Juergas for Huelgas

As a perfectly fluent Spanish speaker who often is mistaken for a true Sevillana, I very rarely make language mistakes as my accent is always so clear.  However, these things do occasionally happen to the best of us.

We always watch television during mealtimes at my casa here, and at lunch with Mama Rosa yesterday (lentil soup!), the leading news story was centered on las huelgas.  Basically, the entire country was shut down for yesterday's strikes against the new labor reforms.

No I did not take this photo.

Now, a nation-wide general strike sounds very exciting.  You know--stick it to the man, yell profanities, wave big angry signs, and all that.  The picture to the left is not actually descriptive at all of what happened in Sevilla.  Mostly, everyone was inconvenienced because 500 flights were canceled ("I'm supposed to be eating gelato in the Colosseum right now!"), stores were closed, very few buses were running, and Avenida de Constitucion was packed with peaceful protestors.


As Sarah and I ate lunch with Mama Rosa, we asked a few questions about the strikes.  At one point, she had to explain to us the difference between two very different words that sound strikingly similar with our (hardly noticeable) acentos americanas.  

huelga -- strike; such as yesterday's 2012 Spanish general strike.

juerga -- basically, partying.

Apparently, it sounded like I said juerga when referring to the strike.  Well, as it turns out...these words mean the same thing to a study abroad student when there are peaceful nation-wide strikes.  Here is how the general strike situation looks to fellow temporary Spaniards:

Order of huelga events

I did take this photo.  Go labor unions!

- Class was canceled, so my school week was shortened to a nice three days.

- Sleep in.  Duh.

- Attempt to run with Sarah--wait, what's working out again?  This concept sounds vaguely familiar...

- Flock to the river, like everyone else who also has limited concerns about the strikes.

- My favorite chino shop was closed, so I had to take an ice-less cooler of refrigerated Cruz Campo with me to sit by the river and pound Principe cookies.  Ugh.  Come on.  

- Kebab place was closed.  Heart = broken. 

 But probably healthier.

...and that's about it for the huelga side of things...

However, juerga applies to an entirely different story.  

No one had class or work, so everyone was out on this Thursday night.  My friends and I were no exception.  We had met a few Spanish hombres whilst playing by the river earlier in the day, and they badly wanted to see us again.  They also had taught us a useful new word--pagafanta (friend zone) so we thought it couldn't be a bad idea to hang out with some locals and improve our Spanish over a cerveza or two.

Well.  It turns out they weren't quite up to our level of "going out," and this factor combined with the language barrier did not bode well for the future of our friendship. 

Order of juerga events

- Use proficient acting skills to encourage los hombres to find otras chicas.  Succeed.

- Find small discoteca, walk past bouncer--holla atcha no cover charge.

Not taken last night, but still very applicable.

- Dance. Dancedancedancedancedancedance. 

- Rest.

- Dance more.

- Leave discoteca at 5:30.  Not as easy as it sounds--the place was packed.  

- Walk around, find nice bench nearby La Catedral on which to rest our tired feet.

- Help Dunkin' Coffee delivery guy load the pallet of overturned soda into his box truck.  He's a nice guy from Málaga, just trying to support his wife and family.  You are very welcome for the PR points, America.

- Toast to an interesting* evening over a nice breakfast of café con leche and tostada de jamón ibérico (coffee and a toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich) at a little local café.  

*Note to parents, grandparents, and other concerned adults:
By "interesting," I mean completely safe.  Also, parents, grandparents, clergymen, and all those who do not worship the devil and clothe themselves in sin will all be happy to hear that I no longer have a "thing on my face," as somehow my nose piercing was lost in the shuffle last night.

Sit, Eat, Play. . . Repeat

This past weekend, Maddy (aka Line) and Agata stopped in Sevilla for the final leg of their spring break. Maddy, Monica, and I have been best friends for, you know, forever, and Agata fit right into our group as soon as she stepped off the bus and wasn't creeped out by Monica's cursory game of 20 Personal Questions.

