Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather it is acting on faith in the midst of it.

For my last Sunday at the Community Church of Madrid, Pastora Cathy preached on the intense story of when David met Goliath out on the battlefield. David showed true courage in such a terrifying situation.

This message of courage was one of the first things for Anna to ponder upon her arrival in Madrid just an hour prior to the sermon. I met her at the airport and immediately took her to the Community Church of Madrid. Pastora Cathy couldn’t have set a better theme for the day, because later this afternoon, Anna and I witnessed courage of Goliath proportions.

If you’ll recall after my visit to Sevilla with my parents in April, I said that I decided I would never see a bull fight as long as I lived. There is a reason they say “Never say never,” and my life choices are examples of why the old saying holds so much truth... I went to a bull fight tonight in Madrid.

I could say much about the whole production, because it is a quite production. However, now I’d just like to take the time to focus on the core element that runs continuously through the spectacle: courage. The men who get into that ring with such a massive and aggressive bull are some of the most courageous (and absolutely crazy) men I have ever seen in my life. They come face to face with a creature that would strike fear in almost anyone. For their sanity, I would hope that the matadors might be a bit frightened—or at least nervous—when they meet their foe. They move in an intimidating dance with artistically calculated movements and deep concentration. Watching the way those men moved to accomplish their task (yes, their goal is to kill the bull) was fascinating, and I admired their sheer crazy courage.

You don’t have to fight a bull or a Goliath to have courage. In my opinion, perhaps the most courageous set of people I can think of across the world are parents. As a teacher and counselor, I see how important parenting is in the development of a child, who later becomes an adult. As a daughter, I owe much of who I am today to my parents, because they taught me how to cherish good values, to develop my sense of self, and to appreciate enriching experiences. I can always thank Dad for being my sports coach and my guiding conscience. Mom has been my personal cheerleader and I owe many of my acquired life-skills to her (maybe I could use some more cooking lessons). I know it can’t be easy to be a parent, and I applaud my own for their courage in raising my brother and me.

Dad, I hope you had a fantastic Father’s Day! Mom, I hope you have a Happy Birthday! I love you both very much and thank you for taking on the Goliath and the bull of raising me and A.D. Your courage is as inspiring as David’s and as fascinating as a matador’s.

This is us in the Plaza de Toros in Sevilla... when I thought I couldn't stomach a bull fight!

Getting Sets and Setting Up

I never knew how important organized sports were to me until this spring. Ever since March, when the nasty winter weather was sloughed off, I have been itching to play sports. I began to develop this strange craving for any game that involved throwing, catching or kicking objects, such as baseball, frisbee, kickball. Of course, most of all, I longed to play sand volleyball, my favourite sport of all time.

Over the course of the year, I have been in search of a volleyball team, whether sand or indoor, to join. I've been in contact with someone who has a team, but with all my traveling, I was never in Madrid on the right weekends... until this past weekend. Finally, after months of agonizing withdrawal, I got a chance to play volleyball. I played with a misfit team of women in a tournament at a recreational sports center in the outskirts of Madrid.

I arrived at the sports center on Saturday only knowing that I was looking for a team with red shirts. One by one, the group came together and my circle of Spanish friends immediately quadrupled. Out of the 8 of us who played this weekend, only 3 were on the season team and all the others, like me, were either new or had only played with them once or twice. Despite the fact that we had never played as a team before, we meshed pretty well and everyone had a relatively decent level of play. On Saturday, we won both of our matched pretty easily, because our competition was almost non-existent since we were playing 15 year olds (I wish I were kidding). We played the final match on Sunday morning, and won the gold for our division.

Oh, it was so much fun to play! I was considered tall (ha!), so I played middle half the time. The net was really low, which allowed me to hit and block easily and impress my teammates. Considering I haven't touched a volleyball in over ten months, I guess I did play pretty well. I was encouraged and a little embarrased by having fans. Yadira, SK, and Ida came to cheer me on for our second match, and Yadira became the team photographer. It took a little while to get used to playing with volleyball terms in Spanish, and I spoke in Spanglish during play. For fun, we had an English lesson or two out on the court! Nice job.

Of course, I was so thrilled to play my sport after the longest hiatus of my life, and I really enjoyed being out on the court. However, I think the best part of this experience is that I have set myself up for next year. I've been recruited to play on the season team that runs from October to March, and I am happy to have a new activity to get involved in next year. Plus, I have met some really fanastic Spanish girls, and I'm looking forward to pursuing those friendships next year.

It was great to be back on the courts!

Our team name was Las Otras (The Others)

Above: Players = Inma, me, Maria, Paula, Ana, Marian, and Ester
Below: Me, Marian, Ana, and Ester with our trophy and medals

Big Decisions and Sudden Plans

Some months ago, I made the decision to work in Madrid as a teaching assistant and private tutor for another year. It was not an easy decision for me, but once I accepted it for myself, I knew that it was right. Now more than ever am I sure that I need another year in Madrid.

Last week, I received the official letter of reacceptance into the Bilingual Program and confirmation of staying at my school, Cuidad de Roma. While my school has its own set of faculty-related drama that does not exactly create the most pleasant working environment all the time, my role in the classroom has become something of my own. What I mean to say is that many times I find myself taking charge of an entire day’s worth of class, and in doing so, I have learned (and am still learning) the ways of being a school teacher. Next year, I am hoping to work with a couple of other teachers that I really like and that I can hopefully learn more tricks of the trade. Plus, I’ll be the only returning assistant… and I’m going to get major celebrity status! Isn’t that worth another nine months of dealing with crazy Spanish kids?

Coinciding with my decision to stay at my school, I have also decided to continue living with Angelica, the Peruvian woman who sublets the extra rooms in her apartment. I have truly enjoyed where I live in Madrid, and my neighborhood feels like home. I know the Cuban family who owns the fruit and veggie shop across the street, and I’ve become a regular at other stores and restaurants. I’m in one of the best residential areas in the entire city—at least, in my opinion. With the intimidating and trying process that one finds housing in Madrid in the fall, I wasn’t keen on taking chances of not finding a suitable apartment for next year now that I am comfortable and settled. Yet, even though I am staying with Angelica, we are not staying in the same apartment. Within the next few days, we are moving downstairs to a larger apartment. She wants an office and place to hold important lawyer-lady meetings, and she has been busy these past few weeks getting the lower apartment suitable for living. Right now, half of the furniture is in that one while the rest has yet to be moved. So… same location, different living space. I’m excited about keeping the same address (more or less), remaining within walking distance from school, having all the conveniences of living here for 9 months already, and being able to truly make a home for myself in Madrid.

Sudden plans and new decisions were thrust upon me just a few weeks ago when one of my best friends from high school, Anna, told me that she wanted to come visit me in Spain and then travel with me after I finished school. Of course, I still have a few places on my Hit List, and with a little Internet searching I found the flight deal of the year from Madrid to Athens. Hours later I bought two tickets giving Anna and I six nights in Greece. Greece has been on my Hit List for years, and I can’t believe I’m actually going to have almost an entire week there! Plans are still tentative, but we’re basing ourselves out of Athens and Santorini. I’ll have 18 hours upon returning from Greece before catching my flight back to the states for the summer.

This coming week is already full of final plans. The countdown has begun, and I am trying to cram in as much time with my friends here as possible. Madrid is great in the summertime—terribly hot, but great nonetheless.

Backtracking and Updating

Every time I look over my blog, I realize that I should post a little more on my Spanish experiences and my life in Madrid, especially given the title. Even though I have been traveling a ridiculous amount these past several months, I have been able to greatly enjoy the city of Madrid, my friends, and my work here. Here are some of the highlights.

Taking the Trinity Exam:
Spain’s public schools that take part in the Bilingual Program are monitored and accredited through the Trinity College of London. Every year, an examiner is sent to each school to test the kids on their English-speaking abilities and make sure that the children are getting the language instruction as desired by the goals of the program. The children take the exam every two years, starting with second grade.
I have been preparing my second graders for this oral exam ever since October. Judgment Day arrived on May 12. I had no doubt that each of my 21 kids would pass the test; they must have done well, because each kid came out of the exam room with a giant grin and a “it’s very easy!” We should find out their scores before school ends in two weeks.
Even if not one kid passed the exam, my second graders have become so comfortable speaking English (albeit only in the simple present tense) that they yap at each other in their second language. In fact, they never shut up. ~Sigh~ At least, they’re speaking English. I must be doing something right with them.

La Fiesta de San Isidro:
San Isidro is the patron saint of Madrid, and my school celebrated the traditional Madrileño holiday on May14. The kids dressed up in traditional Madrileño dress: girls wear dresses called chulapas, tie scarves on their heads, and place a red carnation on top while boys wear vests called chalecos, black pants and cute little caps. During our school’s fiesta the kids did a cute little dance… and then we played football, oh I mean, soccer.

A Field Trip:
I went to the Zoo Aquarium Madrid with the third grade classes a couple of weeks ago. Although I wouldn’t boast about the zoo facilities, I had a nice time wandering around with the kids who were marveling over the animals. They were really cute with their baseball caps, little backpacks, and digital cameras. Yet, if there weren’t a nine foot gap between us and the Iberian bear, I might have had one or two less adorable kids to teach back at school. Luckily, neither children nor animals were harmed on this particular field trip. They loved the reptile room—I don’t know why—but I preferred the aquarium. The grand finale of our visit was the fairly entertaining dolphin show. Oh, why wasn’t I a dolphin trainer? I think I’ve missed my true calling in life: teaching dolphins, not children. ;-)

Seeing Sara Baras:
I’ve seen a fair amount of flamenco dancing in nine months. However, my girlfriends and I just saw a show that blew all others out of the water. Famed flamenco dancer, talented choreographer, and genius producer Sara Baras has been staring in her own production of Carmen in the elegant and regal Teatro Lope de Vega on Madrid’s Gran Via. For two solid hours, I was mesmerized by the sensational performers, rhythmic beats, and spectacular stage settings—like lighting, set-design, and costumes. It was easily the most professional and best flamenco performance I’ve ever seen, and it will probably remain so for the rest of my life. Check out the promotional video on Youtube at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4E11H_vw6IE&eurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww%2Etopticketline%2Ees%2Fespectaculos%2F%3Fespectaculo%3DSara%2BBaras%26seccion%3Dinfo&feature=player_embedded

Girls Trip to the Beach:
As our final group trip, the girls and I spent this past weekend on the beaches of La Albufera, the national park just south of Valencia. We rented a car, stayed in a campground bungalow (which I nicknamed The Garbanzo), and enjoyed the sun, sand, and blue-green waters of the Mediterranean Sea. We only went to Valencia at night for dinner and dancing, and I really liked the small part of the city that we saw. Valencia seems like a cool town and I’d like to get to know it a little better.
The weekend was a perfect way for us to simply enjoy being with one another. We each made a playlist of our favorite music that “defined” us in some form or another to listen to in the car. We laughed a lot, danced around, played dress up, shared a giant platter of paella (the notable Spanish dish which originated in Valencia due to the vast amount of rice fields), had both serious and silly conversations, and simply enjoyed our friendships. These girls have been an important part of my experience here in Madrid (if you haven’t noticed), and I am so thankful for each one of them.

A Sunny Weekend in Londontown

I’d like to think that I’m a history buff. Ever since I was young, I’ve enjoyed history lessons in all their various forms: classes, projects, educational tours, research, documentaries, etc. When I was in 6th grade, I had to face the biggest school project of my young life. Kids worked in pairs or individually to research any country of their choosing and create a presentation of magnanimous proportions, which included writing a paper, using an interactive and partly entertaining demonstration, and making food particular to the country. My best friend Gillian and I chose to present England. I can still remember sitting at my kitchen table, which was covered with encyclopedias, books, and printouts, as we sifted through the overabundance of British facts and history. We decided to act out our presentation as if we were going on a tour of England, throwing in random facts where appropriate. We cut out a huge cardboard double-decker bus, spray painted it red, and used the vehicle of legend to transport us to all the sights that were thrown up on the classroom projector screen. At the end, we treated everyone to an English tea. Needless to say, it was a spectacular project. We got a 98… the highest score in the class. (Yes, I still gloat over that trivial academic triumph.)

Thanks to my sixth grade project and subsequent history classes, I have a fairly thorough understanding of England’s history—one that I have never tired learning about. This past weekend, I took my first trip to the “Motherland” and I was delighted to walk along the same paths as my previous history lessons.

Shenning and I flew to London early Thursday morning. A Furman XO sister, Brianna, has been living and working in London this year, and we went to visit her and see the town. Since we only had two full days, Shenning and I hit the ground running. Really, we just walked; but we walked a lot. Now, for those of you have never visited, you must understand that London is a large city and the sights are not exactly very close to each other. But did that stop us from seeing the vast majority of them? Heavens no!

We caught the changing of the guard ceremony at Buckingham Palace. (There was such a hubbub and a massive crowd that at first, we thought it must have been something extra special. No. It’s just a big ordeal everyday. ) We passed by Westminster Abbey, the House of Parliament, and said what’s up to Big Ben. Did you know that you can’t actually see Big Ben? Big Ben is not the name of the clock tower; rather it is the nickname of the giant bell inside the tower. (Guess when I learned that fact.) We strolled along the Thames multiple times. The Thames is a pretty large and swiftly moving river; I thought it rather impressive. On the south bank, the mammoth London Eye lazily spins in place. Dozens of bridges connect the northern and southern halves of the city. Taxis look like they belong in the 1920s and fire-engine red double-decker buses zoom along on the wrong side of the road. I found that the large round-abouts, like the ones at Trafalgar Square and Picadilly Circus, were particularly confusing when it came to looking out for traffic. Thankfully, “Look right” or “Look left” signs painted on the ground were cues to get us safely across the streets.

The London Eye on the Thames

One of the great lions at Trafalgar Square, the memorial to Lord Nelsen who defeated the Spanish Armada in 1588 (the Spanish never recovered...)

St. Paul's Cathedral, the second largest church in the world

London holds so much to see and do, and there is no way that two or even ten days would be enough time to see it all. Thus, Shenning and I opted to only tour the notorious and somewhat sinister Tower of London. We followed a Yeoman Warden (the title of the guards, who are also called Beefeaters) around the grounds, listening to his stories about kings, traitors and beheadings and chuckling at his saucy British humor. Touring the Tower of London—part castle, part execution site, part torture arena and part safe-house for the crown jewels—was such a delight for me, because I was finally seeing with my own eyes and standing in the place where so much well-known history happened.

Above: The Tower of London

Below: The Tower Bridge

One thing you must do in London is take advantage of the fabulous theaters that feature a variety of shows. Shenning, Bri, and I saw “Chicago” on Friday night. We had great seats in the little Cambridge Theater, and although I was exhausted from such a long day, I really enjoyed the show… and all that jazz.

Saturday afternoon, the three of us made our way towards Kensington Palace, the preferred place of residence for the royal family. We lingered over iced English tea on the terrace of The Orangery. Afterwards, we strolled through the parks before arriving at Harrods, the highly-esteemed, super-chic, pompously-posh, over-priced, and incredibly-unique designer department store. I loved it!

Apparently, this was the best weekend weather London has seen all year long; I could tell that Londoners must have had spring fever. Everyone was wearing flip flops, sundresses, tanks and skirts—but I thought it was chilly in the shade and when the sun went down! One of the coolest things was how in the early evenings, people stood outside of the pubs crowding the sidewalks as they stood around drinking beers. To walk through the small circles of friends telling jokes in fun British accents and enjoying themselves created a very pleasant atmosphere. The parks, too, were full of people picnicking and taking advantage of the gorgeous weather. Waiting to visit London in the spring was definitely a good idea.

Simply put, I loved London, and I’m already planning what I’m going to do on my next visit!

Whetting the appetite

I’ve never really had much of a desire to travel to Eastern Europe…until now.

My best girlfriends and I have a few running jokes about how absurd ours lives are over here: It’s tough being a rock star. My life is so hard. It’s just exhausting when you have to travel this much. Etc, etc, etc. We say things like this because, in reality, we know just how lucky we are to have such an awesome opportunity. As evident of all my spring craziness, I’ve had a substantial amount of reasons to be aware of the beauty of living in Europe… and this past weekend was no exception.

Last Friday afternoon, SK and I were lying in the grass in Retiro Park, soaking up the sun and catching our breaths after our run. We giggled periodically at the fact that only a few hours later we would be flying to Budapest to meet up with Yadira, Kate, and Shenning who had been there since Wednesday night. Little did I know then that on my three-hour Wizzair flight I would sit next to Hungry’s highest ranking female tennis player Ágnes Szávay, who was returning to her country after playing in the Madrid Open. (Ágnes who? http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%81gnes_Sz%C3%A1vay) I offered her some chocolate (she declined), and she returned the gesture with her roasted nuts (I declined). We smiled and laughed at the crazy Hungarian man sitting in front of her, whose loud comments and spastic movements provided a distraction and diversion for half the plane. But that was the extent of our interaction.

Despite only having a day and a half in Budapest, I think SK and I got a good look at all the major sights and monuments of the city. We took our own walking tour Saturday morning before we met the other girls for lunch. In almost 4 hours, we saw a lot: the Opera House, Matthias Church, the Hungarian Parliament, the Danube River, the Chain Bridge, the Fishermen’s Bastion, Buda Castle/The Royal Palace, and the Dohány Street Synagogue. For more info, history, and visuals, you can check out http://cityguide.budapestrooms.com/sights/.

On the right: A view of Parliament from across the Danube River

Below: SK & I on the Chain Bridge (the oldest in Budapest)

Above: Looking at Pest from Buda

Below: The girls at Menza, a great restaurant where I ate Hungarian beef stew

Saturday afternoon, all of us walked to City Park and spent a few glorious hours at Széchenyi Bath, Budapest’s largest thermal bath. Our experience in the underground labyrinth of changing rooms, where complete nudity is no biggie, was regrettably memorable. And even though people outside at the baths were not completely nude, some bathing suits left little for the imagination. Despite those distractions, the baths were a welcomed relief to my aching muscles after the morning’s hike around town. The beautiful neo-baroque architecture set an atmosphere of indulged luxury, and the only thing that was missing from this picture of paradise was my personal masseuse.


Budapest is known for its nightlife, but I must say, I had no desire to take part in that scene the one night I could have done so. Since I was completely whipped from the day’s events (which included swimming laps), I didn’t have enough energy to truly enjoy the two cool bars we went to on Saturday night. Had I not been ridiculously exhausted, I would have wanted to listen to the funky live jazz show at Bar 1 a little longer and I would have wanted to sit in every old bathtub-sofa or antique car seat at Bar 2. But all I could think about was sleep. Boy, am I getting old! (Joke.)


SK & I toured the Dohány Street Synagogue Sunday morning (as shown above). I realized there that this was the first city or country that I have ever visited where the Jewish community would have been directly and vastly impacted by the Second World War and that this was the first time I’ve ever walked the same streets as those persecuted Jews. Fortunately for the Budapest Jews, many lives were saved through the help of neutral country ambassadors. However, others were not as lucky and memorials—such as these shoes left along the banks of the Danube—silently remind visitors of the tragedies.


Through my brief experience in Budapest, I can see how Eastern Europe is sweetly distinct from anything I’ve ever known. Now the taste of that sweetness has created a new appetite for discovering more about that part of the world. I think I’ll have to make another visit soon.

A Change of Pace

Before I even moved to Spain last September, I knew that each region of the country was particular and distinct. Throughout my fall, winter, and early spring travels, I experienced that text book and word-of-mouth knowledge for myself as I explored the regions of Andalucía, Castilla y León, Castilla-La Mancha, the Basque Country, the Balearic Islands and Catalonia. Each place I visited in each region offered something different, as my past accounts have illustrated. This past weekend, I once again discovered the amazing beauty and diversity of Spain when I went to the most northwestern province in the country—Galicia.

It was hard to believe that I was in Spain at all this weekend. Galicia is fertile, green, lush, humid, wet, and everything that is not central Spain. The landscape, the cool weather, and the musical trills of the bagpipe gave the impression that I might as well be in Great Britain! SK, Yadira, Kate and I flew to Santiago de Compostela on Friday morning. Santiago de Compostela has one of the most interesting histories of all Spanish towns. Supposedly, it is the final resting place of St. James the Apostle, whose body was transported in a stone boat to northwestern Spain and then entombed some miles inland. That was around 44 A.D. Then, around 813 A.D., a star-guided hermit rediscovered the long-forgotten grave. Once the word was out, and cathedral and altar were erected, and Santiago de Compostela became one of the most famous pilgrimage sites in the modern world.

Fortunately for us and our weekend priorities, there isn’t a whole lot to do in SdC. It’s a small, quaint town, where the locals are friendly and the visitors are aplenty. Throughout the weekend, the girls and I enjoyed simply wandering through the old streets at a leisurely pace. We intentionally slowed our steps to a new rhythm, one that matched the haunting melodies of the bagpipers playing near the cathedral or the sweet symphonies played by a 4-string quartet. Each of us have been on the go for so long that we mutually decided to relax and unwind... and Galicia was the perfect setting for this mindset.

It was a perfectly relaxing and pleasant weekend, made even better by the discovery of how delicious and cheap Galician food is. I was happy to find out that Galicia honors the tapas tradition and ecstatic to see that they perhaps to it better than anywhere else in Spain. With one drink, we would be served either a bowl of seafood-stew or a plate of meats, cheese, & bread, or a tray of assorted Galician specialties. Needless to say, we were all happy campers. In addition to the great food, the unbeatable price, the lovely atmosphere, whenever we walked down "Sample Street" (as I like to call it), we were enticed to enter several speciality Galician produce shops, where we tried all the special foods of the region: tarta de Santiago, caprichos de Santiago, queso tetilla, chocolate bits and after-dinner drinks. Amazing.

On Saturday, we took a short day-trip to A Coruña, the most important port city in the region that sits on the northern shore. The coast was breathtakingly beautiful: raw, natural, refreshing and unaffected by the presence of man. The ocean waves crashed relentlessly upon the giant boulders that formed the frontline in the battle against sea and land. Various types of wildflowers colored the grassy meadow, protected from the powerful swells and nourished by the rising moisture.

On the other side of A Coruña sits a charming harbor, where passersby stroll between the bright formation of boats and the particularly glassy architectural skyline. As a port city, A Coruña has a more laid back feel than most. I only wish I had had more time there!

In Galicia, Spanish shares Official Language status with Gallego, which sounds like a blend of Portuguese and Castilian (or Spanish-Spanish). The Galician people were so nice, and we didn’t encounter any rudeness or bluntness that we come across far too often in other parts of the country (and especially in Madrid). On Sunday, SK, Yadira, and I went to the Museum of the Galician People, and it was fascinating to see their history as a people. They are a people who have a Celtic heritage, have lived predominantly off the sea, and who have preserved many of their precious traditions throughout the centuries. Fascinating and enchanting.

Whether you believe that St. James currently resides in the ancient cathedral crypt or not, you can not deny the beauty of the Camino—the pilgrimage—that hundreds of people from all over the world trek across daily. Although a bit worn and weary, they march into town triumphantly carrying their packs until they reach the main plaza in front of the cathedral. Some fall down on their faces in relief. Some cheer and yell in excitement. Others cry tears of joy and gratitude. Any place that has such an effect on other people will certainly leave you feeling a little different, too.