Home for the Holidays

It almost feels like I never left. Almost. My closet, drawers, and shelves that are filled with new items have tangible proof to remind my foggy brain that I did in fact just return to Madrid from my holiday vacation back in the states. The memories of laughing with family and friends, of the pleasantly warm southeastern countryside, and of the great food that I consumed in the past two weeks have taken residence in my mushy mind. And the jet lag is behind the brain issues.

I spent my vacation divided between my Aunt Cary’s house in Atlanta, my grandparents farm (the Dear Farm) near Newnan, Georgia, and my own home in Dothan for the final week. I really enjoyed having almost an entire week with my extended family, and everything seemed so normal. Had I really spent the past three months living, working, and traveling in Spain? Was that just a dream? Had I made it all up? To be honest, while sitting on the overly plush couch in front of the crackling fire at my grandparents’ farm house, I wasn’t sure. Everything seemed so perfect, comfortable, relaxing, and normal— and I loved every minute of it.

Being in Dothan was equally as nice. Although a lot of my high school friends were not around, I was able to spend some great QT with some of my closest friends. Gillian, Erin, and I saw each other everyday once we all got back to Dothan. We went to the drive-in movies, attempted to cook tortilla, played several rounds of Cranium, visited Evan at Compass Lake, drove around Ross Clark Circle (yeah… we didn’t know what else to do), rode dirt bikes at my farm, and discovered that Dothan is home to Guinness Book of World Records’ Smallest City Block. My cousin Elizabeth spent New Years Eve with us, but I wonder if she was disappointed that our raging house party we had planned fell through. Ok, so maybe there was never a plan to have a raging house party… BUT one night Dad did BBQ ribs and we shared our meal with G, Erin, Anna, and TC. That seems like a pretty big party, right?

Gillian, Erin, and Elizabeth skipping around World's Small City Block

I'm going to call this party Dad's-Famous-BBQ-Ribs-Dinner-Party

The Thorpes stopped by our farm (note Aunt Cary, Elizabeth, and Molly on the right)

You don't get scenes like this in Madrid!

Well, even if Dothan isn’t party-central, I thoroughly enjoyed all the R&R and almost prefer it to my newest home that is party-central, Madrid. And although I was home for the holidays, my Christmas break isn't over yet. For those of you who don’t know, Justin (my boyfriend) is flying to Madrid tomorrow. I haven’t seen him in five months (he's in Turkey for the year); needless to say, I’m very excited about his coming. His presence alone is pretty darn exciting, but we’ve got plans that top it all. This weekend, we’re going to Paris. Merry Christmas, Justin. Next week, I’ll go back to work on Monday, but I’m going to cut my week extra short to take off Thursday so Justin and I can travel to Granada for that weekend. Just thinking about all the traveling and plans that I have for the coming couple of weeks makes my head spin, which is not a good thing when added with the jet lag. My bed is calling my name right now, “Laura… Hailey… Laura Hailey…” and it might do me some good to listen to it, because otherwise I'm just talking to myself!

Oh, and Happy New Years! I hope that 2009 is full of beautiful blessing and wonderful surprises!

Bones festes, feliz navidad, and a happy new year!

¡Bones festes! That’s Catalan for “Happy Holidays.” Catalan is the language spoken in the eastern-most province in Spain (appropriately called Catalonia), which is where Barcelona is located. I spent the first few days of my Christmas holiday in Barcelona, and it was a wonderfully refreshing start to my vacation.

My plane ticket with the low-cost airline Ryanair took me to the Girona airport on Thursday morning. From Girona, I caught a bus to Barcelona, and an hour later, I hopped on the metro to Barceloneta. I waited for only a few minutes outside the metro stop, soaking up the warm Mediterranean sunshine, before I spotted KK Hagler walking towards me. KK is from Dothan, and she and her boyfriend, Doug, moved to Barcelona a few months ago. They graciously offered me a bed in their apartment for the weekend, and they were wonderful hosts. I hadn’t seen KK in something like four or five years, so we spent the first couple of hours giving each other the brief run-down of our lives post-Houston Academy. We dropped off my pack in their small but posh Barceloneta apartment and walked two blocks down the street to her favorite beachside café. I contentedly sipped my café con leche while sitting outside on the boardwalk patio and enjoying the view: the Mediterranean Sea … a cool green color with flecks of sparkling gold light… with the waves quietly lapping along the shore… sand the color of brown sugar. Not too long after we sat down, I got a phone call from Edward and we made plans to meet.

Only 15 minutes late, KK and I met Edward at the wooden submarine outside the maritime museum, and soon afterwards, Doug joined us. KK and Doug gave us a nice walking tour of a little part of Barcelona. Since I was officially on vacation and staying with people who were acquainted with the city, I did not look at a map or try to plan a thing the entire weekend, which is normally not the case when I travel. I like to have a good mental map of where I’m going and I like to make plans… but this time, I opted to be led around like a happy puppy. Of course, Edward and I snooped around not one but two different markets. The second time around we bought previsions to make dinner, including the sought-after colçots (a type of onion special to the region). We whipped up our own Spanish-American meal: colçots with salsa romesco, hamburgers with mushrooms on freshly-baked rolls, and sweet potatoes that we baked in the non-existent oven.

KK and I were excited to see our Dothan-pride representing in a Barcelona market: "American peanuts"

Edward and Doug cooking up a storm in the kitchen.

I had two full days in Barcelona. I saw the massive, singular, funky, under-construction masterpiece of Antoni Gaudí: La Sagrada Familia. The construction of this church began in 1882, and when it’s completed, it will be one of the world’s greatest examples of art and architectural collaboration. No one photo can capture the magnitude, the diversity, and the intricacy of this building, and words fall noticeably short in aptly describing the sight. You’ll just have to see it for yourself to understand. If you’re feeling the economic pinch and can’t exactly travel to Barce any time soon, don’t worry. You’ve got plenty of time to save up for the trip, because construction is not expected to be completed until 2020.

It's that big.

In comparision with La Sagrada Familia, all other worries seem so small and insignificant.

Gaudí is famous for his funky, fluid, nature-inspired modern architectural style. His works are spread out all over Barcelona, and Edward and I checked out a few of them. We visited the Casa Milà, an apartment building designed by Gaudí that has the coolest rooftop I’ve ever seen. Also, in Park Güelle, mosaic-covered benches and statues splash up the scene with vibrant colors and attest to Gaudí’s unique sense of style. Park Güelle is situated on a tall hilltop that overlooks the city from the north, but it is not as high as Montejuic, the rival mountain next to the water that played host to the 1992 Olympics. Of course, Edward and I conquered that summit, too, and caught the Olympic stadium in sunset-glory.