It's simple math:

Sevillanas

EXPLOSION OF FUN AND FRIENDSHIP

+                                      =

Italianas

Best Friends in Europe

No apologies for being obnoxious when we're having this much fun.

Plaza de España 

- Pounce on Maddy and Agata as soon as they step off the bus (literally--Monica hurt her tooth on Maddy's face mid-hug).
- Wish Claire Paterson was there to spend the time with us.
- Sit and eat mounds of tapas.
- Walk around the city with ice cream.
- Experience all the different types of Spanish nightlife: casual, medium, and all-out raging (no pouting when everyone else wants to go home early at 4 in the morning).

- Sleep.
- Siesta ("Sleeping" implies 6-8 hours of REM cycles, which wasn't penciled into our schedule).
- Play and eat Principe cookies by the river.
- Yell at creepy dreadlocked gypsies in Polish and English (Agata's last name is Siwinski) who were not invited to play with us at the river. No you may not touch the pretty girls.

La Alcazar in Spring!

- Sit and drink Agua de Sevilla at a flamenco show.

- Break up the multiple bar brawls Maddy starts.

- Catcall back at all the Spanish men (they have no idea how to react).
- Siesta.
- Fall in love with La Alcázar (see previous blog post for more).

- Chase peacocks at La Alcázar.
- "It's pretty here, but...I'm hungry."
- Sit by river and eat kebabs. 

- Pretend to be guests at the Edward Jones conference at the super swanky Hotel Alfonso; "So what did you take from the seminar? I've just got to diversify my investments. I'm calling Albert this instant."

- Hog the outdoor bungalow at Hotel Alfonso for two hours, whilst drunk off of the sun, giggling, and the free potato chips the staff brings after you've overstayed your welcome (sit and eat...for free).

-Siesta.

Oh no-no, ladies.  We don't wait in line.

- Bluff way into front of the long line at la discoteca: Succeed.
- Dance, dance, dance.
- Siesta.
- Exist (highly underrated...existing is the cheapest way to enjoy life and each other).
- Sit and eat churros con chocolate while watching the rain.

Pretty dresses! Let's touch ALL OF THEM.

- Walk around flamenco dress shops and touch everything.

- Look for somewhere else to sit and eat.
- Find new kebab place--sit, eat, watch Arabic music videos in very authentic kebab establishment.
- Water fight in the street (Monica was tired of carrying a water bottle, and Maddy's face looked too dry).

Sitting/eating/playing in our bungalow at Hotel Alfonso: this picture sums up our weekend perfectly.

The weekend ended at another bus station. It would have been sad to see such great friends go--but hey, we're going to have Sit, Eat, Play: Italian Style in a little over a week. Thank you Agata and Madeline for such a wonderful weekend...see you soon!

My City is Better than Your City

Every Spaniard I've spoken to unanimously agrees that Spain is the best country in the world.  With my lifestyle here, I obviously can't argue with that.  However, the subject that is most under contention and is sure to start a loud, gesticulating argument at any time, any place...is the particular city in Spain.

After such a fabulous weekend with Maddy and Agata (next blog post), Monica and I decided that we deserved a break.  Eating, drinking, sitting, laughing...ugh, such a tough weekend.  I really needed some me-time, you know?

However, daylight savings time (it's a week later here) played some rude tricks on us this past Saturday night.  "Let's go home early...like 2ish."  Except the nightlife is too fun to go home just as things are starting to really get fun, so with the time change we weren't snuggled in our beds until 4:30am.

I have never been more proud than when somehow Molly, Monica, and I made it to the bus station just in time to catch the 11:30 bus to Huelva.  Upon our arrival we met our friendly Huelva city bus driver, who was concerned that we were dressed for beach weather when it was slightly overcast and a bone-chilling 72 degrees.

Gambas in garlic sauce.  Those ladies weren't lying.

