Debby Miciak for making it all possible. Two full days of playtime in a flouncy dress made me feel like a Spanish princess, and I had the time of my life.

FERIA: Imagine if high school prom ran away to the deep Spanish south and eloped with the county fair. Their child is taken by Social Services for obvious reasons, then sent away to boarding school to extract all the tackiness, brush away the opposition to Looking Freaking Great, and shake off all the disappointment that comes with hype. Because unlike prom and the county fair, Feria literally can be the best time of your life. No amount of hype over this event can lead to disappointment and heartbreak. This is Sevilla.

Twirling

Oh, and I rode this in a flamenco dress. I've never been happier.