Crunch time, every time

Lesson learned from the train ride to Rome: planning ahead and not doing things last minute makes life a lot easier and avoids stress.  Application of lesson: confirm flights from Madrid to Atlanta a day in advance.  End result: let’s just say it was a little *dramatic*…

Exposition: sometime in March, Jorge and I received our acceptance letter from the UNC Study Abroad office.  It was official; we were going to go to Spain and it was time to book our flight.  Sitting on a couch in the Great Hall of the ATO house, getting ready to watch the UNC basketball game, we logged into STA (a student travel agency that offers great deals for trips around the world) and began to plan our trip.  We were on the same flight going over on May 9; however, as I planned on staying in Europe a week longer than he did, we had different return dates and flights.  All was booked without incident and we anxiously awaited our journey.

The set up: four days ago, this happened.  No way would there be a repeat incident.

First rising action: I log on to STA’s website and find that there is no “Manage My Bookings” option.  Frustrated but not yet discouraged, I go to the Air Canada website (my flight back home was with Air Canada with a connection through Toronto) and select their “Manage My Bookings” option.  I plug in the reservation number that STA had assigned me with the last name “Reeves” (… you know, because that’s my last name).  Nothing.  Did the same with “Reeves III.”  Again, nothing.  Frustrated, a little discouraged, but not yet aggravated, I find the Air Canada phone number and place an international call at 0.15 Euro per minute.  The machine that answered me was predictably unhelpful and after wasting around 1.50 Euros of my time, it was nice enough to transfer me to a hold line with annoyingly almost-soothing music.  As I sat listening to the screeching violin, my aggravation slowly rose at about the same rate as the phone fare.  Finally a representative answered and heard my case.  She said I could not pull anything up on the Air Canada for two reasons.  The first was that my reference number was for STA, not Air Canada; I would need the Air Canada reference number to “Manage My Booking” online.  Understandable.  The second reason was because Air Canada no longer flies from Madrid to Toronto on Friday; rather they changed that flight to Thurdays.  For some reason, nobody (STA) cared to inform me of this.  Frustration, discouragement and aggravation flew out the window; bewilderment, rancor and lividness took their place. 

Mini-dénouement: Thankfully, the lady on the other end of the line was nice, helpful and patient.  She told me that she would “transfer my reservation” (remember this key phrase) to a Continental Airlines flight that connected through Newark instead of Toronto.  She promptly did so and connected me to a Continental bookings agent so I could confirm my booking.  The playlist on the Continental Airlines hold-line was just as unnerving as that for Air Canada, however I was a little more at ease given the Air Canada lady’s help.  When a Continental Airlines representative’s voice interrupted an unimpressive piano solo, she told me that my new 6-digit confirmation number was a valid one.  All I had to do was present it at the airport and I was set to go to Atlanta through Newark.  Success.

Not quite.  But more on that later. 

Intermission:  I sat back satisfied with my preparation; by calling to confirm, I avoided a looming catastrophe in the airport.  Now, I was booked, packed, CONFIRMED and ready to go home.  But first, I had to enjoy my last night in Madrid.  Colin, Shannon and Hillary had just gotten in and we met at Puerta del Sol before going out for dinner and drinks at El Tigre and Mercado de San Miguel.  Although my flight was an hour after theirs, I agreed to meet them at Puerta del Sol again at 7:00 am (what is it with me and early mornings?) and we’d all go to the airport together. 

The detail of my getting to the airport an hour earlier than I normally would have would prove to be crucial.

The climax: I say “bye” to Collin/Shannon/Hillary at Terminal 3 and proceed to Continental Airlines in Terminal 1.  Before reaching the check-in desk, a Continental agent ensured that all the travelers in line had their passport and flight information ready. When he reached me, he asked for my passport and scanned it without issue.  He then asked if I had an itinerary with my information on it.  I told him an abridged version of the above story and gave him my “valid” 6-digit confirmation code.  As he reviewed my documentation, a puzzled look crossed his face; he excused himself for a second and spoke to the check-in clerk.  When he came back, he asked me to join him (skipping the line) at the check-in desk.  My first thought: Air Canada / STA / Continental Airlines / Karma felt bad for the fiasco that had transpired and I was being upgraded to first class.  Oh how wrong I was.  Here is about how the conversation took place: “So you originally booked your flight with Air Canada?” “Yes.” “Do you have a ticket number?” “Yes, its (the 6-digit number I was given).” “No sir, that’s your reservation number; did Air Canada never give you a ticket number?” Dreams of first class quickly evaporated. “No.” I then continue to orate my entire phone conversation from the day before, culminating with how Air Canada had booked my Continental flight for me while I was on the phone with them, and then the Continental lady had told me that the 6-digit code would suffice.

Now it gets exciting.

“Yes sir, I see your reservation, but the thing is you don’t have a ticket.” “Wait, I’m confused, I have a reservation, but I don’t have a seat.” “No sir, you have a seat, you’re booked for seat 34A, but you don’t have a ticket.”

I don’t know if it’s that I’m not well versed in the airline vernacular or if this concept goes beyond my realm of understanding, but this blew my mind.  A reservation at a nice restaurant is not for a table that does not come with a waiter or silverware to eat with; a reservation at a hotel is not for a room that lacks a bed for you to sleep in or a bathroom; a reservation with Avis is not for a Pontiac PanAm that doesn’t have a transmission or battery or spark plugs.  How can I have a reserved seat without a ticket to let me sit there?  Especially when both the Air Canada and Continental representatives the day before told me that I was good to go.  After I expressed a few choice words of disapproval, the agent told me that the best thing I could do was to call Air Canada or go to their ticketing office and try to find my original ticket number.  You don’t even want to know what adjectives best describe my emotions at this point.

When I called, the wait to speak to an agent was an hour and a half.  It was 9:30; the flight was at 11:30.  To speak to the Canadian agent, MAYBE get a ticket number, get back to the Continental guy, MAYBE get my Continental ticket, and go through security all within the 30 minutes following the 90 minute wait was absolutely not going to happen, especially with the number of “maybes” in that sentence.  Time to find the Air Canada ticketing booth to see if they could help.  Oh wait, Air Canada doesn’t fly out of Madrid on Friday anymore – that’s why I’m in this predicament in the first place.  Why would there be a representative on a day there are no flights?  Next stop: online at the overpriced pay-per-minute public Internet computers.  When I “Managed My Booking” with my real Air Canada confirmation number (that had been given to me on the phone the day before), it did not register because my “reservation” was now with Continental.  Mount Harrisuvius was about to blow up.  Madrid would be my Pompeii.

My new friend at the Continental check-in counter next directed me to the Continental ticketing agent across the way to see if she could pull up the ticket.  She told me that which I already knew but still didn’t understand: I had a reserved seat, but still no ticket was showing up.  The only way I could get a ticket would be to buy a new one… for 2000 Euros.  I would need parental approval.  After waking up Mom and Dad at 3:42 am Atlanta time, I gave them a brief recap and they told me I had to go ahead and buy the ticket home; I could always talk to each airline when I’m back in America and try to fix things then (oh don’t worry I’ll be contacting a few people and giving them a piece of my mind – you can count on that). 

Luckily, when I went back to the ticketing office I spoke with a different agent who booked a round trip ticket to Atlanta for only 900 Euros.  This I wasn’t even mad about; I just think it’s a nugget of comedic gold.  A one-way flight from Atlanta through Newark costs 2000 Euros; the exact same flight + a return trip to Madrid in August is less than half the price of the one way.  I don’t know if they expect OPEC to launch a Jos. A Banks-style buy 1 barrel of oil get 3 free sale in August, if the system is corrupt in some backwards way, if airline executives are dimwits or if, again, this concept goes beyond my realm of understanding, but something doesn’t add up.  Anyway, I bought the ticket and got through security without incident and made it to my gate with no more than five minutes to spare.  Like I said, I’m glad I got to the airport an hour early with Colin, Shannon and Hillary.  The flight was a little delayed, but my layover in Newark was long enough where it did not matter.  Finally, at 9:05 pm ET I touched down in Atlanta and had arrived at home sweet home.

Conclusion with a twinge of comedic relief: So I’m an only child who was home for all of three days between college and Europe; I had seen my parents for probably a total of seven days over the past six months.  Much less, I was headed to Athens for the weekend early the next morning to celebrate Michael Steele’s 21^st birthday, so my time at home would be short lived.  I cringed when I thought about what kind of embarrassing welcome was awaiting me at the top of the Hartsfield-Jackson escalator that connects the arrival terminals to the baggage claim.  Would it be a huge welcome poster with family and friends clapping?  Would there be confetti, banners, noisemakers, etc?  No.  Au contraire.  I texted my parents as I landed “I’m home!!”  A minute later, I get a phone call from Dad: “Welcome home!  We’re actually at a dinner party celebrating Mrs. Vincent’s x^th birthday.  There’s a hide-a-key in the garage if you want to take MARTA to Lindbergh station and then a taxi home?  We’ll meet you there!”  Appropriate conclusion, works for me.  

Homeward Bound: 3 days, 4 countries, 5 cities

Just as I was getting comfortable and settled into Florence, the time to plan how I was going to get to Madrid to catch my flight back home had come, was upon me, was long overdue.  Crunch time.  I tried every website possible to book a flight to Madrid: edreams, transavia, orbitz, ryanair, wizzair, Brusselsairlines, etc.  Flights from Florence to Madrid were in the 400 – 500 Euro price range; flights from Pisa to Madrid primarily in the 180-300 price range (and on the wrong date); trains from Florence to Madrid were nonexistent.  The Ryanair flight that I found less than 100 Euro from Pisa to Madrid did not accept my credit card (which I had used with them before) because apparently I made a mistake entering the information each of the 20 times that I tried.  When I called customer service, the office had just closed 15 minutes earlier and a machine instructed me to try again tomorrow.  It was time to get creative.  Long story short, easyJet and the Italian railway system are lifesavers.  Long story long, international travel is rarely convenient. 

The nearest city not named Pisa with an international airport was Rome.  Thankfully I found 2 flights going from Rome to Madrid with plenty of seats – one was at 9:45 am, the other at 21:00.  However, in order to make either flight, I needed to find a train that would to Rome from Florence.  Because you can't buy tickets online, I had to go to the train station around 22:00 to reserve a seat (all this of course I did before booking the flight because I had to ensure that I would make it to Rome and so that I could determine which flight I could make). I got a train ticket for 5:50 am with the hope that I could catch a 9:45 am flight to Madrid.  Unfortunately, I did not realize that the train from Florence to Rome was a 3 hour ordeal; had I booked the early flight out of Rome, I have had just under and hour to unboard the train, find transportation to the airport, get through security and board the plan.  Not happening.  Instead I opted for the 21:00 pm flight to Madrid; looked like I’d have a full day in Rome to bum around.

But it doesn’t end there.  When the Canadian crew got back to the hostel (see post below from my Florence synopsis, they were my roommates in the hostel), they told me they were going to Rome too, but on the 11:00 am train.  They invited me to join them and tour the city for a few hours before I headed to the airport.  I knew that you could change your train reservation once free of charge, so it sounded like a good idea to me; I planned on going to the train station first thing in the morning, switch tickets, and then join them.

"Planned" is the key world.  I rolled out of bed at 5:20, got to the station at 5:30, and went to the ticketing machine to switch trains (ticket window wasn’t open yet).  To my chagrin, only 2 trains were available: the 5:50 I was already on and the 18:00 pm that would not get me to the airport in time.  It was 5:40.  I didn’t have my luggage.  I bolted out of the staion and hailed a cab, expressing my urgency in blatent terms.  He broke innumerable traffic laws on the way to my hostel, I heaped all my clothes into my bag, and he broke even more traffic laws to get me back to the train station at 5:51.  As I ran through the station’s entrance, the train was half way out the gate.  I dropped my bag where I stood and took off after the train.  To anyone wondering, no matter how desperate you look or how fast you run, once the train has started, it ain’t stoppin for ya. 

I helplessly/frantically walked to the ticket office (with a person working there) that had just opened to see if there was any way I could get on one of the 15 trains to Rome Termini – there was no way that that many people were going to Rome on a Wednesday morning/afternoon.  Turns out, when switching tickets on the machine (instead of buying a ticket for the first time on it like I had the night before), they don’t show all the available options because the one ticket works for any train that leaves in the next 12 hours (hence why it only showed the 5:50 and the 18:00 options).  All I had to do was talk to the conductor, ask if there was an available seat and I’d be good to go.  By that point, I was exhausted yet wide awake, packed up yet disheveled, stressed yet relieved, but most of all, ready to get to Rome so I could finally breath easily.  Sorry Canucks, I hope you have a good time in Rome, but I ain’t waitin 'till 11:00 for you; the 6:10 to Roma Termini pulled in the station and I didn’t even think to look back.  Funny thing is, no one on the train checked my ticket and I just as easily could have walked on without issue. 

Lessons learned: there is a definite advantage to planning in advance.  I should look into considering that more often, but it’s not nearly as exciting.  On the other hand, if there is ever a need to get something done at the very last possible second – be it a paper on King Charles II, study for an ECON 410 final, pack for freshman year of school, (Mom, Dad, or whoever, I’m sure you can add a few more examples here), or booking reservations to get home from Italy – I have demonstrated more times than I’m proud of that it can be done.  I think I’ll be better off applying the former lesson in the future though.

In 2 weeks, Rome hasn’t changed.  I got to go inside the Coliseum and the archaeology site this time as well as eat some pizza with a glass of Italian wine for lunch during my 14-hour layover, so the stress was not for naught.  Best yet, I didn’t ever have to take a taxi so there was never an issue there. 

And now the beginning of the end has come, from Florence to Rome to Madrid to Toronto to Atlanta.  Come Friday I’ll be eating Chickfila instead of tapas, taking road trips instead of discount airline flights, and clocking hours of work instead of leisure.  I’ll save writing my final synopsis of the entire trip for the flight back to the homeland, so I’ll close this post off by saying I’ve safely made it to Madrid.  I have a day to meet up with Colin, Shannon and Hillary again and hang out here.  Weird how things fell into place and my last day in Europe will resemble the first (minus Jorge).  

¡Hasta pronto!

Flying through Florence

After saying my goodbyes to Derek, Abby, Becca, Sterling and Shanti, I took off to Florence and began the segment of my trip that I would complete on my own.  Although I was traveling alone, I was by no means lonely as my hostel was very conducive to meeting people.  Surprisingly, these people were all Canadian and I was outnumbered 6:1.  I don’t think I’ve ever taken part of a conversation with more mispronunciations of the words “out” and “shout” or have heard more people say, “eh” in my life.  All was well though and we enjoyed the nightlife of Florence together.