"Pero somos americanas…¡no hace frio para nosotras!"

We were the first to hop on, but the bus filled up quickly with Huelvans dressed for the elements in their scarves, down jackets, and wool pants. Two elderly ladies with super-fun teeth sat close by, and quickly filled us in on why Huelva is the best place on Earth.

"Sevilla es muy bonita, muy bonita, pero Huelva..."

Evidently Huelva has the best Semana Santa (it's too dirty in Sevilla), strawberries, jamón (we just eat fat chickens here), gambas (prawns--k, totally true), and the friendliest people (no one else talks on autobuses).

Testing Huelva's tostada con jamón for breakfast 

Our friend the bus driver made a special stop just for us at Punta Umbria, and waved us off the bus.  This was completely unacceptable to our new best friends, who insisted we were making a huge mistake.  Amidst all the commotion with angry old ladies grabbing our hands, warning us from the dread that awaited us, the conductor pointed us in the direction of the beach.  As Monica waved goodbye to them through the window, all she received in return was a disapproving finger-waggle and frowning head shake.   But as we skipped off,  our driver honked at us, stopped again, and actually hopped off the bus to give us very specific instructions and hand gestures.

Okay.  So, the opposite direction.  Got it.

With Monica in her pink Delta Zeta pride, Molly in flip-flops, and me in my North Face and summer dress, there is a slight possibility that everyone else sitting on the bus during this exchange was making fun of the americanas estúpidas.  But probably not.  And like, we totez used our like--best Spanish accents to say thank you, and stuff.

From there, it was all sunshine and giggles as we played in the waves, took long walks on the beach, and ate fantastic gambas between roasting in the sun   predisposing self to skin cancer   naps on the sand. 

When Mama Rosa found out what we learned on the bus, she did the best Queen Latifah impression I've ever seen in Spanish: 

"Ohhhh no she didn't! No, no no!! It's because everyone is jealous of Sevilla. What happens is, everyone is jealous, so they make up these lies to make themselves feel better! Better Semana Santa? All Huelva has is gambas and a halfway decent beach.  That is it."

In short, a long-winded "¡No me digas!"

Well.  I'll leave it to the locals to fight over which city is better, but we certainly enjoyed our stay on the "halfway decent beach."

"You can't go to the beach...it's still winter!"

"Just a glass of handle for me, please"

Every now and then, Rosa gets a break from cooking.  On such special occasions as these, ordering food is always an adventure, due to several reasons:

1. The menu is usually in Spanish, of course...which would be fine except that food vocabulary is totally different than my when-in-doubt-default of adding -ador or -o to the end of English words to make them Spanish.

2. The tip is included in the price of the food, so there is no need to leave extra money on the table unless you have a huge crush on the waiter.  Unless you are at Cien Montaditos ordering from Daniel, this is unlikely.  Hence, they really have no reason to provide customer service.

3. After the customer has pondered the menu for about a minute and a half, the waiter is certain that you have had enough time and aggressively tells you to order.

The combination of these factors can get me into trouble.
My hair is very blonde.  I get called "¡¡Rubia!!" in the streets for a reason.  Clearly I am not familiar with all the local lingo, so ultra-rapid cranky Spanish makes me forget both my native and my new language all at once.  This is why I only ordered bocadillos my first few days in Spain.

 "Uh...¡El bocadillo, por favor, uh....gracias!"

Because of the stress that is often involved with eating out in Spain, I love turning to the menu when it also has English translations...not because they're especially helpful, but oh, the comic relief!  Below, we have some of the best lost-in-translation menu items that I've come across.  This is probably what my professors have to deal with when they read my Spanish essays:

Córdoba and Granada

This weekend was packed with an ISA excursion to two Andalucían cities. Over 100 of us filled two autobuses and at least one floor of a hotel with our bags (no Ryan Air, no holding back), excited chatter, and a whole new appreciation for clean bathrooms.

Córdoba 

Age of Empires:  Córdoba   

Although I had a couple of the pre-packed crossaints Rosa buys in bulk (we go through a bag a week) for breakfast, eating was my first priority upon arriving in Córdoba. Bocadillos must have been written into the Contract of Host Motherhood, because on these excursions everyone has basically the same loaf of bread with a slice or two of jamón and queso in the middle. Rosa knows that her niños are growing young women and need to be fed often, so she always packs us two. As we made our way over the bridge and to La Mezquita, I rescued one of my bocadillos from the dark confines of its plastic bag, and was quickly assaulted by one of the many gypsy women that evidently frequent the touristy sites.  

Leah: future gypsy

"Por favor, gracias, I have a child, I have hunger, please, money....mis niños...gracias, euros..."

Okay lady, I can identify with your hunger.  But whether it's real or not, your Louis Vuitton bag is not indicating a great need for me to add to the .50 euro you are pitifully cradling.  

The gypsies were everywhere and had a few issues with personal space.  I highly recommend visiting La Mezquita-Catedral, but look forward to the crowd of roaming babushka ladies. 

La Mezquita-Catedral was first known as the San Vicente Basilica, which was destroyed after the Islamic invasion of Córdoba and replaced with a mosque.  After King Ferdinand III took back Córdoba during the Reconquista, the Catholics added a chapel here, some crosses there, and voila! there's your Mezquita-Catedral.  Ever since the 13th century, Catholic mass has been celebrated every day.  I truly wish my pictures could do this place justice, but it's very difficult to experience the beauty without following around a witty tour guide in a group of 35 of your BFFs. 

 

Tour guide & my best friend

Niños under an umbrella...ahsocute!!

It was rainy in Córdoba, so we spent the majority of our free time after La Mezquita-Catedral enjoying café con leche and ice cream while safely indoors and free from the gypsies.

Granada

After a healthy five hours in Córdoba, we were herded back on the bus to see what has become my second favorite city in Spain.  I'm thinking Ferdinand and his wifey Queen Isabella did not quite succeed completely conquering Granada, because it is still under a heavy Arabic influence.  There are hundreds of tiny little shops full of Moroccan goods, with owners who will make a "special deal" just for you, the "rubia más guapa de todo el mundo."  Well! I would be a fool to turn down super special prices just for me, so here I sit, in my new obnoxiously bright Aladdin pants and hippie headband.  

Hey, the guy said the color went great with my hair!

If you are planning a trip to Spain to see the rubia más guapa (keeping that one for a rainy day) then you must go to Granada.  For all you planners, this is what we will do together:

Granada Itinerary

- Los Tarantos for the best flamenco show I've ever seen in my life.  Best part? It's in a cave.  For the rest of my life, I can casually work into conversation, "Oh that's so cool...that story reminds me of the time in Granada I saw this flamenco show in a cave..." 

La Alhambra: see facebook for more photos

- La Alhambra: massive Moorish palaces with gorgeous gardens.  The detail in absolutely every aspect of the place is unbelievable.

- Shopping! Ladieez.  I don't care if I've seen the same tapestries in every single shop, this guy is going to give me a great deal.  Also, the postcards are supahcheap.

- Free tapas! The tapas restaurants are so proud of their food that they just give you one with every drink.  I bought a 2 euro tinto de verano and received a small mountain of Chinese rice.  Don't be confused by the Chinese-Spanish food.  Just go with it, man.

Joy.

- Kebabs.  If there were a word-counter this weekend, kebab would be #2 on my list, right after "OMGSHOPPING!" I am telling you, pita and beef have never tasted so good.  I felt bad wasting the opportunity for free tapas, but all I wanted was a 5 euro meal of kebab, plate-o-fries, and Coke.  And to get the full effect you have to say it right: keh-BAB. 

Hm-hm, no, I wouldn't like to share.

- Moroccan tea/hookah lounges.  Maybe it's because I haven't had it in two months, or maybe it was because they gave me my own teapot to use, but I had the best chai tea ever at one of these places.

- Capilla Real is the gorgeous chapel/final resting place of King Fernando V and Queen Isabel I.  The history was SO interesting.  Although most of us had traded sleep in bed bug-free beds at our hotel for quality time at the chupiteria the night before and were thus exhausted...I loved it.  No pictures were allowed, but let me just tell you that there's a statue of John the Baptist immediately after his head was cut off.  Jealous yet?  Also, if you wait in line for 45 minutes, you can see the tombs of the royal family through a little window underneath the chapel.

Sarah Bigelow had a big weekend: her ginger-chic self turned 20 years old on St. Patrick's Day! Really, could any day of the year be more fitting?  The entire world was celebrating people that look fabulous in green, and she is definitely one of them.  Happy birthday Sarah!!

Well done, Granada.  Well done.

¡No me digas!

I must introduce my favorite Spanish phrase:
¡No me digas!
Google Translate: Do not tell me!
Situational Interpretation: See below

A situation in which this phrase might arise would be at mealtime with my host mom Rosa.  Any of these sentences could merit a ¡No me digas!, depending on the level of drama we're feeling that day:

"I got home at 5am!" "No, I don't want the pig fat and chicken on bread." "My favorite color is orange." "I bought a dress for 10 euro!" "My family eats dinner at 7pm." "I'm going to Italy for Semana Santa." "I got a sunburn yesterday when I was in direct sunlight for 15 minutes." 

"¡No me digas!"

To really get the tone right, emphasize the No and the i (in English, the "ee" sound) of digas: 

"NO me diiiigas!"

The other day, an old enemy from the early days of my stay in Sevilla came back to haunt Sarah and me at lunchtime:

Cauliflower.

Or, as it's known here, coliflor.

Let's revisit how this particular dish is prepared:

Giant heads of cauliflower, hacked to pieces and laid to rest in a glass dish

Smothered in some sort of milk sauce, sprinkled with cheese and salt

Baked.

This brought me back to the sweet time known as the "honeymoon period," fondly remembered as the time when:

A. Everything was beautiful (okay, still true)

B. Spanish catcalls weren't that creepy; and most importantly:

C. Nothing tasted bad....it was new and cultural!

Well! This little white girl has become a hardened Spaniard, and I can now identify the difference between something new and something just terrible.  Our dear Mama Rosa baked this for us during our first week in Sevilla.  That time, we told her that it was good, but "not our favorite."  

Now, in America, "not my favorite," clearly means "I HATE IT."

Two months ago, the rose-colored glasses of New Experiences kept my taste buds safe from the true damage that the Cauliflower Dish of Danger is capable of, but I knew better this time.  Rosa was upset that her amigo especial wasn't able to visit that day (¡No me digas!) so Sarah and I didn't have the heart to tell her how we really feel about her favorite dish.  Feigning concern about the upcoming bikini season, we told her we wanted to eat less than the (literally) mounds of coliflor she was all set to pile on our plates.  

"I want to eat less, like you!  And you know, I just had this huge bowl of Choci Chocs for breakfast (five hours ago) so I couldn't possible manage one more scoop of cauliflower.  I would just burst."

"¡No me digas!"

But, it worked.  The only flaw in our plan was that because Rosa hates to waste food when there are starving children in Africa (translate to Spanish for her exact words), we only managed to succeed in creating leftovers for ourselves another day.  But hey, that was days away.  

That day was today.

Mm...we even get to use the same spoon!

Sarah missed lunch yesterday so she had pasta leftovers.  Upon returning from class, this is what greeted me:

I'm from Idaho.  I am tough.  I am WOMAN!  My plate spent 2 minutes twirling in the microonda, acquiring heat and a delightful new squishy texture.  While under the watchful (and sad--her boyfriend can't visit today!) gaze of Mama Rosa, each bite of cauliflower was quickly chased with a large bite of bread to give it a more manageable consistency.  For dessert on the way to class: Coca-Cola and three Principe cookies.  

The only problem was, Mama Rosa is no dummy.  After we cleared our plates and thanked her for lunch, there was silence.  And then, a shout from the other room:

¡Pero a Curney no le gusta!

(But Courtney didn't like it!)

¡Aye, madre mia!  Damage control time.  First of all, another good phrase to have on stock in the case of Dramatic Host Mom is,
¡No dame drama! - Don't give me drama!

A bit of joking about getting fat and a couple reassurances later, the storm settled and Sevilla was sunny once again.  

All's well that ends well, right?  I walked to class feeling all warm and fuzzy that because of me, there is less cauliflower in the world today.

Well.  As I returned from class this evening and went straight to the refrigerator (as usual)...

My host mom eats like a bird.

With my recovering eyelids and toiling stomach, I shall live to die another day.  I just hope that day isn't later this week, when this entire saga repeats itself.  

¡Feliz cumpleaños!

Even though yesterday was the true start of her birthday week, I am dedicating this blog post to my roommate and dear friend, Sarah Bigelow.  

Last cake as a teenager! Actually, that's probably not true.  We still have four days. 

I ate outdoors in March.  I'm living here forever.

Tonight we went to El Faro de Triana, only the coolest tapas place/café/bar in Sevilla, to celebrate Sarah's upcoming 20th birthday. The Bigelows and Christophersons are in town, so we all enjoyed some nice Sangria and mature conversation over the croquetas and patas con ajo y mucho aceite.

 

Kodak moment!

When I was little, I would always have a nice dinner with family at a real restaurant the night before the "friend party" at the city pool.  At the family party everyone acts mature, opens presents one-by-one, and says "thank you" after carefully folding the wrapping paper.  The next day at the friend party, it's a free-for-all with Barbies and small choking hazard Polly Pocket pieces, kids running and slipping by the pool, while the parents sit around the picnic table and talk about how sugary the icing is.  "Oh, now that Funfetti stuff just too much for me."  

Tonight was the best of both worlds.  Nice restaurant (with an awesome view), loving relatives, and fun friends.  Did we get carried away with the camera and take 160 photos, 130 of which were deleted, and 156 of which should be deleted?  Sure, but we're taking this "growing up" thing one step at a time.

Not invited next year.

Oh, and update on the eyelid situation:  Dr. Sharon Bigelow googled the name of the ten-euro "Benadryl substitute" I bought at the pharmacy.  It turns out that Cariban is just how they market Vitamin B6.  You know what Vitamin B6 is?  Not an antihistamine!!  However, my eyelids are healing, thanks to the actual Benadryl from Sarah's parents.  

LOVED meeting the Bigelow family!

Párpados Encendidos

As every other day of my life, I woke up this morning and opened my eyes.  

Except that last part isn't quite true, because my eyelids didn't wish to let that happen.

Swollen eyelids.  My eyeballs are fine, but Sarah's mom and I think their amigos are reacting to a new face soap I used. 

Let's check the dictionary before we get to the front of the line at la farmacia, shall we?

Pharmacy Terminology

Eyelid - párpado 

Inflammed - encendido

Benadryl - Benadryl (bay-nah-dreel)

Boom.  Ready for my fourth trip to the pharmacy.  They love me over there.  

Except that no one carries Benadryl.  C'mon guys, you can't have a back room that huge and not have the greatest antihistamine ever invented!  Everyone knew what I was talking about, but three pharmacies later I walked home carrying a small box of big pills, which I'm hoping is the Spanish substitute.  

If this is my last blog post, you all know why.

Real Alcázar

I had some language troubles this weekend.  With the Andalucian acento here, many words blend together and sound like other words because no one likes to complete their syllables.  I'm mostly used to this, but I swear my host mother's accent has been unusually thick recently.

Rosa Maria asks me the other night, "Has visita'o Alcázar?"

What I hear is: "Have you been to the house?"

Wait. I thought we were in the house right now...

"Cual casa?"

"No!" And this next part is my own fault, because I taught her how to say it in English, 

"Speak Spanish!!" Except it comes out like, "Speak Spaneech!!" and she points at my head very emphatically.

I'm sorry I'm a failure!!!

Hey look, a castle!

After we got it sorted out that Alcázar is a place, not a casa, I knew what she was talking about.  Real Alcázar is the castle-thing we always talk about when we walk around el centro.  "We should go to that castle-thing sometime."  "Yeah we should.  Hey, are you down for .50 chupitos tonight?"

So yesterday, I was all set to take a daytrip sóla and absorb some of the culture in nearby Italica.  I had done my research the night before, figured out the bus schedule (I thought), and packed a nice little bag with a camera and sunglasses.  I was even fifteen minutes early!  But the lady at the bus station window directed me to the information desk--never good--where the man printed out a little schedule and told me that the bus doesn't run until 12:30pm.  Mama Rosa was going to cook my favorite meal for lunch at 2:30, so that was unacceptable.


Then I looked at the schedule.  Okay.  I may not be fluent in Spanish, so perhaps this bus schedule has some sort of hidden code that only native-speakers can read, but my host mother and her amigo especial are native-speakers, and they couldn't figure it out either.

Change of plans.  Instead I walked around enjoying my city, and decided to explore Alcázar.   Dios mio.  According to my pamphlet (because only suckers wait around for the tour) it is the oldest palace in Europe that is still in use.  So that means when the king of Spain visits, he opts out of the 10-euro/night hostels and stays at Real Alcázar.  When visiting Royal Alcazar you tour the rooms of the palace and the many surrounding gardens, all of which are under a combination of Spanish and Moorish influence.

Still frowned upon to chase the peacocks.

Real Alcázar was built over the remains of an Islamic quarter back in the eleventh century.  Over the centuries it has been added to and redone in many places. I mean, your kitchen would need a remodel too after ten centuries.  The inside is stunning.  The gardens are even more incredible.  Honestly, I felt like I had gotten hit by one of the sneaky trains that zoom around el centro and had a preview of paradise.  As nice as my camera is and as extensive my photography skills are, my pictures cannot even begin to do this place justice.  You just have to visit Sevilla.  It's the most beautiful city in the world, so I don't know why you wouldn't, anyway.

And of course, there are gads more photos on Facebook.  Really though, just come visit.  It's supposed to be upper 70s all this week, so join me by the river.  I'll be with the rest of the Sevillan youngsters, sippin' Cruzcampo and soaking up the never-ending sunshine.

That last part was for you, Moscow.  Sorry about those clouds, bro.

Call Me Bear Grylls

For the ISA students here in Sevilla, la Universidad employs a wonderful thing called No Class on Fridays.  Because for the past two weekends I've been travelling around the rest of Europe, I wanted to stay in Sevilla this time.  Oh, and it turns out that travelling is really expensive.  Weird.

I mean, I GUESS I'll walk around in this all day.

Being an Idahoan, where 64% of the state is public land (so it is true--no one lives there) I am obviously an avid hiker and outdoorsy person all-around.  If physical activity is involved, plus the outdoors, you just try and stop me!

Alright, well.  Everyone knows that's not true.  I actually prefer sitting with a nice cafe con leche to doing most other things.  However!  Today was a day of hiking.  We took a bus to a small town about an hour away from Sevilla and hiked our little hineys all over the beautiful countryside of southern Spain.

Senior pic in a tree!

As you can imagine, it was stunning.

Second best, my day was entirely free of charge except for the .40 loaf of fresh bread I bought for my bocadillo.  At the end of the afternoon, we said salud to the marvelous views over some nice cold glasses of Cruzcampo.

Hey, I like hiking!

If I'm ever on the run from the mafia, po po, or life's sorrows, forward my mail to this pueblo.  Gracias.