I have a long list of favorite quotes and sayings from this semester, but one that always sticks out is, “El mundo es un pañuelo.” My host mom says it sometimes, but I never knew what it meant. So I asked her, and she said that she doesn’t even know. Then I asked her, “Could I just say ‘el mundo es una mandarina’, and it would mean the same thing?” Her answer: “…I suppose!”
The translation of the phrase is, “The world is a handkerchief” (or chusteczka, for my Polish readers). I found out later that it’s sort of like, “It’s a small world after all.” But why the use the word handkerchief, I have no idea.
In this day and age, the world is very small, and it’s only getting smaller. It’s hard to imagine what studying abroad meant 30 years ago, or if it was even possible 50 years ago. A person is now able to take a semester from their four year undergraduate program, travel halfway across the world, live in a foreign country, learn a new language, and meet new people (and in most cases, the cost of it is not much more than what you already pay for a semester). It’s incredible that I am in Toledo, Spain, but met people from Puerto Rico and Japan at my school, traveled to Belgium, the UK, France, and Italy, and even Skyped my 93 year old grandmother in Florida (which is always surreal to her) while being here in Spain.
Today is my last full day in Spain. It will consist of picking up our semester grades, having lunch at the Fund, going to a vigil mass, and finally our diploma ceremony at 8pm with the administration, our professors, our host families, and our classmates. I woke up this morning already feeling nostalgic and have been on this decline for a few days now, knowing that everything is ending and before I know it, I will be stepping off the plane at the MSP Airport, most likely in weather that is 50 degrees colder than here.
I don’t know where to start when naming off everything that I have learned here. I took classes I would have never been able to take at Notre Dame. I learned to see things from a new perspective. I was taught to be critical of the very country I come from and to not be naive when it comes to accepting “facts”. I now can speak a third language fluently. I became part of a new family abroad, who has already told me that I have a home here if I ever come back to Toledo. I have met incredible people. I have seen breath-taking things.
I will keep this post relatively short so I can continue to enjoy my last day here, but the end is near and I will be leaving this beautiful country in less than 24 hours. Life does not end: I have my own family in Minnesota to come back to, friends to reunite with, the holidays to look forward to… But Spain has made itself a new place in my heart. And, after all, the world is a handkerchief. I know I will come back one day.
Too much sanity may be madness. And maddest of all, to see life as it is and not as it should be.
-Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, Don Quijote de la Mancha
One of the most famous stories of all time, greatest works ever published, and first canonical novels in the world came from Spain’s own Golden Age. El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha was first published in 1605, with its second volume in 1615. It tells the story of a man so inspired by gentlemen in books he reads, that he sets out to revive this chivalry himself as Don Quijote. This weekend, my friend and I went to a very small and seemingly insignificant town an hour from Toledo to encounter one of the most iconic images of the story: the windmills of Consuegra.
As we were taking the bus to Consuegra, Julia and I were actually scared that maybe we had taken the wrong bus. We went from the hills of Toledo, rich in breathtaking views as you round corners of the enormous rocks, to land absolutely flat, dry, and desolate. It didn’t even have a nice ambiance to it, as with the yellow meadows in the Midwest, it was just plain dead. Fortunately, that bus ride built up the suspense towards getting to Consuegra, because once we saw the series of windmills in far sight, we knew with relief that we had indeed taken the correct bus.
Getting off the bus, however, the town was as empty as the land we crossed to get to it. It was 3p.m. on a Friday afternoon and there wasn’t a single soul on the streets, nor was anything open. I was almost scared we came on a holiday and wouldn’t be able to find food, but luckily we found a quaint bar on the Plaza de España were we ate a full meal (complete with a tiramisu-flavored cappuccino) for only 5€.
Next, we took off for the mills. Los molinos, as they are called in Spanish, are at the peak of Consuegra, so we had to climb series of steps to get there. Midway though the trek, Julia and I were heaving and complaining about how out of shape we both were. Eventually, we got there, and the climb was more than worth it.
The day, however, was not over! We had one more little adventure up our sleeves and the two Julias decided to climb the peak known as “The Rock” when we came back. There was truly nothing like ending the day with the sun setting over our precious city of Toledo, a bag of chips, and two friends studying together in one of the most beautiful places we had ever witnessed. Not only did our conversations encompass some very important aspects of both of our lives, but we were telling stories to each other in a truly breathtaking and sacred place that meant something to each of us.
There are 2 weeks left of studying abroad and something tells me that I’m going to have a hard time leaving…
When I think of Mediterranean family reunions, I almost always think of this classic series of Dolce & Gabbana images:
What I got today was almost a replica to the real thing. Growing up in a Polish family, I often had this same scene. When my Ciocia’s and Wujek’s came to our house with their families, they would bring food and drinks, gather around a table, play music, sing old songs, tell ancient stories, laugh, yell, tell us how old we are getting, reminisce about the Motherland… And here is Spain, I was expecting something different! The truth is, no matter where I go, it’s obvious how important the family is, just like in Polish homes. It’s almost identical to what I have always known.