Unfortunately we were all on different sleep patterns, so after waking up before my northern neighbors I toured Florence solo.  Without a Rick Steve’s handy or any real knowledge of the city, I probably could not tell you any of the names of the places that I went except for the Medici Chapel, but that does not make them any less spectacular.  After a few minutes of wandering aimlessly, I found myself staring at an enormous green and white, marble, Gothic cathedral.  The line in front of it was huge, so I figured it had to be of significant importance and that I had to go in.  30 minutes in line and then 463 stairs later and I was standing at the highest point of the city – the top of the Duomo.  The red rooftops of Florence continued on for seemingly forever until they reached the foothills of the mountains.  Honestly, I feel like all city overviews are pretty similar, but this one was distinct because it came with an up close view of the painting on the interior of the dome and a damned good quad workout.  After snapping a few pictures, I went back down to ground level and continued wandering.  Only in Florence can you stumble into an enormous plaza filled with Michelangelo and other Renaissance sculptures, including an exact replica of the David.  Can’t say that happens much in Atlanta.  The most interesting thing I saw in Florence was something I never expected to be there: a special art exhibit they had on Picasso, Miro, and Dali.  They had a vast collection of the Spanish artists’ works on lease and traced their friendships and how they created the origins of cubism.  Although Dali and Miro are more known as surrealists than cubists, the three artists were closely connected and influenced one another a great deal throughout their careers.

After visiting Rome, I presumed that I would never find better cuisine on my trip than that of the pizza / pasta / Panini / doner kebab that I had there.  That opinion was short-lived.  When I was actually trying to go somewhere and knew my desired route, I (predictably) made a wrong turn and started navigating small side streets.  Either that, or I was following my instinctive nose instead of the highlighted route on my map.  In the most unassuming of places, I found an open market much like the Mercado de San Miguel in Madrid; however, instead of tapas, empanadas and Mahou cerveza, it was a slow-cooked Florentine steak sandwich, gelato and Birra Moretti.  Apparently the stand I went to is pretty reputable because I saw a few tour guides taking their group there, but it was cheap and delicious.

I wish I could have spent more time in Florence, as it was a fascinating city that I only small a small part of, but I think I saw most of the highlights as well as discovered some of its small secrets.  I'll still mark it down as a place I'd love to go to again.

Not Running With the Bulls

Everything in the past two days happened so fast and unexpectedly that I really don’t know where to start this.  I mentioned how the train and hostel were booked at the last possible second.  The Amsterdam train station might as well have been a labyrinth lined with hedgerows, but luckily I got there with plenty of time to spare and caught the train no problem.  The hostel was a complete wild card.  Having booked it just hours before checking in, I had no idea what to expect other than that it could sleep over 300 and that I booked the last bed available for both nights I was there.  With a wild card, you win some and you lose some; I won in a big way.  The rooms were without question the cleanest ones I had seen yet, the staff was friendly, and there was a cheap café / lounge in the main lobby.  Not only that, but it also happened to be where Shanti and Sterling (friends from the Sevilla program, who I had no idea were even in Paris at the time) were staying for the next 2 nights too. 

Because I did not get in until late afternoon, I only had time to go to the Louvre the first day (which we sped through in record time) and went out by the Moulin Rouge area at night.  The next day, though, we made it to most of the other big sites: the Muse d’Orsay, Notre Dame (saw the service / communion too), Jardin des Tuleries, lock bridge, and the Eiffel Tower at night.  Some of the sights I remember seeing with Mom, Dad and Caldwell many years go - Mona Lisa still hasn’t decided if she wants to smile or not, Quasimodo still does not reside in Notre Dame, and the Eiffel tower still stands as the most spectacular building in the world that serves no relevant purpose.  It was still a lot of fun to see everything again though; its like watching a good movie for the second or third time – you know what’s about to happen but no entertainment value is lost.

The real highlight was catching up with everyone that was there.  It sounds like Florence was just as rewarding an experience for Derek / John / Abby / Becca as Sevilla was for me.  Also, if there was one gripe I’d have with the Sevilla program, it’s that the group was so big that it was impossible to get to know and hang out with everyone.  I really did not get to know Shanti or Sterling until the last few days in Sevilla (and we were supposed to meet up with them our first day in Amsterdam, but we were never able to coordinate that), but enjoyed touring Paris with them yesterday and hearing about their European travels. 

Overall, the crepes were as good as always, the nightlife was pretty wild and the city was spectacular.  I didn’t want to / plan on traveling to Paris because I wanted to only go to places I’ve never been before, but I’m definitely glad I made the trip here.

Well, my trip to Florence was planned as haphazardly as the Paris one was (train booked yesterday, hostel booked this morning); I can only hope it turns out as well.  On a 13 hour overnight train as we speak and arrive at 7:15.  Kind of unrelated side note – apparently I can pass for an Australian.  In the train station, I met two girls from UC – Davis who are taking summer wine-tasting classes in S. France (what was I doing studying Spanish Art / Grammar?).  When they asked where I was from, I said, “Atlanta” (knowing they were American… Atlanta is a big city, figured it didn’t need explanation).  Given their quizzical look, I had to finish with “……Georgia.”  I guess 8 weeks away from home and I’ve lost whatever southern accent I once had (and have adopted an Australian one?)  I don’t know, you can be the judge when I get home I guess; I just think they’re crazy.

That’s about all I got.  Cheers.

3 for the price of 1

....I guess 4 now if you include this one.  Just clarifying the past 3 posts; I got a little behind, so I just posted them all at once.  I tried to do it in reverse order so it would read Prague first, then Amsterdam, then transportation story to Paris, so it would read in the same chronological order that it happened.  Its late though, so I mixed it up and moved the transpiration to Paris before Prague / Amsterdam.  Sorry.

Last night in Paris though before I catch an overnight train to Florence tomorrow.  I'll have plenty of time to recap Paris when I'm on the train.  Au revior

The Best that Never Was

Note: this was written on the train ride from Amsterdam on the 7th, but was not posted until today.  

This is supposed to be where I make up some elaborate lie and say I’m going to Italy or Germany or Moscow or Dubai or Sydney or really anywhere.  This is supposed to be where I tell you I’m doing anything except taking a flight to Madrid and a bus to Pamplona.  This is where I am supposed to tell you that I am doing anything BUT running with the bulls when I get there.  Alas, instead I find myself telling the truth: this is where I tell you how I found myself in a train to Paris when I least expected it.

I had originally planned on flying back to Madrid the same day Jorge leaves (today)(at the time, today was the 7th), meeting up with a couple of people, taking a bus to Pamplona and running with the bulls.  Unfortunately, nobody could find a reasonably priced way to get to Pamplona so the plans fell through.  That left me in Amsterdam with one day to plan where I was going.  At the last minute I found out Derek and John are in Paris and that trains run there regularly (and are cheaper than last minute flights).  Hostel booked, train boarded, and I begin my final week in Europe.

Czechin out Prague

Until about 5 days ago, I had no idea where Prague was.  I knew it was somewhere east of Germany, but that’s about it.  Now, Prague stands as one of my favorite cities in the world. 

After getting ripped off by the cab/bus drivers when going to the airport in Rome, it was a welcomed change to arrive in a place where everybody spoke English.  Not only that, but we got rid of our Euros and picked up a stack of 1000 koruna bills.  Unfortunately the multiplication table for 17 was left out of my middle school curriculum so the exchange rate was a little hard to compute, but the 1USD = 17.5 CZK was much welcomed.  We got a full meal for the price of an appetizer in Rome and all the locally brewed beers were cheaper than water. 

I’ll continue the beer train of thought… They are great in Prague.  The internationally famous beer brewed in the Czech Republic is the Pilsner Urquell however it was only served in a few of the pubs and restaurants.  There were several microbreweries that served exclusively their own beer and other restaurants served a variety of other small Czech beers like Kozel.  In a country that drinks the most liters of beer per capita in the world, it’s fitting that there is a wide variety for them to choose from.  On our last night in Prague, Jorge and I went on a beer tasting tour where we visited on pub and two microbreweries.  We tried 5 different beers, from light lagers (light, not lite) to darker ales. 

The beer was a great treat that the city had to offer, but it was not the only one.  The first few days we did a city tour and a castle tour.   When looking at Prague from a distance, there are few buildings that jump out and grab your attention like the castle on top of the hill, the cathedral and clock tower in the city center, and the Charles.  Especially when compared to the Western European architecture that I’m used to, the tall towers on these buildings look like Disneyland.  I was surprised when the city/castle tour showed us so much more than that – they were just small stops.  The most interesting part was the old Jewish quarter.  Jews in Prague have a long history of injustice.  They lived in a small ghetto that always got flooded when the river rose.  However, over the years, their old neighborhood has built a rich history.  Prague is home of the 2 oldest synagogues in East Europe.  The most haunting reminder of their persecution is the old cemetery.  They were only allotted a tiny plot of land on a city corner to bury their dead.  In order to offer a proper burial for hundreds of years of people, they began burying really deep.  As a result, the small piece of property is filled with headstones (at least 12,000 headstones for up to 100,000 people).

When we split off on our own, we went up to a beer garden at a park on the top of the hill by the metronome monument.  The monument replaced the giant stone statue of Stalin that once overlooked Prague.  Symbolically, the metronome represents time lost during communism as it ticks back and times moving forward with democracy as it ticks ahead.  Physically, it offers an incredible panorama of the city.  Under the monument was the Lennon wall, a wall on which it is legal to graffiti and is littered with Beatles quotes.  It started as an anti-communism protest but over the years the layers of paint represent the youth voice and free speech. 

We felt like we did a pretty good job seeing Prague 3 days.   To celebrate our country’s independence, we found the next best foreign place to celebrate other than London: Amsterdam. 

Dam Good Time

Getting into Amsterdam happened without incidence; settling in was a different story.  When trying to czech in at the hostel, they said they had somehow overbooked for the weekend and we were the odd guys out.  We were transferred over to another hostel down the street and they stuck us in a room with 2 bunk beds… but slept 5.  Moved from an overbooked hostel to an overbooked room; a bed is a bed though so it worked. 

After unloading and everything, we literally ran into Hillary, Shannon, and Colin in the new hostel’s café and found out we were staying in the same place.  We then went out to get a hot expresso before our first (of many) doner kebab dinner.  Afterwards, we popped a bottle of campaign to celebrate the 4th and paid our due homage to the red, white and blue…primarily to the red.  The Red Light Distract is pretty much exactly what I expected it to be – red lights, few clothes, red curtains and gawky tourists.  I can say I’ve done it, won’t be too torn up if I never do again.

Before I came, people said that there really wasn’t much to do in Amsterdam and it’s easy to get bored.  I want to congratulate Jorge and I for our great job of cramming 2 days of traveling into 4 days though.  We made regular trips to Dam Square and Nieuw Markt, tasted coffees from around the world, saw the van Gogh and Amsterdam History museums, toured though the Anne Frank house, and walked through Vondel Park.  The highlight though was definitely the Heineken Brewery tour.  After explaining the brewing process and detailing the Heineken history, they had a beer tasting.  Usually I’m not a Heineken fan, but a fresh beer on tap is much better than one that’s been bottled and shipped; it was good.

Overall, it was a really nice city.  The canals passing through the streets give it a really different feel from any other city I’ve been to. 

Carpe Diem pt. 2

… but this time I wasn’t taking classes to get a ticket expunged. 

Three days ago, after saying goodbye to Mom and Dad in the wee hours of the morning, I took a 6:00 am flight Madrid to Rome.  The European adventure begins.  Although I only spent two seemingly short days in Rome, I accomplished everything I had hoped to: saw the Vatican, Coliseum, Circus Maximus, Pantheon, smaller basilicas, and other Roman ruins and I also ate an authentic Italian Panini, pizza, and ravioli. 

Surprisingly, the fact that I was running on 3 hours of sleep when I touched down in Rome did not bother me at all.  I met up with Jorge at the hostel and we immediately made our way to the Vatican.  We hopped on board with a big tour group that led us through the museum and Sistine Chapel; the tour was worth it in the sense that we got to skip the loooong line to enter the Vatican City and we got at least a little bit educated on the art there; however, the tour guide seemed to be more worried about getting through the museum within some sort of time limit than he was with letting us appreciate all the sculptures, tapestries, and paintings. 

The Sistine Chapel made it worth the price of admission though.  I honestly had no idea what the Chapel looked like underneath the famous ceiling.  Michelangelo’s other fresco, the Last Judgment altarpiece, is just as awesome as the ceiling.  From the overly muscular, nude woman (because women were forbidden from being models) to the Virgin Mary’s look of desperation, the enormous, painting is absolutely spectacular.  The small room is almost too much to fully take in and appreciate because every square inch is filled with immaculate detail.

After seeing the chapel, Jorge and I split apart from the group and went into St. Peter’s Basilica.  I feel like I’m running out of adjectives that I can use to describe the Basilica that I have not already used.  All I can say is there is no more fitting of a place to have such important, special works of art than the Pope’s home city.  Pictures do not give Michelangelo’s Pieta credit.  The near life-sized, impeccably detailed statue obviously drew an enormous crowd, but it was worth the wait to get a front row view of it.  One thing I thought was really cool about the Basilica that I had not seen in any other cathedral yet, especially one that is visited as much as this one, is that they designated one capilla (the most beautiful one I think too) exclusively for prayer.  Even more surprising was that the rule was actually well enforced.

I’m not going to go into much detail about the other sites because the Vatican was far and away the favorite place I visited.  The Pantheon was the biggest surprise; I had no idea that the inside had been converted into a modern, Catholic sanctuary, so that was really cool too.  Overall, the city of Rome was unbelievable.  Its crazy seeing ancient ruins and Michelangelo sculptures everywhere you looked.  But wherever there is a yin, there has to be a yang and the yang in Rome is the people.  Sure they sound like they’re singing when they talk, but they’re harmonic speech masquerades their pillaging personality.  Twice we were horrendously ripped off by cab drivers and when we tried to catch our flight, the bus driver told us he would take us to Fiumicino Airport, but then took us to Ciampino Airport.  Also, at one pizza parlor, I ordered a 5 euro meal and Jorge got a 7 euro one; when both of us tried to pay with 10 euro bills, he said he did not have change and tried to take the full 20.

With all said and done, I’m glad I saw Rome; it was hands down one of the coolest, most historic cities I’ve ever been to.  However, I do not miss it now that I have left.  I’m in my hostel room in Prague now after spending a few hours walking the city last night.  First impression: I love this place – it’s probably going to be my favorite stop to date.  I’ll tell you about it on the 4^th.

In Memoriam to Mr. Dalke and Bear: The Bigger Picture

Preface: this is more of a personal journal entry written in response to recent events, but I’ll try to leave it open-ended so it applies to everybody.

Some things in life are more important than ancient cities, awe inspiring cathedrals and late night discotecas. Last night I heard that my high school biology teacher and advisor, Mr. Dalke, had just passed away after a six-year fight with cancer.  With this news coming less than a month after my loyal friend and companion, Bear, was put to sleep, I really had to sit back and put things in perspective before I boarded my RyanAir flight to Rome. 

Mr. Dalke truly changed the way I looked at the world; from his lessons on sex-ed (which were cut short by his diagnosis) to the ones on the environment and from his counsel to me as an insecure freshman to our deep conversations after I graduated, he showed that he was indescribably wise for someone as young as he was.  Whereas Mr. Dalke was always a dependable mentor and friend, Bear was the most loyal companion anyone could ask for.  Despite the fact that I impatiently barked orders when I was his new owner and that I restlessly gave up throwing the ball with him after no more than 10 tosses, he always returned my apparent aloofness with love. 

As I touched down in Rome today, I began my three-week, post-Sevilla Eurotrip on a somber tone.  It is hard to complain with traveling through some of the world’s most magnificent cities; however, there is no other place that I would rather be than by Bear’s side as he took his final pants and in a church pew remembering Mr. Dalke’s shortened, albeit fulfilling life. 

If there is one thing Mr. Dalke and Bear had in common, it was their insatiable desire to explore the world around them.  Once Bear had exhausted what his small world – confined by the fence that surrounded our house – had to offer, he tirelessly dug under the fence so he could escape into the wilderness of Rivermeade; at the farm he loved nothing more than to run rampant through the foreign woods and cool off in whichever body of water presented itself.  For Mr. Dalke, his world was the water.  From the Galapagos to the Caribbean to God only knows how many reefs around the world, Mr. Dalke saw most all of the oceans wonders in his scuba expeditions.  Even as he courageously fought his cancer, he went from lake to lake just so he could escape onto the open water to go fishing. 

Today, and for the next three weeks, my world is Europe.  As much as I want to be with my two lost friends, the painful truth remains the same.  Their presence among us will truly be missed, but their spirits will remain within us forever.  While Atlanta will be filled with their memories, I will also be taking them with me to Rome, Prague, Amsterdam, Munich and wherever else I may go.  I cannot let the news of loss ruin an opportunity of a lifetime, rather I will rededicate my trip and it will take on a whole new meaning.  Like Mr. Dalke found comfort in the water and Bear found joy in the open world, I look forward to seeing what each city has to offer.  I strive to reach outside my comfort level if it means I will better experience the city and hope to leave no opportunity unexplored. 

Through it all, it is important to remember that which is most important. (Cue a soapbox for me to stand on for a paragraph).  Life is a fragile, miraculous gift we are given, and the relationships that we build throughout its course are the most precious treasures in the world.  To those that you love, let them never forget it; to your friends, never take them for granted; to your enemies, try to offer forgiveness because life is far too short to hold senseless grudges.  I have been blessed with the greatest parents, friends, peers and mentors in the world.  It’s a shame that it takes a tragedy for me to remember this, but without you, life would be meaningless.  Thank you to everybody who has helped make me the person I am today – especially Bear and Mr. Dalke; I am forever indebted to you all. 

And with that, I am off to see the world.  I will tell you all about Rome when I write my summary sometime in the next few days.  I am excited for what is to come and will be sure to keep everyone posted throughout my journey.  As I sign off, I ask that you please keep Mr. Dalke and his family in your thoughts and prayers.

Cheers,

Harrison

Study Abroad in Review

As I sit for my final siesta in the stuffy room that I have grown to call home, I figured it is as good a time as any to reflect on the past 6 weeks.  Its hard believe that my stay in Sevilla is actually coming to a close.  It feels like just yesterday that I first introduced myself to Carmen and Patricia dubbed me "Pepe;" at the same time though, I feel like I have been in Sevilla for several months.  Although I am sad that the program has come to an end, that I have had to say my goodbyes and that Sevilla will soon become a memory rather than a reality, I am excited for the rest of my Euro-travels.
Without question, the most rewarding part of the trip was the relationships made.  I already knew a handful of people going into the trip, but we were only a small part of the 60+ people in the program.  It was a very congenial group that did just about everything together en masse, from botellon to bull fights to weekend trips.  I'm excited to get back to school to see everyone again - bring Calle Betis to Franklin St.
Of course the reason you study abroad is to study abroad.  I can honestly say that I did learn a lot of grammatical structures that make speaking and writing sound a lot more natural, and I do look at the city with a new eye, noticing baroque and islamic architecture in the buildings around me.  My teachers Angeles and Fernando were great; they were good at communicating with people who speak Spanish as a second language and were very probably the best Spanish teachers I've had.  They did not assign too much work either, so I never felt bogged down with school.  
With little stress coming from school, we had plenty of time to explore the city and its nightlife.  In a city that boasts the most bars per capita in Europe, it was not hard to something to do at night.  Weather we met up with friends at a local joint or went to Fundicion/Buddha/Bilindo under the local promoter Toba Turbo's direction, there was never a dull night.
When the city dies in the middle of the day for siesta, it can be hard to wake back up and build momentum to do something during the day.  I admit that I fell victim to a few siestas that lasted from lunch to dinner.  However, I was able to stay active most of the time by playing basketball 3 or 4 times a week.  It was cool to actually know some locals and learn a few colloquialisms from talking to them.
Being on the Iberian Peninsula, we were lucky to have the chance to go to so many different places on the weekends.  Every city in Spain has its unique character and it was amazing to such famous places as the Alhambra and the Rock of Gibraltar.
Being in Europe, I have the even luckier opportunity to travel throughout the continent for the next three weeks.  All that is planned for now is Rome, Prague and Amsterdam with Jorge for the first two weeks.  After that my final week is flexible; possible destinations include Munich, Switzerland or maybe Brussels.  I will be sure to keep updating as often as possible and report how it is.
People always say that study abroad is a once in a lifetime experience.  However tomorrow, I will say goodbye to Spain for the second time in four years.  Both of those summers have been the most rewarding and fun summers I can remember.  Its really interesting to live within a different culture and adapt to their norms; also my ability to speak and understand Spanish has improved significantly.  I would encourage anybody who has the opportunity to study abroad to do so; its been the best parts of my college experience thus far.
Hasta luego Sevilla.  To everybody in the program, I look forward to seeing you at the Hill in August (and to those that don't go to UNC, I hope yall come visit at some point).  Leaving Sevilla though, I know that the fun has only just begun.  I don't come back home until July 15 and I got a lot ahead of me until then; I'll keep you posted.

Destinations: Gibraltar and ...Cadiz?

With the program quickly approaching its final days, the opportunity to travel around Spain is slowly vanishing.  Especially after staying in Sevilla last weekend, I really wanted to take advantage of my last weekend here despite the paper I had due Monday and final exams on Tuesday and Wednesday.  What better place to go than to revisit the site of my first summer abroad experience - Cadiz?  That was the original idea at least.  We were going to drive down to Gibraltar and spend an evening / night there, then head over to my old stompin' grounds in the morning to relax at the beach and visit the historic city.  It was entirely too well planned to be properly executed.
When googling "hostel in Cadiz," I stumbled upon a 4-star hotel that cost only 5 euro/night more than any hostel did - obvious choice.  Only after booking it did I think to see where it was in the city; it wasn't in the city.  It was in Algeciras, a city an hour and a half away from Cadiz but 30 min away from Gibraltar.  A simple folly that actually worked in our favor.  Who really needs an overcrowded beach and cathedral when you have a private pool, putt-putt course and resort?
(Un)fortunately, no busses go from Sevilla to Gibraltar, so we actually went for the cheaper, faster option and rented a car.  Nothing like a long road trip.  (On that note, props to Danielle for navigating Spanish traffic, roundabouts and incomprehensible road signs - all the while driving stick-shift.)
As a city, Algeciras is not that impressive; it is a grimy port city that serves more as a checkpoint for people visiting Gibraltar.  For a hotel, Hotel Reina Cristina was exactly as it appeared online: a pristine, clean little castle.
After we settled in, we reloaded into the car and made our way toward Gibraltar.  Crossing the boarder into the British territory might have been one of the most casual traveling experiences I've had; however, we were so taken aback to see an adult out of our program speaking English that we almost completely lost our communication skills.  We were an hour or so away from sunset, so we didn't waste anytime getting to the Rock of Gibraltar and begin our "monkey business"... if you will.  The first miracle of the trip that the tiny VW got up the mountain; the second one was that it survived its stay there.  The initial encounter with the monkeys was a peaceful one.  We saw him casually sitting on the wall next to the road and walked alongside us as we drove by.  When we parked the car, the frighteningly human-like creature perched himself on the fence and almost posed for us.  Its amazing how his facial expressions, hands and feet resembled our own.  He was a very peaceful, contemplative monkey.  If only the next ones were as amiable.  On our return down the mountain, we stumbled upon what could have been the most adorable monkey family I have ever seen.  Of course, anything that is cute has to be scheming something, and we fell right into their trap.  As we stopped the car to take pictures of the playful baby monkeys, we failed to notice mama and papa monkey walking toward the car.  By the time we noticed, it was too late; the monkeys had already climbed on board and were jumping up and down on the roof Jumanji-style.  Then, one climbed down the roof and tried to latch on and pull on the back windshield wiper.  Conscious of the security deposit on the rental car, we sped away before he had the chance to destroy the car.  By that time, it was already sundown so we returned to the hotel and retired for the night.  The hotel rooms were air conditioned, so we were able to sleep in and did not drown in our own sweat.  The next day, we lived the dream.  We spent the entire day out by the pool laying out and monkeying around, played a little putt-putt and explored a little bit around the city (we soon realized there was not much there and returned back to our oasis).
Overall, I was excited to see Cadiz, but I do not regret missing it too much.  It was a successful road trip and everybody involved had a good time.

Tourist Weekends in Spain

So I may be a perfectionist about writing, but keeping up with it is a whole 'nother story.  Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I've tried to make up for it as best as I could - the result is a looong post.  I'll try to keep up with it better in the future.  Pictures to go along with this post will be up in the next few days, I can't find my camera's connection cord.

I have not written in the past week in part out of laziness, but also because nothing especially newsworthy had really happened.  After living here for a few weeks I have grown comfortable with my surroundings and have developed a sort of routine to my day: wake up early for class, go to school from 9:30 – 13:30, return home for lunch then siesta until 17:00, meet up with people and grab a beer or play basketball, return for dinner, then head out for the night.  Our first few weekends we spent as vacationers relaxing on white beaches; these past two weekends though, we opted for the role of tourists as we explored Cordoba, Grenada and our home city Sevilla. 

Two weekends ago, we went to Cordoba and Grenada with our program.  Both cities are filled with history and are particularly influenced by their Arabic past.  This is no better exemplified than by the cathedral in Cordoba.  If I didn’t know any better when walking in, I would have thought it was a mosque.  Evidently enough, the main entrance is indeed the original entrance to the ancient Arabic mosque.  Filled with red and white arches and beautiful mosaics, there is hardly any Christian influence when you first enter (for a more in depth description, look at Shannon’s blog.  She took an “introduction to Islamic art class at UNC and can tell you anything and everything about it).  However, just around the corner, I found one of the most impressive altars I have seen yet.  Come to think about it, all the altars I have seen are equally impressive; I just think the one I have seen most recently is freshest in my memory and stands out.  The most spectacular part about this particular cathedral was the juxtaposition of the red/white Islamic arches and the pristine white marble statues.

The next day, our group took an overnight trip to Grenada.  For all that the city has to offer, it was necessary for us to spend two days there.  Our first stop, of course, was la Alhambra.  I mentioned in one of my previous posts that the Real Alcazar was very similar to la Alhambra, and that I liked the Real Alcazar better.  I stand by both of those comments.  That is not at all to discredit the Alhambra; it is regarded as one of the top wonders of the modern world and is very deserving of that recognition.  Fernando also led this tour and described in detail the symbolism and architecture of everything inside.  Unfortunately one of the most famous sites of the Alhambra, the “Patio de los Leones” – a fountain held up by lions, symbolic of life and power – was under reconstruction, so we missed out on that.  Also, because we were pressed for time, we did not get to walk around all of the expansive gardens that I had gone through 4 years earlier.  I know I am writing this as a snobby, second-time visitor so I am not accurately portraying how breathtakingly beautiful it is.

The site in Granada that did grab my attention was the Cathedral, el Catedral de la Encarnación.  While most of the cathedrals we had visited had the same base grey stone color, were predominantly rectangular, and usually built in the Baroque era, this Cathedral was a bright white, had a semi-circular alter, and was of the Renaissance style.  The stone was originally painted white so that it could later be embellished with ugly gold leaf patterns, but luckily financial restrictions prevented them from doing so.  Instead the white columns and walls inspire a sense of awe absent in all the other cathedrals.

Like Sevilla, Grenada is a college town so the nightlife is usually on par with that in Sevilla.  Unfortunately, we were there for a Sunday night.  Unlike Sevilla (more like Cadiz), the Arabic influence in Grenada is much more obvious.  With the discos all closed, our group stopped into a hookah bar for some Middle Eastern tea and strawberry flavored hookah.  The ambience was rather relaxing, which is saying a lot considering my normal day includes siesta and grabbing a beer at a bar.

Continuing on to this past weekend; while most in the group went to Lagos, Barcelona or Cadiz, Jorge and I gave ourselves the time to be a tourist in our home-base in Sevilla.  Just like it has been years since I’ve seen most of Atlanta’s landmarks like the High Museum, Stone Mountain, and Botanical Gardens, Jorge and I noticed that we have overlooked many of Sevilla’s tourist destinations despite them being right around the corner.  The two main attractions we went to were the Plaza de España and el Museo de Bellas Artes. While I don’t think Museo de Bellas Artes is anywhere near as cool as the Prado in Madrid, it still had a wealth of important paintings and sculptures.  The most expansive galleries were those of Murillo, Velázquez, Bilbao, El Greco (not nearly as many by El Greco as the Prado), Juan de Valdéz Leal, and a few others I had never heard of before.  It was really cool to walk through because a lot of the sculptures and paintings that we had talked about in class were held in el Museo.

From the outside, the C-shaped Plaza de España is very unassuming except for the visible towers that mark the endpoints of the ‘C;’ the 10(ish)-foot outer wall is more or less bare and you have to walk around it until you reach one of the 2 entrances.  After walking through the door, the real view is still more-or-less hidden.  You have to walk up a flight of stairs and make a turn before you react with the inevitable “wow!”  I cannot really explain what makes it so spectacular without showing a picture; but between the mosaics, grand fountain, and endless arches, it really is a sight to behold. 

Justifying Study Abroad

As if the experience alone is not reason enough to justify my study to Spain, I site an article from The New York Times' website:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/31/science/31conversation.html?_r=1&smid=tw-nytimes
Copied and pasted for your convenience:

A cognitive neuroscientist, Ellen Bialystok has spent almost 40 years learning about how bilingualism sharpens the mind. Her good news: Among other benefits, the regular use of two languages appears to delay the onset of Alzheimer’s disease symptoms. Dr. Bialystok, 62, a distinguished research professor of psychology at York University in Toronto, was awarded a $100,000 Killam Prize last year for her contributions to social science. We spoke for two hours in a Washington hotel room in February and again, more recently, by telephone. An edited version of the two conversations follows.

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Chris Young for The New York Times

MENTAL WORKOUT Ellen Bialystok with a neuroimaging electrode cap.

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Q. How did you begin studying bilingualism?

A. You know, I didn’t start trying to find out whether bilingualism was bad or good. I did my doctorate in psychology: on how children acquire language. When I finished graduate school, in 1976, there was a job shortage in Canada for Ph.D.’s. The only position I found was with a research project studying second language acquisition in school children. It wasn’t my area. But it was close enough.

As a psychologist, I brought neuroscience questions to the study, like “How does the acquisition of a second language change thought?” It was these types of questions that naturally led to the bilingualism research. The way research works is, it takes you down a road. You then follow that road.

Q. So what exactly did you find on this unexpected road?

A. As we did our research, you could see there was a big difference in the way monolingual and bilingual children processed language. We found that if you gave 5- and 6-year-olds language problems to solve, monolingual and bilingual children knew, pretty much, the same amount of language.

But on one question, there was a difference. We asked all the children if a certain illogical sentence was grammatically correct: “Apples grow on noses.” The monolingual children couldn’t answer. They’d say, “That’s silly” and they’d stall. But the bilingual children would say, in their own words, “It’s silly, but it’s grammatically correct.” The bilinguals, we found, manifested a cognitive system with the ability to attend to important information and ignore the less important.

Q. How does this work — do you understand it?

A. Yes. There’s a system in your brain, the executive control system. It’s a general manager. Its job is to keep you focused on what is relevant, while ignoring distractions. It’s what makes it possible for you to hold two different things in your mind at one time and switch between them.

If you have two languages and you use them regularly, the way the brain’s networks work is that every time you speak, both languages pop up and the executive control system has to sort through everything and attend to what’s relevant in the moment. Therefore the bilinguals use that system more, and it’s that regular use that makes that system more efficient.

Q. One of your most startling recent findings is that bilingualism helps forestall the symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. How did you come to learn this?

A. We did two kinds of studies. In the first, published in 2004, we found that normally aging bilinguals had better cognitive functioning than normally aging monolinguals.Bilingual older adults performed better than monolingual older adults on executive control tasks. That was very impressive because it didn’t have to be that way. It could have turned out that everybody just lost function equally as they got older.

That evidence made us look at people who didn’t have normal cognitive function. In our next studies , we looked at the medical records of 400 Alzheimer’s patients. On average,the bilinguals showed Alzheimer’s symptoms five or six years later than those who spoke only one language. This didn’t mean that the bilinguals didn’t have Alzheimer’s. It meant that as the disease took root in their brains, they were able to continue functioning at a higher level. They could cope with the disease for longer.

Q. So high school French is useful for something other than ordering a special meal in a restaurant?

A. Sorry, no. You have to use both languages all the time. You won’t get the bilingual benefit from occasional use.

Q. One would think bilingualism might help with multitasking — does it?

A. Yes, multitasking is one of the things the executive control system handles. We wondered, “Are bilinguals better at multitasking?” So we put monolinguals and bilinguals into a driving simulator. Through headphones, we gave them extra tasks to do — as if they were driving and talking on cellphones. We then measured how much worse their driving got. Now, everybody’s driving got worse. But the bilinguals, their driving didn’t drop as much. Because adding on another task while trying to concentrate on a driving problem, that’s what bilingualism gives you — though I wouldn’t advise doing this.

Q. Has the development of new neuroimaging technologies changed your work?

A. Tremendously. It used to be that we could only see what parts of the brain lit up when our subjects performed different tasks. Now, with the new technologies, we can see how all the brain structures work in accord with each other.

In terms of monolinguals and bilinguals, the big thing that we have found is that the connections are different. So we have monolinguals solving a problem, and they use X systems, but when bilinguals solve the same problem, they use others. One of the things we’ve seen is that on certain kinds of even nonverbal tests, bilingual people are faster. Why? Well, when we look in their brains through neuroimaging, it appears like they’re using a different kind of a network that might include language centers to solve a completely nonverbal problem. Their whole brain appears to rewire because of bilingualism.

Q. Bilingualism used to be considered a negative thing — at least in the United States. Is it still?

A. Until about the 1960s, the conventional wisdom was that bilingualism was a disadvantage. Some of this was xenophobia. Thanks to science, we now know that the opposite is true.

Q. Many immigrants choose not to teach their children their native language. Is this a good thing?

A. I’m asked about this all the time. People e-mail me and say, “I’m getting married to someone from another culture, what should we do with the children?” I always say, “You’re sitting on a potential gift.”

There are two major reasons people should pass their heritage language onto children. First, it connects children to their ancestors. The second is my research: Bilingualism is good for you. It makes brains stronger. It is brain exercise.

Q. Are you bilingual?

A. Well, I have fully bilingual grandchildren because my daughter married a Frenchman. When my daughter announced her engagement to her French boyfriend, we were a little surprised. It’s always astonishing when your child announces she’s getting married. She said, “But Mom, it’ll be fine, our children will be bilingual!”

Tuition dollars hard at work - for now, and for the future.  The next trick is keeping it up in the States

Home from Lagos

I honestly do not know where to start for this post, so I'm just going to go a little more stream of conscious than usual - bear with me.
Considering that Portugal is more or less engulfed by Spain, I really expected Lagos to be similar to at least one of the Spanish cities I have been to.  Not the case at all.  I have not spent nearly enough time in nearly enough Portuguese cities to make an overall assessment, but the two countries are very distinct despite the fact that they share the Iberian Peninsula.  Unfortunately our short stay was shortened because all the Monday busses were booked, so Jorge and I booked the bus for 1:45 this afternoon and are now back in Sevilla.
In our one full day, we met up with some people from our program and went down to one of the most incredible beaches I have ever been to.  Although this particular beach was not as expansive as the others we walked by, it was much more scenic.  The sand lay at the base of steep cliffs and scattered throughout the water were dramatic, isolated rocks.  Of course, these tall standing structures in the middle of a deep oceanic water are just asking to be jumped off of.  In the end, it was a lazy, relaxing day at the beach that I once again escaped without a sunburn.
Unfortunately, because the trip was shortened, there was a lot that we left in Lagos unexplored.  We had hopes of renting kayaks and paddling out to caves or walking through the city during the day - maybe next time.  Instead, we learned a good deal about the tourism industry in Lagos.  I honestly do not think I have seen a larger collection of Australians and British people before in my life.  I came in expecting to ask "se habla Español" to confused Portuguese citizens.  To my surprise, I never ran into that problem because most store owners, waiters, bartenders, etc. spoke English with an accent.
To be brief, Lagos is a beautiful city, the atmosphere might have been even more laid back than that in Sevilla, the food was delicious, and the people (tourists) were very friendly.  It is a city I would love to go back to later, and hopefully I will have the opportunity to see other places like Lisbon, Porto, etc.  The one positive of being back home early is that we will get to see the holiday for San Fernando - the patron saint of Sevilla whose body has been preserved for nearly 800 years.  I'll tell you more about that in the days to come.

Long overdue in many ways

Jorge w/ Lola, Me w/ Tina, Carmen and James

I apologize for not posting in a while and for taking so long to secure a picture of Carmen, the two dogs and James.  I kept telling myself I would write one throughout this week but then a siesta nap, The 42^nd Parallel, or a game of pick up basketball would interrupt my motivation.   As I am currently on a 3-hour bus ride to Lagos, Portugal, I can finally sit down and recap the past week.

I cannot remember weather or not I mentioned that Jorge and I had another roommate, James, who studied here this past semester.  He is a football player at Gettysburg College (http://www.gettysburgsports.com/roster.aspx?rp_id=2739&path=football) and a very good Spanish speaker.  Anyway, he just finished his final exams last week and Tuesday night was his last night staying with us.  To celebrate finishing the semester and to say goodbye to him, Carmen and her son Alfonso treated us all to a few beers and tapas for dinner.  During most dinners at “la casa,” we usually congregate around the TV and watch fútball or local news and briefly comment on what is happening; it was a real treat fully engage with Carmen and Alfonso as they told us about the previous students they had hosted and asked about life and politics in the US.  Alfonso asked us what we studied at UNC and was really interested to hear about the Peace, War and Defense curriculum because his younger brother is in the Spanish armed forces.  It was interesting to hear his take on terrorism and bin Laden’s death, especially because Madrid was subject to the train bombings in 2004 (he thought his death was a good thing).  After dinner, Jorge, James and I went out to Fundación for his last night before returning home.  It was fun getting to meet him, even for the short time we were here at the same time, and it was nice living with such an adept Spanish speaker that could help with grammar and teach us colloquialisms.  We get a new roommate at the end of the month and look forward to meeting him then.

Yesterday we took another one of our class field trips, this time to Real Alcazar.  I had already visited the former royal palace four years ago with my family and the Stewarts; however, I had forgotten how beautiful it is.  Once again our art teacher was our tour guide, and once again, he left me wondering how in the world he knows so much about seemingly everything.  Real Alcazar is essentially a standing representation of the history of Spanish architecture.  Construction began in the 8^th century by the Moors (who originally built it as a fort) and then subsequent rulers added on to the palace through the 18^th century.  As a result, there are Arabic, Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque influences.  In fact, there was one plaza (I forget which) where if you look straight ahead, there you see the original Arabic entrance (with Arabic arches, sculpture, etc.), to the left was Baroque (I think, but same idea with sculptures and arches representing that style), and to the right was evidence of the Renaissance style.  Throughout the palace there were unbelievable, bright mosaics; intricate, decorative ceilings; and expansive, beautiful gardens.  I admit that I do not remember the Alhambra very well, but I think that Real Alcazar is very comparable and maybe just as impressive.  I guess I will be able to give a true comparison after I visit it next weekend.

Last update then I promise I am done with my novel of an entry – sorry to those with a short attention span, I know mine would be waning around this time too.  This past Monday, I stumbled upon an outdoor basketball court just a block and a half away from the school.  Every afternoon, from 18:30 until sundown, a group of regulars meet and play pickup ball.  Although soccer dominates the Spanish sports world, Spain actually has the biggest market (and thus talent pool) for basketball in Europe.  With the intention of showing all these Ricky Rubio and Pau Gasol wannabes what it is like to play American ball, a few of us went down to the courts to play.  Right off the bat we noticed we had a distinct height disadvantage, but all things considered, we held our own pretty well.  I’ve played there a few times this week and plan on making it out as often as possible.  The court is not in the best condition – its really slippery and one of the goals does not have a net – but it has two backboards and two rims so it works just fine.

Signing off now.  You can expect to hear from me on Monday or Tuesday as I recount my stay at Lagos.

On the road again Goin' places that I've never been Seein' things that I may never see again And I can't wait to get on the road again.  Everybody say, "On the road again" Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway We're best friends. - Willie Nelson

One of the roofs in Real Alcazar

¡Olé!

Disclaimer: some may find a few of the following descriptions a bit gruesome

In case you could not tell by the title and the pictures, last night we went to a bullfight.  In Spain, there are two types of bullfights: Corrida de Toros y Novillada con Picadores.  I'm not completely educated on the issue, but to my understanding (in baseball lingo) the former is equivalent to an MLB All-Star game with expert matadors vs. the most massive toros (Nolan Ryan vs. Barry Bonds*)(*although the toros do not need PEDs to be huge); the later I would compare to a AAA minor league game.  The show yesterday was a Novillada de Picadores, but to be completely honest, I do not think I would have been able to tell the difference between the two.  I thought two of the three matadors were magnificent although people that knew bullfighting all said they were all rubbish.  I'll tell you why I say two of the three later.
In every bullfight, there are three matadors that each face two bulls.  In each fight, there are three stages that I will try to describe as best I can.  In the first, the toro is released into the stadium.  Several minor matadors (the main matador's 'team' I guess...for a lack of better words) wave pink and yellow capes so that the bull runs around a bit and tires it out.  In the second stage, two other 'teammates' on horseback ride out into the battlefield and stab the toro between its shoulders to injure the muscles and weaken it (this happens twice).  This part is particularly interesting because when the bull sees the horsemen, he charges at the horse and attacks it.  The horses are heavily armored and blindfolded so that they can withstand the blow and are not spooked by the charging bull, but it is still incredible that they maintain their balance and composure.  Once the men on horseback leave the stadium, some other helpers then charge the toro and try to plant two colorful daggers between the shoulder-blades to further weaken the beast (this happens three times for a total of 6 daggers).  Once this is done, the third and final stage is when the main matador faces the bull head on.  The fight ultimately ends when the matador sinks a spear through the exhausted bull's spine and kills it.
To call the scene a 'fight' discredits the true art of the sport; however to call it a 'dance' does not accurately portray how macabre it is.  I completely understand why it might get outlawed, but I sincerely hope it never does.  The spectators are not bloodthirsty mongrels seeking gore and the matador is not a malicious person that taunts and humiliates his or her foe; everyone's respect for the toro is immense.  After the bull is killed, the meat is sent to orphanages so it does not go to waste.  I cannot imagine that the bull that made my hamburger spent his final minutes any more or less desirably than the way in which these bulls did.  If anything, these guys get a chance to take a shot at his opponent and their meat is going to people who appreciate it more than I do.  It is a unique part of Spanish culture and it will be sad if it is gone.  And with that, I will step off my soap box.
In the six fights that we saw, I think we got a little bit of everything except for a true goring.  First off, these bulls that were "reserved for amateurs" were enormous; I am terrified to imagine what the experts face.  Of the 3 main matadors, one was a woman trained in Mexico (thus a different technique), one was 19 years old, and the other had flashy moves.  We saw one of the 'teammates' forced to the ground and attacked by a bull (he escaped uninjured); also, later on in the evening, the 19 year old was flipped into the air by his bull only to stand right back up and resume fighting it (he was also uninjured, obviously).  At one point the 'flashy' matador knelt down in front of a charging bull but waved his cape around his body so that the beast ran around him (my friend Brittyn has a picture of it that I will post as soon as I can so you can see more clearly); then two fights later the female matador could not manage to spear the bull and kill it - this actually happened in both of her fights.  If there were ever justification to illegalize bullfighting in my opinion, it would be because of matadors like the female one I just described.  It was painful to watch her unsuccessfully try to kill the bull as many times as she did; she even got multiple chances at point blank range when the animal was too exhausted to pick his own head up and she was still unable to make the fatal stroke.  It was not hard to watch when the other matadors were able sink the spears in almost effortlessly, but watching the bull receive blow after blow without dying was another story.  Spectators deservedly jeered the matador as she exited the stadium.  The older man next to me said he had never seen someone have that much difficulty killing the bull - and judging by his age, I would imagine he's seen as many bullfights as Yogi Berra has seen baseball games - so I still stand by my opinion that they should not be outlawed.  When it is done correctly, it is a beautiful sport and I'm glad I was able to witness it before it is a thing of the past.
Toreador, on guard! Toreador, Toreador! And think, yes, think as you fight, That a dark eye is watching you - Georges Bizet

The guys at the bullfight: 

Jamal, Jackson, Me

Jorge, Colin