The rooftop of Casa Milà

Scenic overlook of Barcelona from Gaudi's benches in Park Guelle

The signature image of the Barcelona Olympic site at sunset (actually, i think it's just a telephone tower...)

While in Barcelona, we ate some good meals. Our crew of four had lunch one day at a hip, trendy, retro restaurant called Flash Flash, which specializes in tortilla. For our last meal in Barcelona, we ate at probably the nicest restaurant I’ve eaten at while being in Spain. We ordered a bottle of regionally-specific cava (sparkling white wine, similar to champagne) to celebrate the Christmas holidays, and we shared delicious appetizers, entrees, and dessert. And of course, what trip to Barcelona would be complete without proper appreciation of the beach? Edward and I actually took a quick dip in the crystal clear and quite frigid waters on Saturday morning. As we scurried back to the apartment in our wet clothes and bathing suits, the people in the streets just laughed at us. Crazy Americans.

Speaking of America, I’m back! In a terrible, nightmarish fashion that involved cold hours outside a bus station and in an airport, I made it back to Madrid early Sunday morning. Edward had taken an overnight bus, and we had arranged how we would meet up again in Madrid. Our final reunion couldn’t have been more perfect. We met each other in front of my apartment door just before 9 a.m., reaching it at the exact same moment as we came from opposite directions. On our last day in Madrid, we went to church, went for a run/walk through Retiro, ate lunch at one of my favorite dives called Maoz, ate dinner at the restaurant Edward first went to in Madrid (as a tribute to Dr. Friis), and we looked at Christmas lights around town. Some 16 hours after I left the Madrid airport, I was back again, but this time with a friend. Ed and I passed out cold on the airport floor for a few hours until it was time for me to check in and go to my terminal. With one last awkward backpack hug and some words of encouragement and well-wishes, Edward Crouse and I parted ways. I don’t know when I’ll see him again, but I do know that I’ve got a new arsenal of adventures to add to our long list that we began back at Furman four years ago.

I flew to Frankfurt first, and then from Frankfurt to Atlanta. The severe lack of sleep from the past two nights helped me get some shut-eye during my travels. However, there was no shot of me sleeping through my 10 hour flight back to the states. But I won’t complain. I made it back just fine. My Aunt Cary and cousin Elizabeth picked me up, and I’ve been staying with them for the past two nights. On Christmas Eve, my grandparents and I are driving down to their farm in Newnan, Georgia, and my parents and bro are driving up from Dothan. That’s our family tradition. I’m super excited about spending time with my immediate and extended family. I’ll spend next week in Dothan, and I expect to have some good friends attached to my hip for the entire duration. It’s good to be home.

Whether you’re at home with your family or off in some foreign land, I hope you have a wonderful Christmas. We have so many reasons to rejoice, and during this time of year, we are able to celebrate the best gift anyone has ever received—the birth of our Lord and Savior. ¡Feliz Navidad!

In addition to the city of Madrid looking Christmasy, my school also has helped me get in the Christmas spirit. Take a look at my third graders practicing their song for their Christmas presentation while they colored their pop-up manger scene. However, don’t let this rare moment of classroom tranquility fool you, because when it came to handing out Secret Santa gifts just a few hours before, all I can say is Mass Chaos.



Sometimes there’s not much difference between students’ and teachers’ behavior. Almost all of the teachers at my school participated in the first-time-ever faculty game of Amigo invisible (aka Secret Santa). On Tuesday, we had a huge lunch in the teacher’s lounge, which included lots of meats, cheeses, tortilla, bread, a little wine, and even champagne (as you can see in this picture with Arielle and me), and then went through everyone’s AI one by one. It was slightly more organized than Mass Chaos. Everyone had to listen to the MC read aloud each card, pass the gift to the receiver, watch them open it, and then see if they could guess who their Amigo invisible was. My AI was María, an Infantil teacher who is in my English I conversation class, and she gave me a cool wallet de moda. Here’s a picture of me with all three women in that class (Marisa, me, María, and Concha).

Over the course of the past few months, I feel like I’ve laid the foundation for some good friendship with some of my fellow co-workers (Pilar, Susana, and Victor--pictured here--are three good examples of teachers I'm close to). I’m excited about returning and knowing where I fit in at my workplace, because now I know more fully my role in my classes. I’m not just the teaching assistant anymore. Pilar was absent on two separate occasions in recent weeks, and I didn’t find out until I walked into my 3rd grade classroom the day-of. Let me tell you: hearing “Pilar not here” when I had 2 hours to entertain 20 eight and nine year old kids during back to back English and Science classes was a little overwhelming the first time around. Handled it like a pro when it happened again a week later.

I don’t think I’ll ever be a Pro Second Grade Teacher, though. These kids are nuts, and I can never gain control of the classroom when Cristina leaves me with the little cute monsters. Then again, Cristina can barely keep them calm for 10 minutes either. In a moment of camp counselor-like glory, I managed to entertain them all by acting out our Christmas song, “The Six Days of Christmas,” which goes something along these lines:
On the sixth day of Christmas, my teacher gives to me six white lights, five blue presents! Four silver bells, three red stars, two yellow birds, and a gold candle for my Christmas tree.
Since I was raised on a slightly different version, I was rather confused and didn’t know which cardboard cut-out to hold up at the right time and was waving my arms around frantically trying to present them on cue. The kids got a real kick out of my knee-slapping antics, and later on that period, Rodrigo (who is actually my favorite) told me one of the best things a teacher could ever hope to hear: “Laura, you are cool.”

It’s true that my celebrity status has dramatically increased over the past few weeks. Hugs, waves, and calling for my attention as I walk through throngs of small children happen with much more frequency. It makes my heart feel warm on these chilly Madrid days. However, probably what warms my heart the most these days is this video I took of my 2nd graders. All I have to say is that I promise I did not teach this to them!




Lastly, as of 7:40 PM Wednesday night, I am officially on Christmas vacation! I'm leaving dark-and-early NOW (it's Thursday) to fly to Barcelona and spend a few days there before flying back to the USA on Monday. Oh, what a holiday I'm going to have! Felices fiestas.

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas" in Madrid!

It feels like Christmas here in Madrid. My school has been decked out with all sorts of Christmas crafts that cover every conceivable wall space or hang from ceilings. Christmas music (mostly in English) has been playing over the metro speakers and in the grocery stores for weeks now. Despite the “Crisis Económicos,” La Comunidad de Madrid has shelled out the funds to illuminate the most prominent and prestigious paseos by stringing huge lighting fixtures across the roads and in the plazas. Nativity scenes (called the Belén in Spanish) have popped up all over the city in window displays and event centers. The weather is even getting into the Christmas spirit by showering us city-folk in a few snow flurries a couple times over the past few days. Shopping seems crazier than ever (…but that could just be due to the fact that I haven’t really shopped at all before the holiday season). Oh, it’s definitely that time of year.

I dedicated my entire Sunday to the Christmas spirit. At church, we had a special service where the youth led the congregation in singing virtually every Christmas hymn that is related to the Nativity story. As always, Pastora Cathy welcomed me back with a huge, lip-sticked smile and reassuring words of encouragement. My friend and fellow auxiliare, Kate Finley, had joined me for church, and afterwards we metroed down to El Rastro to do some Christmas shopping. We didn’t stay long, because we quickly grew frustrated from all the shoving and pushing by the throng of people making their way through the narrow streets.

My Madrid girlfriends—Kate, Yadira, Ida, SK, and Shenning—and I had all set aside Sunday afternoon and evening to have our own little Christmas party at Yadira and Ida’s apartment (they also hosted my Thanksgiving dinner). Yadira and Ida had draped a single strand of blinking, twinkling white lights over the living room window frame; when Kate and I arrived, they were completing their decorations by hanging up Christmas balls over the window. While Yadira and Ida perfected the “controlled chaos” look (as Yadira called it), Kate and I went downstairs to pick up some food for the day and came up with a lovely (and very healthy) spread to snack on: fruit, tostadas, cream cheese, chorizo, chips, and cookies. Eventually, both SK and Shenning made it to the apartment, and the six of us sat around the living room, eating snacks, drinking hot chocolate or tea, listening to Christmas music, and chatting about our experiences at our schools, in Spain, and with our families back home.

Later on that evening—I’m proud to say—I successfully made my very own tortilla española! Everyone crowded in the tiny kitchen to witness the miracle; you would have thought that I brought Baby Jesus himself into the world (again), judging from all the celebration and congratulations I received. Everyone enjoyed it, and no one died from eating my tortilla, so I guess it turned out well enough. (Although, I did wake up in the middle of the night with a horrible stomach ach... but I think that was from all the hot chocolate and cookies I ate.)

Around 8:00 pm, SK, Yadira, Ida, and I set out to take a walking tour of Madrid’s light displays. We had a delightful time strolling down the streets, snapping photos between stop lights, and singing Christmas carols to ourselves. Needless to say, it was the perfect ending to celebrating the Christmas season with the girls who have become my little Madrid family.

As a side note, I had another Identity Crisis after returning from San Sebastian last week, and I asked all of these girls to call me Hailey, instead of Laura. Thankfully, they all happily agreed, commenting that they thought Hailey was a better fit for me anyway. Thus, hearing my name has also helped spending time with these girls feel more like home.

Perhaps just by reading my blog, it may seem that everything has been all rainbows and butterflies over here in Madrid. Even though I have colored a number of rainbows and have learned a little diddy about butterflies, I’ve had some darker moments here in Spain. For starters, trying to adjust to the Spanish culture and the language itself has thrown me for a loop or two since I arrived. Additionally, the general transition of the post-Furman syndrome (i.e. a dramatic change in community-living environment) has made things a little hard. When you live in a big city, sometimes you can feel really small and alone, whether that’s truly the case or not. Lastly and of course, I’ve seriously missed my Dothan and Furman friends, my boyfriend (yes…that would be you, Justin) and my family.

I’ve been longing to have a support system that can function outside of the telecommunications wonder known as Skype. Thankfully, the Lord has answered my prayers in bringing me this special group of girls: SK, Shenning, Yadira, Ida, and Kate. Over the holiday season (including Thanksgiving), I feel like we’ve grown closer together, and we’re all very appreciative of this small friendship network that has formed rather quickly. Knowing that I have this support group here in Madrid has meant the world to me. Actually, it has prepared me for my trip to the states next week, because now I know that I have my own small family to return to in Madrid. These girls are some of the reasons I still sing about butterflies, even when I’m not hanging out with small children.

Beach Weekend: San Sebastian, Spain-Style

The benefit of living in a country where government and religion do not function on separate playing fields is that some saint’s days are national holidays. The Day of the Immaculate Conception was celebrated on Monday, and consequently, schools were not in session. Given a four-day weekend (instead of the usual three-days…), I was more or less obliged to take this as an opportunity to travel. Plus, I hadn’t seen Edward in a while, and we were due a reunion.

SK, Shenning, and I took a 6 hour bus ride last Friday to San Sebastian, the pride of the País Vasco (The Basque Country). The Basque Country of Spain is along the northern coast and borders France. Here you can find the only living language spoken in all of Europe that is not Latin-based, and it has baffled linguists for centuries. Euskara is the Basque language that has been passed down through generations of a people who have resisted being conquered by all other groups. (In fact, there is still resistance today from ETA, the Basque separatist party that still actively protests for having a Basque nation apart from Spain or France.) Despite the underlying tension that does not go undetected or unheard in this part of Spain, the region maintains its reputation for the gorgeous countryside, the spectacular coast, the unique food, and the hardworking people who call País Vasco home.

San Sebastian is neatly nestled between the green, fertile mountains to the south and the craggy coastline bordering the cold, unpredictable waters of the Cantabrian Sea to the north. The city clings tightly to its expanse of sandy beaches, which serve as the main attraction throughout the summer months. The crescent-shaped Bahía de la Concha (Shell Bay) is guarded by three centurions: Monte Urgull, Monte Igueldo, and Isla de Santa Clara. The gushing Río Urumea divides the city, and the neighborhoods are connected by a series of charming bridges. In fact, the architecture is one of the most notable and most pleasing aspects of this town. While the narrow streets and old buildings of the Parte Vieja are fun to pass through, it’s the elegant adornments in the Art Nouveau style that create a true feast for the eyes while strolling through the broad avenues and passing by the dozens of high-end shops that perpetuate the idea that San Sebastian is a place of pleasure.

Speaking of feasts and pleasure, San Sebastian happens to also be the reported birthplace and leader of the culinary creation called the pinxto (Basque for pincho). The idea behind the perfect pinxto generally involves a slice of bread piled high with a colorful morsel from land or sea and the ability to consume the delicate treat in three, or at best four, dainty bites. Bars and restaurants attract hungry customers by filling the counters with a tantalizing variety of pinxto plates. If you desire to do the pinxto deal, the bartender hands you a clean plate, lets you grab as many pieces you want, and makes a pinxto-count before you find a seat or a spot to stand to begin passing through Pleasure’s front door.

San Sebastian’s sovereignty over this distinctly Spanish form of consumption makes it a must-see for Edward Crouse’s culinary exploration of Spain. Once again, I successfully met up with Edward outside of Madrid. As the two Sarah’s and I were checking in at the front desk at our hostel, Olga’s Place, I heard a familiar voice coming from the common room. “Edward!” I shouted. Slow, knowing laughter responded, which was then followed by a “What up, girl?” Yes, Edward had made it safe and sound to San Sebas. I hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks, and I was glad to hear that he made it through his solitary travels just fine.

During our stay in San Sebastian, it rained Friday night and all day Saturday, and consequently we didn’t push ourselves too much. In the winter, there aren’t too many attractions, and simply walking along the boardwalks (well, maybe they should be called stonewalks) to watch the people go by or the waves crash on the beach provides enough entertainment. Sunny Sunday got us out of bed with a purpose. We took a 15 minute bus ride inland to visit the Museo de Chillida Leku, a museum where Eduardo Chillida’s huge iron and granite sculptures stand tall in a grassy field. When we came back to town, we hiked up Monte Urgull and had the most amazing views of the city, the countryside, and the sea from the top of a castle and at the base of Jesus’ feet (a large statue of Jesus was placed as the crowning glory of the castle). We balanced our bellies and our bank accounts by cooking some meals at the hostel and by sharing pinxtos on nights out. I'd say we got a good taste of what San Sebas has to offer, although Edward and I never did get around to surfing.

San Sebastian is unlike any other Spanish city that I have yet visited. I’ve heard that perhaps the best resemblance to its appearance, culture, atmosphere and lifestyle can be found in Barcelona. Lucky for me, I’m making my way there and meeting Edward again next week in Barce!

Thoughts on España invisible

In my very first blog entry, I discussed my intentions of writing for the benefit of Dra. Bartlett’s Spanish class at Furman and relating my posts to Azorín’s essay La España invisible. I am ashamed to say that I think I’ve done a fairly rotten job of including valuable cultural insights on Spain, and instead have focused more on my borderline-OCD detailed event-recording style (a fault of mine that I will probably always be working to overcome). With that said, I wanted to write a brief entry for those Furmanites who are wrapping up their semester, cranking out papers, and cramming for final exams.

En tres meses, he visto la multiplicidad de España que se describe Azorín y yo creo que continuaré descubrir la parte invisible por la duración de mi estancia aquí. Es cierto que el paisaje es distinto y cada región tiene una forma diferente que otra. Por ejemplo, Andalucía es cubierta con colas de olivas; la llanura de Castilla es coloreada amarillo y gris y la tierra se cambia sutilmente entre los campos suaves y los llenos de hierba; los cerros del norte en el País Vasco son fértiles, lugares donde las ovejas se engordan en la vegetación exuberante; la costa de San Sebastián es un paraíso relejado para los que se escapan la conmoción del capital. Además, otro ejemplos de la diversificación de lo que se ve son la arquitectura árabe en el sur, el diseño de Arte Nuevo que se adornan los edificios en San Sebastián, los pueblos de madera y piedra como Segovia que existen en modestia y tradición. España “es muy viejecita,” escribe Azorín. “¡Sí…Sí!” respondo. Las calles estrechas y serpenteadas de Toledo, las castillas situadas encima de los cerros más altos, y las tejas rojas de los techos en los pueblitos son ejemplos de las cositas que emitan un sentido una nostalgia, una antigüedad, y un orgullo que crean en el alma española.

Al viajero nuevo, es fácil para ver esta multiplicidad y las especialidades de cada región en España. Sin embargo, estoy de acuerdo con Azorín y su reconocimiento del hecho que el paisaje española no es tan maravilloso o tan impresionante o tan diverso como en América. Por eso, es muy importante que el viajero busque lo esencial y lo espiritual de España. Yo creo que los edificios, las estatuas, los palacios, y las plazas son imágenes concretas y físicas de la mentalidad española. Para ser española, hay que tener un orgullo en su región, en su lengua, en su tradición, en su comida, y en sus tradiciones. Seguro que éste puede ser dicho por todos pero yo veo una resistencia a cambia y el progreso, quizás excluyendo el capital de Madrid. Como los palacios y las estatuas, me parece que la mentalidad de la gente y el gobierno son helados y basados en ideas tradicionales, tan denso y reservado como mármol. Como los edificios en Toledo, lo nuevo está al lado de lo antiguo. Como me dijo Alejandra (mi compañera colombiana de piso), “los españoles son difíciles y alegres. Les gusta disfrutar y celebrar la vida pero hacen difíciles las cosas. Son enrollados.” Quizás la manera enrollada es una metáfora perfecta para capturar la España invisible.

Thanksgiving and Toledo

I have a lot to be thankful for in my life, and that’s one reason why I absolutely love Thanksgiving. It’s a day to deliberately acknowledge our blessings and a day to corporately thank the Lord for those graceful gifts. I also love Thanksgiving because it’s my favorite meal: turkey, dressing, gravy, sweet potatoes (prepared in 2 differently delicious ways), green beans, cranberry sauce, and—let’s not forget—the pecan and pumpkin pie! Since they don’t celebrate this tradition in Spain, some of my fellow Americans and I got together (along with a few Spaniards and a French dude) on Thursday night to have our own feast. Yadira and Ida hosted us at their great apartment, and Yadira cooked an entire turkey in her small oven. All the guests brought other items: mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn salad, tortilla española, bread, wine and cheese.

I was probably most excited about the turkey.

In addition to celebrating Thanksgiving, SK and I also raised our glasses to our own 2-month anniversary. Neither of us can believe how much we’ve done together in such a seemingly short amount of time, and we want to keep up our pace of exploring Spain & Madrid and add some adventures elsewhere in Europe too.

I certainly had a Thanksgiving like no other (I’ve never had to speak Spanish at a Thanksgiving meal). Leaving my Madrid family shortly after midnight, I made a mad dash back to my apartment (with a belly full of turkey, mind you) in order to Skype with almost the entire gang of my real family—parents, brother, grandparents, aunt, uncles, and cousins—who were all celebrating together in Georgia. Although I was a bit saddened that I couldn’t be with them for the occasion, it made me look that much more forward to going home for Christmas vacation.

Speaking of, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas here in Madrid! The city has put on a massive display of Christmas cheer by hanging tons of lights across the major paseos and the most beautiful streets. SK and I plan on going for a light-walk one night, and I’ll have to snap some photos for y’all! They are simply beautiful.

One thing I like about Spain is the endless possibilities for exploring the country. On Thanksgiving night, SK, Yadira, Ida, and I made plans to take a day excursion to a small town called Cuenca on Saturday. We missed our train and decided to go to Toledo for the day instead. (Btw, I’ve been trying to go to this town for the past month or so.) The high-speed AVE train took us from Madrid to Toledo in 30 minutes, not only transporting us to another town but to another time period. Toledo is one of Spain’s most important ancient cities, and the giant stone wall around the old part of the town still stands tall and strong centuries after its original construction. El Greco lived and painted here. After visiting, I can more fully understand his art, because those crazy clouds and the eerie color pallet that are often found in his work is exactly what Toledo looks like. During the 9.5 hours we were there, we experienced everything from blue sky to shadowy soft rain. And El Greco seemed to have understood how to capture the unpredictable weather patterns of Toledo.

We spent most of the day simply wandering through the tiny winding streets. Yadira and I paid a pretty penny to see the Cathedral (but it was worth it), and all of us toured the cloister of San Juan de los Reyes, which as built for Ferdinand and Isabel as their burial site (but they changed their minds and decided to be buried in Granada). There’s a reason for the saying “Holy Toledo!” and it comes from the fact that there is a highly dense concentration of churches, mosques, and synagogues in this tiny villa perched a hill that is surrounded on three sides by a gorge-gouging river. Toledo was the religious capital for the Moors, the Jews, and the Christians over the many centuries.

We got back to Madrid at 8:00, and the four of us spent the evening at SK’s. We made tortilla (SK’s getting pretty good at it), and we all snuggled together on the couch and watched “Love Actually,” the first official act of starting to get into the Christmas mood.

Today at church, Pastora Cathy talked about “The Statistics of Thanksgiving” and the importance of recognizing “the primacy of grace” so that we may truly be thankful. I throw up my prayers of thanksgiving and praise to the Lord for all that He’s given to me throughout my life and especially for the many blessings I've received here in Spain. From new friends, good work, and fun adventures, I will give thanks today and everyday to God for these things and many others.

Kickin' it in Val

One week of work can fly by here in Madrid, which is great for me when I’m looking forward to my three-day weekends. As promised, I made reservations at a hostel for Edward and me and bought my bus ticket to Valladolid, an industrial, non-touristy city located in the heart of Castilla Y León region just a few hours north north-west of Madrid. I arrived at the Val bus station around 11 a.m. on Friday morning, and with my trusty pack comfortably situated on my back, I started walking towards the general direction of my hostel. Rather than looking like a tourist (because I’m sure my pack wouldn’t give me away), I opted not to pull out my Lonely Planet Spain guide book and just go on map memory and asking strangers from time to time how to get to Plaza de los Arces. I could see my breath in the chilly morning air, but the sun’s rays shone like crystal lasers of gentle warmth, making the crispy cold tolerable to this southerner.

Valldolid is already getting ready for Christmas. Large and beautiful strands of garland and lights hang across the pedestrian-friendly streets and ornamented garland connects the columns surrounding the Plaza Mayor. The city’s central zone is dominated by posh stores showcasing some of the finest brand names in fashion, unique bars attracting clientele with their delicious tapas, and traditional café-restaurants sitting in the midst of the glitz and glamour without caring to change. The architecture found in Valladolid’s center is a strange yet aesthetically pleasing mixture of Victorian-style (twirling, swirling reliefs) and art-deco techniques (ironwork framings and bright colors). Throw in some ancient buildings that have been sitting on the same street for hundreds and hundreds of years, and you might be able to get the general feel to this unique and interesting town.

I eventually found Hostal de los Arces, and I walked upstairs to the first floor (because in Spain, you have to walk up one flight of stairs to reach the first floor… street level doesn’t count apparently) and rang the buzzer outside the hostel doors. A short, slightly-balding man with large eyes, a five o’clock shadow and wearing a grey sweatshirt answered the door. This is Jos, the Brazilian man who owns, runs, and cleans this hostel in Valladolid. He validates my reservation, shows me to the two individual rooms I had reserved for Ed and me, and says I can pay later when mi compañero arrives. Well, I was hoping that my compañero had received the email I sent him on Wednesday night, which included the hostel name, location, number, and the plan to meet me there around noon. It was just past-noon. After getting situated for a bit, I decided it might be best to go out and wait on a bench in the plaza. Not two minutes after I had parked myself on a strategic bench that kept an eye on the hostel door, I spotted a chap wearing a Fedora hat and loaded with a pack on his back, a smaller backpack on his belly, and a pillow sandwiched between that and his belly. Edward had made it successfully to Valladolid and to our hostel, if only a little late.

Happily and thankfully united, we walked to the river and chowed down on some ham sandwiches I’d made at home. We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling through the streets of Valladolid, and of course, making a point to spend time in the gorgeous Campo Grande, a wooded oasis littered with golden brown leaves, creeping vines, peacocks and red squirrels that are not afraid to come up next to you (or climb your pant leg) to ask for food. And given the fact that Edward does have a culinary agenda here in Spain, we set out to find a restaurant that serves lentils from a particular region in Spain. It took a little while of scouring the menu displays outside a number of restaurants around town, and once spotting “lentejas con chorizo” on the chalkboard outside El Buen Tapeo de Bimi, we excitedly ducked under the stone door to order two bowls of the previously-elusive legumes. Lentils are a fairly common first-course dish in Spain, and our waitress couldn’t really understand why we didn’t want to order our second course after lingering over las lentejas. Yet, the owner behind the bar was gracious enough not to make us order another plate of food, and after an enjoyable culinary experience, we went out in search of a more cultured one.

As I said before, Valladolid is not known for its tourist’s attractions. Yet, the city take pride in its Museo de Escultura, home to Spain’s largest collection of sculpture made of polychrome wood. Perhaps it is for this reason that this museum has patrons, because I don’t know how it would fare in competition with another city’s (like Madrid’s) range of museums. I’ll be honest: the somewhat grotesque figures from the Middle Ages representing repeating religious themes was not exactly my cup of tea. But I will give those artists some credit in their ability to make these wood sculptures look as smooth and detailed as Michaelango’s best marble.

Abandoning culture for cuisine, Edward and I made friends with Panta and Mari, a brother-sister duo who share ownership of their father’s specialty foods store, PANTA, aptly named after their father. Panta and Mari told us all about their wine selection, their meats, their cheeses, their fruits, their breads, and their experiences with all of the above in the Valladolid region. Customers walked in the store to make purchases, but instead of tending to them, Panta continued to let Edward in on the secret of duck liver. Both Panta and Mari insisted that we return to Valladolid and join them on an excursion to a bodega (a wine cellar/vineyard) and a duck farm. Perhaps we just might.

On Saturday morning, Edward and I set out on another mission of culinary and cultural interest. Recommended by word of mouth and duly noted in Lonely Planet, we hopped on a bus to Peñafiel, a small town about an hour east of Valladolid. Peñafiel attracts visitors for three reasons: la castilla, el vino, y el lechazo. We wandered uphill through the narrow streets towards the megalithic monument towering above… the castle. Perched on a high rocky outcropping, the castle—which was founded in 1018 and added onto in the 1200-1300s—keeps a vigilant eye on all the surrounding valleys of the Ribera del Duero. The Ribera del Duero wine region is famous for producing some fine Spanish wines, which Edward and I were able to appreciate during lunch at Meson El Corralillo. Seated underground in the stone-walled bodega, Edward and I ordered the most typical meal served at the restaurant: a bottle of the house wine, a tomato-lettuce salad, two huge chunks of bread, and the lechazo dish (one-fourth of a baby suckling-lamb). This meal was really the reason we traversed the countryside of Castilla y León. The lechazo was super succulent; it was so tender that at times, we couldn’t tell the difference between meat, skin, and bone, and the slightly gamey taste of the meat was balanced with the salty juices collecting at the bottom of the dish.

Our bellies satisfied and our temperaments merry, we walked through the town again, throwing Ed’s frisbee back and forth across the street. Eventually, we found an antique store that we’d heard also let’s visitors taste wine. We made friends with the owner of the shop and he told us all about the wines of the region, his life in Madrid as the princess’s head chef, and his thoughts on how to enjoy life and how to appreciate wine. Wrapped up in conversation, we missed the 6:40 bus we intended to catch back to Valladolid, and since the next and last bus didn’t come until 8:40, we had some time to kill. Fortunately, Peñafiel is home to Hotel Convento Las Claras, a convent converted luxury-hotel (http://www.hotelconventolasclaras.com/en/index.php), and I happily plopped myself down on a plush sofa in the warm courtyard and took a little nap. We caught our bus back to the big city and walked into Jos’s loving arms just before 10 pm. Unfortunately, I was assaulted by a splitting headache that prevented me from functioning, so we did not go out to try anymore pinchos that the restaurants of Val had to offer.

Edward and I packed up our few belongings on Sunday morning, grabbed some breakfast, stopped by to say one last hello to Panta and Mari, and walked through the Camp Grande (that lovely and precious park I’ve fallen in love with) to the bus station. Edward bought a ticket to León and I boarded my bus back to Madrid. We parted ways with the expectation of reuniting in San Sebastian twelve days later. Until then, only the Lord knows where Edward will go, who he will meet, what he will learn, and what he will eat… and as for me, I’ve got to go back to school!

Chewing the Fat with Edward Crouse

For those of you who do not know Edward Crouse, all I can say is that you are missing out on meeting one of the most vibrant, goofy, loveable personalities that I know. Edward Crouse is a 2007 Furman graduate and one of my dearest college friends… and he is in Spain! Since he arrived in Madrid on Tuesday the 11th, I have spent a hefty portion of my free time with Edward. Over the course of six days, we strolled through almost every street in the Sol-district, the contested center of Madrid and hence the center of Spain. We tasted croquettes de bacalao (cod fritters); we shared churros y porras y chocolate at San Gines; we climbed a magnolia tree in front of Palacio Real (the Royal Palace) after meeting and talking with Luis—a 70-something year old Spanish man who enjoys taking walks every night by the palace—on a park bench; we toured a museum exhibition of stunning paintings by Caravaggio, Monet, Casas, Dali, and Picasso… for free; we made tortilla española with SK in her apartment; we went to my church on Sunday and later fell into the flow of people at El Rastro. In between these little events, Edward and I have wandered all around other areas of town for hours on end, discussing major life issues such as the culinary culture of Spain and the United States.


The culinary scene is actually why Edward is here. After graduating from Furman, he worked in the famous, Michelin-starred kitchen of Bouchon, which is located at The Venetian in Las Vegas. His mission in Spain is to get an up-close and personal look at the cuisine and food culture of this crazy country, and maybe gather up some ideas and tactics to bring back to the motherland. And so, he left Madrid on Tuesday to visit Segovia and Salamanca. His train ticket takes him to Valladolid on Friday, and I am going to meet him there… somehow (he has no cell phone).

In addition to chilling with Edward, I was also able to spend some QT with Furman Spanish professor Dr. Ron Friis, who is here with the Furman kids in Spain and who is also really fun, super-cool, and so genuine. I never had a class with him, which I am now regretting, because he, Edward, and I have had many interesting and enriching conversations. Dr. Friis guided us to this great restaurant called Casa Mingo (Est. 1888) that serves baked whole chicken and the best chorizo sausage I’ve ever had (it’s marinated in cider… the specialty of the house).

Being in Spain in the fall has its drawbacks in comparison with a U.S. fall. The foliage at this time of year isn’t as marvelous as that found in the western Carolinas. Pumpkin-flavored foods do not make their seasonal debut…ever. And football tailgating is simply unheard of. However, I had an experience that was vaguely reminiscent of the great American sport this past Sunday. As I climbed to the highest stands in the Vicente Calderón Stadium, I almost thought that I was back in the U.S. Yet, once I cleared the top of the stairs and looked at the perfectly manicured green field, book-ended with soccer goals, I settled with the fact that I would not be seeing pig skin spiral through the air. Instead, I got a great show of Spanish passion for their beloved fútbol players. The fans of Club Atléticos are such a boisterious, bawdy, and colorful crew, and I enjoyed watching them almost as much as watching some of the best soccer players in the world handle the ball with incredible skill and control. Real Madrid may be ranked a little higher than Atléticos, but Real Madrid’s fan base is definitely not as die-hard or as entertaining as the Atléticos fans.

Edward and I both fly back to the states on December 22--a funny coincidence. After this weekend in Valladolid, I plan on meeting him in San Sebastian and Barcelona within the next few weeks. With only four more weeks of school and these weekend travels, I have a feeling time is going to fly by and Christmas will be here before I can blink…and since my semi-chronic eye-twitch has returned to pester me constantly, I can trust that it’ll be here shortly!

Eat, Tour, and Shop... in Salamanca

In her New York Times #1 Best Seller Eat, Love, Pray, Elizabeth Gilbert escapes to Italy for four months in order to properly recuperate from a harrowing divorce and a deep depression. In Italy, Gilbert devotes her time to two things: learning, speaking, and cherishing the Italian language and discovering, enjoying, and treasuring the Italian cuisine. (She also goes to India to devote herself to prayer and continues onto Indonesia to find the balance between the pleasure she found in Italy and the peace she found in India… but I haven’t finished the book yet, so I can’t tell you how that went for Miss Gilbert.)

Although I’m not going through serious depression over here in Spain, I have had my moments of worry, pressure, and dare I say it… stress. In fact, I was quite overwhelmed last week with juggling all my private classes and my duties at school, and I was actually having trouble sleeping through the night. Blessedly, the remedy to quiet my boggled-brain came in the form of a short excursion out of Madrid to the beautifully charming town of Salamanca.

On Friday morning, SK and I met at the Southern Bus Station at 8:30, bought our tickets, and boarded our bus just before 9:00 a.m. The lack of sleep eventually silenced the tumultuous swirl of thoughts in my head, and I drifted off to sleep as our bus traversed a small sierra and entered the moorish-looking planes of Castilla. We arrived in Salamanca just before noon, and the profile of the city loomed above a small river. SK and I didn’t have any difficulties finding out hostel, Hostal Misol, which was only a 10 or 15 minute walk from the bus station. We checked in, threw our stuff in our room with 2 single beds (and a sink), and headed towards the central and old section of Salamanca.

Although it was rainy and cold Friday afternoon, the chilly dampness had little effect on my mood. We strolled through the ancient streets, between buildings made from sand-colored blocks of stone, and we repeatedly passed by almost all the major landmarks of Salamanca: Plaza Mayor, La Casa de las Conchas, La Catedral Nueva y La Catedral Vieja, La Universidad de Salamanca, La Casa de Unamuno, Huerto de Calixto y Melibea, El Convento de San Esteban, El Puente Romano, and McDonald’s. To compliment the light rain showers and low-hanging clouds, a light and low rumble in our tummies signaled a need for some sustenance, and we stopped dead in our tracks when a tantalizing window display of colorful and delicious looking tapas called our attention at Restaurante Don Quixote. Although we didn’t know it at the time, with that first food pit-stop we began a Quixotic quest of our own throughout the remainder of our stay in Salamanca. Unbeknownst to me, Salamanca has the best and the cheapest tapas that I have yet to experience in Spain (which I realize is rather limited). SK and I discovered that many bars and restaurants have one heck of a tapas deal: for around 2 Euro, you get a drink (coffee, wine, beer, water, or “pop” as SK calls it) and your choice of a pincho, a little portion of some Spanish delicacy. This may seem insignificant, but when you live in Madrid, a glass of wine usually cost more than 2 Euro and does not come with food. Imagine our sheer delight when we were given the option to choose from a variety of pinchos that ranged from tortilla española to toast covered with cheeses or veggies to rations of chorizo sausage.

On Friday night, we started in Plaza Mayor, which is proclaimed to be the most beautiful Plaza Mayor in all of Spain, and we climbed the staircase to Meson Cervantes, a restaurant that a local shopkeeper told us had excellent tapas. Our kind friend did not lead us astray, and in fact, she set the standard for the rest of our night. Jammed packed with locals, built with wooden ceilings and floors, covered with trinkets like old lanterns that hung from the rafters and off the walls, and displaying a spread of delectable dishes, Meson Cervantes embodied the ideal ambiance of what I pictured a true Spanish tapas bar should feel, smell, and look like. SK and I were enjoying ourselves so much, and we could have easily stayed there all night long, going pincho by pincho. However, after sharing calamari, croquettes de jamón, and the most delicious tortilla española I have ever put in my mouth (it was covered in raspberry jam, a giant slice of goat cheese, and topped with a kiwi), and drinking a glass of vino tinto, we decided to move on. Over the course of the entire night, we went to four bars where we would each order a drink and pick a pincho to split, and we made our fifth stop at café for some chocolate cake. Between our mini-meals, we would stroll through the streets and observe the city’s famous monuments and landmarks (such as the beautiful Cathedral). All in all, it was a glorious evening, and we returned to our hostel with satisfied bellies and satisfied wallets.

You’re probably thinking that all we did in Salamanca was eat… and you actually wouldn’t be too far from the truth. However, we did make a point to see a few sights, which I would like to mention briefly.

1. The Cathedrals of Salamanca: We paid to take the museum tour of the cathedrals, and it was totally worth the 3,45 Euro. La Catedral Nueva (The New Cathedral) was built literally next to—as in they share one wall—La Catedral Vieja (The Old Cathedral) when the Vieja seemed to be too outdated and not big enough to adequately attest to the glory of God. From an upper balcony room, we witnessed a wedding ceremony going on in the Vieja (oh, you should’ve seen the high-fashioned outfits of the guests when they loitered in the streets after the service!). We exited onto the roof of the Vieja and got a bird’s eye view of Salamanca. And we could pass through the sections of the two unified buildings, which allowed us to compare and contrast the architectural styles, etc. Oh, and the sun was out while we were on the roof, which was a nice touch to our merriment still lingering in our bellies from the night before.

2. El Museo Casa Lis—the Art Nouveau and Art Deco Museum of Salamanca: Just check out the website, because it’s visual art and would take more written description that you care to read about at the moment (http://www.museocasalis.org/), but know that it is also totally worth the museum ticket.

3. La Universidad de Salamanca: Salamanca has the oldest university in all of Spain, which was founded by Alfonso IX of León in 1218. The ancient building is still in tact and is now a museum, but the university is still up and running, with a campus made of newer building that takes over one entire zone of the city. A lot of famous people from years of old have studied here… just Google it!

We spent our Saturday moseying through Salamanca at a leisurely pace. Between museum visits and tapas-breaks, SK and I did some Christmas shopping… but I will say no more about that. Our bus back to Madrid was scheduled to leave at 6:00 p.m. Before we left, we made certain to buy samples from a pastry shop that had been taunting me since I first saw it on Friday afternoon, and we bought a small loaf of freshly baked bread, you know...to give us the strength and energy to properly nap on the trek back to the big city. As our bus passed by the Tormes River once more, the impressive and lofty profile of the cathedrals seemed to say, “Nos vemos pronto, Laura” (“We will see each other again soon, Laura.”). I sure hope it was right.

Although I haven’t gone through anything as traumatizing as a detrimental depression or a tragic divorce, I think I got just as much out of my trip to Salamanca as Elizabeth Gilbert did from her trip to Italy. Life in Madrid was starting to make me a little frazzled and frayed, and I could not make my mind stop churning continuously or running in a thousand different directions. It was time for a break, and Salamanca is where I found rejuvenation and restitution. Salamanca is a charming, quiet town, where the people are friendly and care to converse with foreigners, where the tapas are delicious and cheap, and where you can enjoy life at a slower pace.

How to Make Friends in Madrid

3 ways and 3 anecdotes of how I have discovered to make friends in Madrid:

1. When invited, go!
Back when I was still a Furman student, Professor Mary Grant had put me in contact with her cousin who lives in Spain. After numerous email correspondences, I finally met Thomas Dalury last week. Thomas is the co-founder of Fundación Red Deporte, an NGO “promotes sports and physical education… as a social integration tool both in developing countries, the United States and in Spain.” [For more info: http://www.redeporte.org/index.html], and he invited me to a fundraiser-party for Red Deporte. So, I went.

Arriving alone and feeling only slightly nervous, I crossed the threshold of Bar Piú and immediately wondered what to do next. The bar was decorated for the following day’s Halloween celebrations, but since it was only 10 P.M. the stringy cobwebs and empty darkness matched the slim and quiet crowd of people lining the bar. I tapped an important-looking man on the shoulder, and asked, “Dondé está Thomas?” He took me to another man down the bar, who was animatedly talking with a party guest, and introduced us. I was happy that Thomas “recognized” me, and we exchanged greetings before he had to get back to his conversation with the other guest. I floundered around for a couple of minutes before spotting a girl who seemed available to chat, and after deciding not to continue looking like a lost-puppy, I walked up to her and said “Hola, my llamo Laura.” Although I don’t remember her name anymore, we had a lovely conversation until Thomas came by to introduce me to an American volunteer, Steve, a name that I hadn’t yet heard in Spain. Steve told me more about the organization, its goals, and its projects, and I really can’t believe my luck at having connections with a group that incorporates international education and sports.

My luck continued to surprise me later that night when Thomas introduced me to another volunteer, Victor. Victor is from Spain, but he studied for four years at—of all places in the world—Southern Mississippi. He speaks fluent English, and he even has a slight southern accent. It was incredible to meet someone in Spain who has spent a significant amount of time in the Dirty South, but what was even more incredible is the fact that Victor plays volleyball and beach volleyball. And, at Southern Miss, Victor actually learned to play from Ricci Luyties, professional volleyball extraordinaire whose illustrious career includes winning Olympic Gold in 1988 in Seoul. Needless to say, I was elated to find another fellow volleyball lover, especially since volleyball players consist of approximately 1.2184% of Madrid’s population.

Not only did I meet Thomas, who offered me his assistance in finding a place to live in Madrid, and not only did I learn about Red Deporte, a really cool non-profit organization that I may want to check out more in the coming months, but I also found people who play volleyball! And all of this originated with accepting an invitation.

2. Don’t be afraid to meet a new crowd.
Halloween night turned out to be one full of surprises. Alejandra had invited me to go out with her and her friends from her master’s program, and she came up with the ideas for our costumes. We wrapped ourselves in shiny white cloth to create our make-shift togas, we wove together plastic greenery and flowers into coronitas, and we covered ourselves in gold glitter (which is still all over our apartment). I invited SK to join us for the night, and around 11 p.m., the three of us made our way (picture this: in costume via Metro) to an apartment where the group was gathering for food, drink, and fun.

Although it took SK and I a good 30 minutes to feel comfortable amongst 20 grad students from all over the world (Portugal, Italy, England, Belgium, Spain), the group was so amiable and jovial, especially as the night carried on, that conversations began to flow with ease. Around 2 a.m., our boisterous cast of characters—which included a small coven of witches, Cleopatra, Scarecrow (as portrayed in Dark Knight by Heath Ledger), two Greek goddesses, and assortment of other personajes—marched out into the streets and hailed taxis to take us to one of Madrid largest and most famous nightclubs: Kapital.

Shortly after arriving at Kapital, Alejandra got lost in the throng of people (who were not dressed in costume, by the way) and ended up taking a cab home on her own accord. However, SK and I stayed out with her friends dancing until our feet hurt until the club closed at 6:00 a.m. Although I enjoyed dancing to American pop and Spanish salsa (this place is so huge that each floor plays music from a variety of genres), what I cherish most about la noche de fiesta was this fun-loving, easy-going group into which I was adopted. I was blown away by the fact that a group of about 15 people all made sure to stick together the entire night. When it was time to switch things up and try a different dance floor, the Adams Family would have been proud of the way our motley crew made our way through the discoteca. At the end of the night—or should I say at the start of the morning—we all waited in a cluster on the street outside the front doors until our party was reassembled and we could proceed to the nearest Metro, bus, or taxi stop. Even with Alejandra long gone, I felt welcomed in this mini-community… and I am so glad that I did Halloween Spanish-style.

3. Be the new kid on the block and then lead the way.
I was invited to have lunch and hang out with some fellow Americans after church on Sunday, and of course, I accepted the invitation. Although I was tagging along with an already-established group, I really enjoyed spending time with people my age in Christian fellowship. I enjoyed it so much (in addition to attending church) that I am going to try to work something out with Pastora Cathy to create more young adult gatherings and activities within The Community Church of Madrid. I may be new to this church, but I am ready to get involved and take some initiative.


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Living in a giant city is pretty much the complete opposite of living on a college campus like Furman’s. What I loved most about Furman was the awesome community of friends that I built over four years. Now, here I am in Madrid and I am working on forming a new network of friends that will hopefully transform into a multi-cultural community that can offer me support while living oceans away from my dearest friends and family.

Say "Cheese"... or "Whiskey"

In Spain, just before taking a picture, people say “Whiskey,” which ends up sounding more like “we-skiiiiiii!”

Whether it was with cheese or with whiskey (I won't say which one), I was finally able to capture the beautiful, sometimes snot-covered, faces of most of my students here in Spain.



This is my 3rd grade class with Pilar:

Pedro, Andrés, Iván, Toño, Irene, Jorge, Alba, Jorge, Mario, Lucia, Sandra, Santiago, Diego, Maria, Paula, Jara, Lara, Sebastián, Erika, and Pilar




And this is my 2nd grade class with Cristina:

Rodrigo, Irene, Valentina, Elba, Elena, Jorge, Robert, Alex, Wen Xin, Irene, Laura, Laura, Sergio, Cristina, Julia, Raquel, Javier, Cristina (the teacher)… and not visible in this photo = Mario, Fernanda, Pedro, Ricardo, and Celia







Let me introduce Marcos and Aitor, the 3 year old twins that I teach/play with two times a week.




And this little sprite is Paloma, my newest pupil who is almost three.


And I saved the best for last... Fernando and Belén are my pride and joy. I love working with these two kids, because son muy majos, which is Madrileño for “they are adorable, super-sweet, truly loveable, and absolutely great!”