Today was Mercedes’ (my host sister, not to be confused with Mercedes my host mom) birthday. Although I was informed of this just last night, I came prepared to the gathering after 11am mass with a box of pastries, mazapan, and tarts from the best bakery in Toledo. The guests were invited for 2pm for lunch, so I bought 10 small bite-size pastries for us all (and a clown cupcake for the birthday girl).
The food was excellent and was followed by tapas for the rest of the night. We had chicken baked on onions, soaked in apple wine with a lot of cake afterwards…
Little did I know, just a few hours later, the doorbell would be ringing every 15 minutes and the tiny Casco apartment would be flooding with people though the doors. It started at 5:30pm with a few cousins and their kids. Then came the sister with her husband and family. Then came Uncle Pepe’s children. Then came Mercedes’ friends and their newborn babies. Then came the family with the adopted child from Africa. Then came the Argentinian couple…
By 8pm I lost track of how many people had entered and left, and the doorbell was still ringing every 15 minutes. I literally could not imagine how this apartment could hold any more people, there were at least 30 at one point inside this tiny place. I didn’t know where they were going! The living room was beyond full, the kitchen was half occupied with cooks and half occupied with smokers, all the children had split up the hallway and were playing 2 simultaneous games of soccer in them, and Mercedes was with her friends trying on new clothes in her room. The apartment had turned into a bottomless pit or some kind of clown car, where you could never have enough people inside.
In the end, it was only the four of us left again. Just like with the aftermath of Polish gatherings, all that’s left is empty plates, half-full glasses of wine, the sound of washing dishes, misplaced toys on the floor, and a house of people only wanting to go to sleep. However, also similar to Polish gatherings, we cleaned up absolutely everything and Mercedes even mopped the floors, just so we could wake up to a tidy house and finally rest after a busy and social day. In a sense, today made me miss home and my own family – the noise of people you love, the smells of your own mother’s cooking, seeing people you are familiar with… But at the same time, it was so nice to see that the family I now live with has the same thing and that they were happy to share that with me.
I never thought I’d be able to say that I’ve gone to a country outside of Poland twice, but I returned to a special place this weekend and it happened to be Italy – the land of the Church, pasta, wine, Vespas, and love! The first time I went was to Venice in 2007 with a group from Poland, and this time I would finally see the capital, Rome.
Similar to the trip to Brussels, I ended up sleeping at the Barajas airport with another group from Toledo which was going to Paris for the weekend. I myself would take the plane to Rome alone, but would meet up with a good friend from Notre Dame, Jori, who was studying in Rome with the architecture program. A night spent sleeping on the cold, tiled floor of an unfinished terminal of the cheapest part of the airport is not comfortable. But knowing that I’d be in Italy in a matter of hours was well worth it.
I arrived in Rome at 11am and made my already exhausted body march through the humid heat of the city, asking in English for directions on how to get to my hostel. I will just say that this weekend was full of little miracles, and me getting to my hostel in less than an hour was absolutely one of them. Once I left my bags in my room, I left to meet up with Jori for lunch, where she introduced me to a panini stand where we would eat lunch every day for the next 3 days. Later, she went to class and I slept to try and catch up on sleep in order to even remotely enjoy the rest of my first day… This was the next miracle: who knew that a 2.5 hour nap and a shower could make you feel like a new person! That evening, we visited the Pantheon (a sanctuary for all gods) and the Coliseum by night… That was a site to see. I’m happier to have seen it by night when it was much less crowded; the lit openings in the walls of the ancient monument were breathtaking and the Roman Forum, now in ruins, leading the way to the Coliseum was incredible. I never knew that something once so majestic that is now destroyed could still have such an impact on you…
The next morning, my wake up call was at 8:30am so I could make my way to the Vatican. Not without breakfast, though, and by breakfast I mean yogurt and a double espresso. Now I was awake and could proceed with my day.
I ended up spending six hours at the Vatican on Saturday and that constituted my entire day. I did nothing but walk the museums, stare at the Sistine Chapel, take obsessive pictures of St. Peter’s Square, stand in line for the basilica, and wander the enormous halls of the most famous church in the world. I honestly don’t even know where to begin with my experience that day, but I suppose the Sistine Chapel would be a good place to start…
Michelangelo was a complete genius in his leadership of the Renaissance. He was literally unparalleled in his contribution to the movement. I thought I understood him through his series of The Slaves in the Louvre, but seeing the ceiling of the chapel was impresionantisimo. The amount of muscle he was able to paint in the most famous scene of the masterpiece is incomprehensible, but beautiful at the same time. Demonstrating the importance of man as the center of the universe and the closeness of man to God was his goal. He showed that man is the only creature on earth that is able to perceive and even somewhat understand God…
My next stop was St. Peter’s Basilica and I honestly only intended to spend about an hour there. I swear – one hour. It was enough for me to slowly wind my way through the statues, the altars, the catacombs, and even Blessed John Paul II’s tomb. I was far off in my estimation and I ended up losing myself in the captivation of Michelangeloa’s Pieta, crying for nearly half an hour at Our Pope’s new tomb (which was moved upstairs ever since he was beatified), going to adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, waiting for what everyone thought was the pope in the sacristy (it wasn’t), listening to an amazing choir performance, and finally going to evening mass, where I received communion from some cardinal. I don’t know who it was, but I still intend on finding out who serves at mass at 5pm on Saturday nights.
The Vatican in all its grandeur is beyond words. I think it was one of the few things I’ve seen in my life that I can’t describe, that you get a feeling from being there, the other places being Auschwitz, for example, or Times Square. Pictures do not do it justice, and a verbal description is only an attempt at an explanation. The fact that it was also a spiritual experience for me emphasized the importance of my trip to Rome and how much I truly devoted myself to the city that weekend.
The next morning was already my last day. One thing I take for granted is the brevity of these trips… as the famous Spanish philosopher Baltazar Gracian said, though, “Lo bueno, si breve, dos veces bueno; y aun lo malo, si poco, no tan malo.” (The good, if it’s short, is twice as good; and the bad, if small, is not that bad.) According to this guy, it seems like I plan my trips pretty well, then.
Anyway, I started Sunday going back to the Vatican and waiting for Pope Francis at St. Peter’s Square for his noon prayer, called the angelus. Unfortunately, there was no papal mass that weekend, but this was the next best thing in Rome. While I waited, a made a few purchases for souvenirs, meanwhile looking at the various products they had with the pope’s face on it: aprons, flags, bumper stickers, everything! But noon drew closer and I was hearing the excitement build outside the shops, so I soon returned to the square. Just a few minutes before noon… there he was! Punctual as ever and happy to see the thousands of people that gathered just to see him! Flags from Poland, Spain, and Italy were waving, people were chanting “Papa Francesco!”, and all he did was smile and wave. Humble in his actions, but grateful for the love of the people. Although the homily and prayer were all in Italian, I did pick up some phrases. “La vita eterna” was dropped a lot, so I assumed it was a discourse on Heaven, which received a lot of feedback and applause from the people. In addition, we said a special prayer for the Philippines due to the recent tragedy that struck their country that weekend. I had never heard cheers like that, though, so it was emotional to be around so many people that were as excited as I was to see the successor to St. Peter with our own eyes.
After a wonderful morning at St. Peter’s Square, I said goodbye to the Vatican and headed by towards Jori, where we ate our third panini of the weekend from the same shop. I honestly couldn’t help myself: it was Italian, cheap, and beyond delicious. The rest of the day, however, was characterized by me being in the architecture studio with Jori! Believe it or not, I ended up drawing a lot and it became a great conclusion to a hectic and tiring weekend in Rome.
I essentially then proceeded to stay up until the morning to catch my bus because I did not want to get a hostel for half a night. So on the verge of extreme exhaustion, I, once again, forced my body to leave Jori’s hotel at 3am and make my way to the bus station. If you have read my post about London, I am warning you that the following story is just as bad, if not worse, than all the events from the UK put together.
My first dilemma was that the bus left from the bus station towards the airport at 4:30am, but that the local buses stopped running between midnight and 6am in Rome. In addition, the bus station was closed between 1:30 and 4:30am, so there was no way of even sleeping at the bus station. Stingy as hell and scared to walk along, I slowly came to the decision to get a taxi at 3:45am to get to the bus station for the 4:30am bus to the airport.
Apparently, the buses DO run all night, including at 3:45am, so instead of a taxi, I ended up taking the local bus to the station, like my original plan. The problem was that Termini (the station) is incredibly enormous, it was closed to the public, it was dark, and I am a white 20 year old girl with an American passport on me walking around trying to find this bus. I must have looked like the biggest tourist, clenching my passport in my right hand and my European cell phone in my left, with the emergency number of 113 already typed in. I wandered, in the rain, until about 4:20am, ten minutes before the bus was to leave. Good. I had my bus ticket, I was safe, and I was almost on the way to the airport. After almost boarding the wrong bus, I also came to realize that I had to strategically beat the system: although my ticket was bought for a specific time (4:30am), the bus is actually first come/first served. Unless I was at the front of the line, I had no guarantee of getting on that bus. Taking the next bus would have been fine, but my flight was at 6:30am. I was already getting to the airport pretty late at 5:10am and did not want to risk missing this flight. Nervous as ever, I stood in line praying to get on this bus. I made it to the door of the bus, when the driver said, “You need a yellow boarding pass.” ….
Ok, the person who created the idea for getting a boarding pass to get on a bus is an absolute idiot and deserves to sit in jail and think about that life decision.
Returning to the story, I RAN to the Terracafe to exchange my ticket for a boarding pass. I literally sprinted. Keep in mind that this is after no sleep all night, a 15 kg backpack, rain, and not exercising in Europe for the past 2.5 months. But, with the spirit of the swimmer in me, I gave it my all as I raced against the Chinese girls to get my yellow boarding pass. Not only that, but I almost died of laughter as I heard behind me a Polish lady yelling, “Oni nam zwrócą pieniądze za ten lot. Ja zaraz im powiem. Ja tam pójdę i zrobię porządek!” Clearly, they were late for a flight already. I got to the ticket window, though, grabbed my stupid boarding pass, and was literally the last person on the packed bus to Ciampino.
I prayed the rosary after that incident and had never been happier to be that tired and on a cramped and humid bus to an obscure airport north of Rome. When I said that this trip was full of little miracles, I’m telling you, there was an angel watching over me that morning or else I would have never made the flight back to Madrid.
Rome was perfect, and after this trip and London, I have truly learned that you need to take things as they come. Be patient. Be flexible. Be hopeful. And above all, be smart and quick. You never know how much time you have until the bus leaves or what obstacles can be in your way, but just know that in the end it will all work out!
P.S. The only other great quote I can add to this post was at the airport, when I was at the gate going to Madrid, which was next to the gate going to Kraków. This fantastic Polish man walked up next to me, clearly coming back from also seeing the pope, and his simple phrase was just perfect in the way he looked when he said it: “Aha, no to tam do siódemki. No ale Beata tam poszła… Poczekaj. Beatko!” That’s all.
After only a 2 day rest from London, my bags were packed and by the door again as I ventured to the next city on my list: Paris. If you’ve read the previous post about London, I warn you that this trip was far less climactic in the sense that everything went by plan, which was such a relief after the weekend in England.
Like in London, I had a friend who was studying in Angers, France, southwest of Paris. He kindly made arrangements with his friends so that I could come visit the city and the 5 of us rented a flat in the Latin Neighborhood for two nights. It was also helpful that the four of them spoke French, because it would have made the trip 100% more difficult had I not understood the language of the country…
I had one day in Paris. Call me crazy or even stupid for planning a trip to such a city in only one day, but I had to work with what I had. And to be honest, I saw everything I wanted to see in those 24 hours.
I arrived on Friday night to the Glaciere metro stop, where Memo (short for Guillermo) met me and took me to the flat they were staying at. We left immediately around 21:30 for Champs-Élysées, a well known street in Paris, where we ate dinner. Later, we walked around the area, passing the Louvre Gardens and seeing the Eiffel Tower in the distance by night in the rain. After about an hour, we returned back to the apartment and rested for the big day ahead of us on Saturday…
07:00 wake up call and I was ready to take the city. Tennis shoes on, umbrella in hand, and my camera in my pocket, I left the flat with the group towards the metro, stopping to buy fresh pastries in a bakery on the way to the city center. Our first stop was Notre Dame, a magnificent cathedral on the Île de la Cité. Quite literally, Notre Dame was taking on Notre Dame as we marveled at the Gothic work of art in the architecture and the stained glass windows.
After a brisk but through walk-through of the church, we then moved on to our next stop: the Louvre. I would consider myself a mild fanatic of art, especially after taking this Master Painters of Spain course in Toledo, so seeing the Mona Lisa, Michelangelo’s “Slaves”, and Venus de Milo was almost a spiritual experience for me. The obvious characteristics of the Renaissance were evoked in these masterpieces: the gigantic and muscular features of the slaves in Michelangelo’s sculpture, accentuating man’s importance and power in the world, as well as the precision of mathematics in Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.
Time flies when you’re having fun, and before we knew it, it was noon and time to eat lunch at a crepe restaurant, where I actually cheated and ate a gallette instead, which is a savory crepe (mine was a potato pancake, covered in eggs, bacon, cheese, and a tomato paste). It was perfect.
Next stop: Montmartre, the neighborhood of artists, where painters such as Van Gogh, Picasso, and Monet have all lived. At the peak of Montmartre (and after climbing 140+ stairs), we arrived at Sacré Cœur, a basilica which overlooks Paris. Also in Montmartre is the famous Moulin Rouge. Surrounded by erotic nightclubs and sex shops, the Red Windmill is a historic monument. I can only imagine what that part of town looked like in the late 19th century…
The finale of our day was going to the Eiffel Tower as well as taking river cruise down the Seine River. It was a rainy, but nonetheless beautiful, night. When the Eiffel Tower glimmers intermittently throughout the night, it is literally a break-taking view. What makes it even more special is that its impossible to capture on an average camera, so the only way you can really see it is by going their yourself and seeing the spectacular lights on Paris’s most famous structure. Staring at the Eiffel Tower, I was in awe of what I had experienced that entire day. I was able to go everywhere, with a great group, and just come back to Spain the next day. The ease of everything seemed unreal to me… As Edith Piaf would sing, life was definitely in pink for me.
Let the sky fall. When it crumbles, we will stand tall and face it all.
I’ve had a love affair with the James Bond series ever since I was a little girl and my dad would rent old movies from Blockbuster, make a bag of popcorn for us, and we would enjoy a simple evening just indulging in Sean Connery, George Lazenby, Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, Pierce Brosnan… But when Daniel Craig became agent 007 starting in 2006 with Casino Royale, my interest in the films skyrocketed and I actually proceeded to watch every single Bond movie ever created. All 23 of them. If you’ve never seen a Bond movie, you can’t relate to the patriotism that the main character evokes and what he goes through for Queen and Country. If you are familiar with the series, you can only imagine how I felt when Adele’s Skyfall came on my iPod and I was walking down Westminster Bridge towards Westminster Abbey. If I was personally attacked on my walk, I think that I could have defended myself just fine just through the sheer excitement and energy I felt at that moment. It was perfect!
I need to back up for a moment and say that I originally planned to go to London to visit my friends from Notre Dame who were studying there. I was expecting more of a laid-back weekend without any major bumps in the road. I mostly felt overconfident because I already spoke English, so getting around shouldn’t be that hard.
Wrong.
The first 4 hours of my time in London consisted of exchanging my euros for pounds, capitalizing on a cafe’s free wifi, trying to communicate with my friend with the wrong number, wandering in the cold, going to the wrong address of the ND flats, and pretty much giving up at around midnight when I was hopelessly lost by myself in the city. But by sheer chance, a ray of hope shined down upon me, and by that ray I mean Michael Bass, a former classmate of mine from ND. As I was making my way for the twelfth time down Waterloo Road, not knowing where these apartments where, I happened to look up and see someone sitting in his bed through a window. I immediately recognized the face, threw rocks at his window to get his attention, and then shed a few tears of relief, knowing I indeed would have a home for the night.
Wrong. Again.
I walked into the ND flat building with Michael, ready to shower and sleep after the whirlwind of emotions thus far, when the receptionist stopped me and asked me to sign in and leave my ID at the front desk, implying I would not be able to stay there that night. Without a backup plan and without knowing where my London friends are, I honestly just don’t know what to do. At this point, I am so tired and drained that I just go on Facebook and try to forget that any of this is even happening. When – alas – I see that my Puerto Rican friends from Toledo just checked in to a place not even a mile from me! Through the rain, I walked to that hostel, and swallowing my pride, I asked if I could crash at their place for just one night. The welcoming, open-armed people that they are, they not only let me stay with them, but two of them even shared a bunk bed just so I could comfortably rest on my own. It was nice to know that I had a place to stay, if only for that one night…
The next morning, the real London adventure began. Because of the one hour time difference and daylight savings, I woke up at 7:30am and headed straight for the streets, stopping to eat a classic English breakfast (sausage, toast, eggs, and Heinz beans) at a diner on the way to Westminster Bridge. I saw everything I wanted to see that day: the London Eye, Westminster Abbey, Parliament Square, Westminster Cathedral, Buckingham Palace (along with the changing of the guards!), St. James Park, Trafalgar Square… All before 3pm, when I went to meet with my friend from Minnesota, Octavia, for coffee.
Octavia met me on Trafalgar Square in the middle of a Hare Krishna festival, which I’m pretty sure brought half of the world’s Indian population to London. It was packed and I felt like I was part of the movie set for Slumdog Millionaire (and then “Jai Ho” started playing and I really felt like an actor for that movie). However, we successfully found a ritzy cafe to sit down for an hour and chat. We touched on every topic – school, work, life in London, life in Toledo (in Chicago, we call a meeting like this “ciotka czat”). Once she heard how last night turned out for me, though, she suddenly went into Polish-superwoman-caretaker mode: “Ok, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the train with me back to Reading and stay the night in our flat. Then, in the morning, we will go to Oxford, where I work, and you can tour Oxford for the day until I’m out. Tomorrow night, I’ll send you back to London, and you’ll be on your way.” I wanted to cry of relief that someone had offered me a place to stay for the night, nonetheless with delicious Polish food. And I would even get to see two more English cities?? I accepted immediately.
Octavia and I made our way to Reading by train, where her husband, Paul, was waiting with dinner. I bought a bottle of wine for the table in gratitude for their generosity, and we wined and dined that Sunday night. We actually even ended up making a map of a typical Sunday mass at Holy Cross, including where each family sits (there is an obvious difference between sitting on the right or the left side of the altar) and even proceeded to analyze the choir. It was a perfect night, reminiscent of our home in Minnesota.
The next morning we wake up to a superstorm. Literally. Trains are backed up and newspaper headlines read “BIGGEST STORM IN TWO DECADES”, referring to the massive amount of rain England was about to get hit with. This is only my second full day in the UK and I’ve already come to accept the fact that you cannot know what to expect anymore, so I am completely calm about everything, knowing that I’ve already gotten through the worst parts of the trip on my own. However, Octavia, Paul, and I do end up leaving the flat and heading to the train station towards Oxford, which ended up being completely fine. We got to Oxford only about 20 minutes later than we wanted, and my two hosts left for their jobs. I, armed with an umbrella and Octavia’s rain boots, proceeded to take on Oxford. The most quaint town I have ever been lucky enough to see, this place was just charming. Home to the 38 colleges of the world renowned university, everything was very accessible and much more affordable than London. I spent a lot of time on George Street and the surrounding area. I went to Radcliffe Square, Christ Church, and even stumbled upon two art galleries, one which housed 30 sketches of Joan Miró, Salvador Dali, and even Picasso! Lunch was spent with Octavia and Paul watching them sign the new lease to their apartment and a Mexican burger at Giraffe.
Unfortunately, I had to leave my wonderful friends in Oxford and head back to London, where Lords-knows-what awaited me. This part of the trip was much more enjoyable, though. I found the ND flats without a problem, I finally reunited with my dear friends, Kelly and Mary Helen, who treated me to a big dinner at The Wellington, I roamed the flats saying hello to everyone I knew from Notre Dame, and then was shown around by another friend, Drago, who saw me off to my bus stop to head back to the airport at 3:15am.
I mentioned to someone that I felt like I had lived a year in 4 days in England. Nothing went as planned, I was alone for a very good portion of the trip, and I was emotionally and physically drained when I came back to Spain. But that’s what made everything so unforgettable and even more exciting. I got to see so many people, experience new things, see a beautiful city as well as a quaint college town… All in all, I wouldn’t have done it any other way.
So next time I hear Adele sing, “Let the sky fall, when it crumbles, we will stand tall” in the opening credits for Skyfall, I will know that I did stand tall in London.
By the looks of some of my pictures and my life here in Spain, some of you might think that I live grandiosely in a Spanish villa on top of a green hill overlooking the Toledo skyline… Although there are parts of the city like that (called Los Cigarrales, where a minimum of 100 hectares of land is required to live in that neighborhood), I am in a rather condensed part of Toledo called El Casco, the historic district.
Toledo is divided into various neighborhoods and students from La Fundación live all over the place. There’s Santa Teresa, Buenavista, and Poligono (where most live), but I am fortunate enough to be living right in the center of the city in El Casco. Everything is a 10 minute walk away, the Plaza del Ayuntamiento and Cathedral are right around the corner of my alley, and school is so close that I could probably wake up 15 minutes before class starts and still make it on time. Though, for those of you who know me, if my alarm ever did that to me, I would faint out of stress before I even left the house.
The place I live is a flat in an apartment building at the corner of three small streets. The first floor of the building is actually a cafe called Cafe del Kasco and right next to it is a swanky 30s-themed eatery called El Internacional, which plays soft American jazz music from the first part of the 20th century in the evenings as I study.
But, of course, the question remains – what is my host family like?
I think the only way to describe them is to say that they are the most typical old town Spanish couple I could imagine, knowing every inch of the city and every person that may walk past their house. Mercedes and Paco have both lived in Toledo their entire lives and are absolutely certain that their city is the best place on the face of God’s earth. “It’s better than Rome, you know,” said Mercedes one day. Has she been to Rome? No, but that doesn’t matter because there is no doubt in her mind that her precious Toledo comes before anything.
The couple is in their 60s and have 3 adult children, one daughter which lives with them and whom I call my host-sister (also named Mercedes). They spend their days watching TV or taking walks and Mercedes cooks for every meal. Did I mention she is an incredible cook? Because every time we eat it’s a three course experience, starting with gazpacho or a fresh salad, and ending in fruit for dessert. I have not been disappointed even once with her dishes. Apparently, it’s a Spanish custom to eat in the living room with the TV on so that there is some sort of entertainment. Trying to follow a Spanish conversation between three people and then having some gossip news channel in the background all while trying to figure out which fruit of the cornucopia that sits in their kitchen I want to eat for dessert, is not easy.
Mercedes likes to sing. If I’m in the middle of a sentence and she hears a word which she knows a song to, she will break into that song and I will be so entertained by her hand motions and glorious voice that I will forget the rest of the sentence. A few days ago, it was an upbeat song about Madrid, last week it was about a woman named Noelia, and one night we even sang a rendition of Buleria together, originally sung by one of her favorite contemporary artists, David Bisbal. When she went to the theater this past Saturday while I was in Barcelona, she said that she had an incredible experience and physically showed me how far away she sat from the singer on stage. I think her passion for music and being an entertainer has been one of the most captivating things so far.
Paco likes to read. He also has an incredible knack for knowing everything about Spain, its history, its politics, everything. When I come back from class every day, he asks me how it was, and then proceeds to give a discourse about the topics we covered. For example, I mentioned we are studying Francisco de Goya in the Master Painters class. I barely knew anything about the artist and Paco was already explaining where he was from, the dark pictures he would paint, and the fact that he was deaf. And don’t get him started on the Spanish Civil War… Because his father fought against Franco in the Spanish Civil War with the Republicans, Paco has made it his duty to educate others (especially non-Spaniards) about those monumental 3 years of the country’s history. I thought Poles were the only people in the world to be as obsessed with their dramatic and tragic past in the 20th century… But then I came to Spain, and I think now we have a competition.
They are simple people, though, and very friendly and willing to help or just talk. Last week when I was sick with a stomach flu and had to miss class, I was immediately catered to with fresh groceries from Paco for what I will be eating to cure my body and every hour Mercedes would come back into my room checking if I wanted anymore tea or water. My laundry is always done without me even asking or protesting the chore, my room is cleaned weekly, my sheets are washed for me, the dishes are always done… Even when I ask to help, they tell me to go back and relax in the living room!
I am beyond happy living here in Spain. I could not have imagined a better living situation with a better family in a better location of Spain than what I have. Even life in the upscale Cigarrales would not be the same as it is here. God had his plan for this girl whose dream it was to study abroad!
We made it to the city I was most dead-set on seeing this semester… BARCELONA! In all honesty, this city was the real reason why I wanted to see Spain. Barcelona’s modern, Gaudi-filled, young lifestyle was exactly what a university student needed to take advantage of while in this already beautiful country.
We arrived in the city at 6:30am after taking a night bus from Madrid after our Master Painters of Spain class in Museo del Prado (this time we spent 2 hours looking at Francisco de Goya’s dark, monstrous paintings). The air was fresh and chilled as we stepped of the bus, a cold contrast to the hot, beachy feeling we were expecting, but we immediately made our way to the hostel, navigating successfully through the metro to the Gracia area of northern Barcelona.
Without much rest, we met up with the three others who had already been in Barcelona for a day, and decided to do a 5 hour Gaudi-focused bike tour of the city! I had always dreamed of seeing Sagrada Familia, Parc Güell, and Casa Batlló for myself. I only wanted to get a glimpse of what this “idiot” made for his city, but after seeing his works of art, I knew there was no entering his mindset. No one could say why Antoni Gaudi was so outlandish for his time, but his brilliance endured at least into the next century. (In addition, our tour guide was a hippie. At times he would personify Gaudi in first-person and spoke as if he were the architect himself. They really did look similar.)
After the extensive bike tour, we actually had a surprise! Our friend, Sophie, had her parents in Barcelona during their vacation in Spain and they invited our group (the 8 of us) to dinner at a tapas restaurant. We ate notable dishes such as Crema Catalan and break with tomato paste, but were so grateful for the generous offer to take us out.
As tradition follows, the next step of the evening was a night on the town. Thankfully, there were trips organized by the hostel to accommodate students in their nightlife ventures, so there we were, a group of about 30 people from the US, Australia, Ireland, etc. roaming Barcelona from bar to bar. The night itself was nothing compared to Kapital (see post about Madrid/Valencia), but still enjoyable nonetheless with my friends from Toledo.
After a quick nap into the next day, a 9am alarm woke us up to go to Sagrada Familia for mass. Seeing the basilica was one thing, but being able to actually enter the giant itself was an experience! You couldn’t go 2 steps without seeing something to take a picture of… The were snails worming down the facade, colorful fruits topping the columns, and fish-like towers at the entrance of the monument. Who thinks of that? In a conservative country, where the Catholic faith is taken very seriously, one artist was able to change the face of the religion into something of the XX century. Looking at the basilica was almost laugh-provoking with its colorful modernist twist, but Gaudi still had sentiment behind his ideas. To include all of the Church’s followers, he thought to present Christ’s life outside of the basilica so the uneducated could still understand the fundamentals of Catholicism. With the nativity scene in the east (with the rising sun) and the crucifixion in the west (with the setting sun), Sagrada Familia is adorned with symbols thought of by the artist himself. Gaudi died in 1926 and had been building the church for about 30 years at the time of his death. Construction is still underway, but the current masterminds behind the church are trying to finish building by 2026, for the 100th anniversary of Gaudi’s death.
Next stop: Park Güell! We walked a good hour from Sagrada Familia to the next attraction, but it was worth it. The park was incredible, I have no other words to describe it. I never thought I’d see a Disney World-esque place with all intentions being completely mature and artistic, but this was it. It was everything – the layout on the hill, the winding paths, the view of Barcelona, the mosaics on every wall, the musicians in the walkways, the pure art around me. It was a perfect way to end the weekend and give closure to Barcelona, as we left the city and headed toward our train which took us back to Madrid.
Every week, my professor of economics here at the school asks us all where we are going for the weekend. This past Wednesday, he followed suit and received the students’ various answers: “Portugal.” “Ireland.” “Morocco.” And then my answer, “Belgium.” He asked where I would be going and I replied with the name of the capital. “Bruselas… Es dicho, La Ciudad de Gris.” (“Brussels… It’s said, The City of Grey.”) He then proceeded to tell me to notice that the prices there are higher than in Spain, but the nickname of Brussels stuck with me after class… The City of Grey.
This trip’s group included me and three of my friends from Notre Dame. How we left for Brussels was a story in itself – we took a late bus to Madrid and slept at the airport to make it in time for our 6:30am flight. To be fair, that’s what the rest of the passengers on that same flight were doing, so we were all in the same boat, sleeping on the floor of the Barajas Airport, some in sleeping bags, some resting on their backpacks, amid the awful sounds of construction coming from the other side of the check-in area. Because, of course, the best time to do loud construction is from 12-4am.
We arrived in the Charleroi Sud Airport at about 9:30am and encountered our next situation: the airport, little did we know, was 60 km from the city center of Brussels. Needless to say, when we found out that the cheapest way to get to the city center would cost 17€ one way, we were not thrilled. Nevertheless, we proceeded in our first international journey this semester…
I can safely say that we did Brussels right. We saw all the tourist attractions (Grand Place, Manneken Pis, the Royal Palace), consumed all the staple food the country is known for (waffles, chocolate, french fries, and beer), and completely took advantage of being in a city as small as Brussels, walking everywhere instead of using public transit.
I could write an entire chapter on each place we visited, but there were a few that stood out. The Grand Place was an absolutely regal square and was worth the entire trip. It embodies the best qualities of a European plaza, is gold-encrusted on every side, but is not as large as the Krakowski Rynek regarding size, so it’s even more easy to experience in one weekend. Leading away from the Grand Place were several smaller streets, just as well kept, one of which led to Delirium. We were advised by all who have been to Brussels that Delirium is an absolute must-see and to properly experience Belgian nightlife, this was it. In short, I would describe it as an alley, much too small for the amount of visitors it attracted, that was lined with Delirium-themed pubs on all sides. The one that stood out the most was the one serving absinthe, lit up in a distinctive green, with bartenders wearing matching green polos with the infamous green fairy printed on the chest. Lord knew what four rather conservative Notre Dame kids were doing at an absinthe bar, but in the end, two people in the group tried the stigma-laced green liquor (complete with sugar cubes lit aflame). The climax of the evening was seeing it happen, but in the end, the two who tried the alcohol said that the green fairy was nowhere to be found!
Apart from the beautiful places we were able to see, there was another aspect of Brussels that captured my attention. There was a very evident sadness in it that I’m not sure my peers noticed. Not only was the weather awfully dreary, but it was as if there were a cloud even over the Belgian people. With an economy as good as theirs in this global crisis, you would expect people laughing, dancing, spending money, being with their friends… But instead what I saw was sadness, vandalism, and isolation. Brussels is the capital of the European Union, bringing along with it all the liberal spirit. While liberalism often coincides with increased freedoms, you could see the negative impacts in the streets: drugs, alcohol, sex shops. And while the nightlife may involve all three, it casts a dark shadow on the city when the sun comes out in the morning, when the drunkards are dragged home to their families, when the streets of a modern city reek of marijuana, and when women scamper home from someone else’s mattress. Maybe this was the City of Grey that the professor implied…
If anyone has seen the movie My Fair Lady, then they are familiar with the phrase “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain“. After this weekend, I can assure you that it not only stays in the plain, but also in the mountains, the valleys, on the coast, and in the cities. Our group from school experienced the first rainfall of our entire stay (yes, one month without a drop of rain) and it happened to be the one weekend we were spending primarily outside.
This weekend’s excursion was to Avila and Salamanca! We actually had no idea the rain here would be as brutal as it was, so I only packed a light waterproof vest for the three days. I wasn’t surprised when I came back each afternoon soaked to the bone, but I can say that the weather did not impact my perception of the visits whatsoever.
Friday morning we left Toledo and took a one hour bus ride to Avila, located northwest of Madrid at an elevation much higher than Toledo. Stepping off the bus was the first awe-striking moment – the temperature dropped about 20 degrees, it was windy, and dark clouds were moving in. