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.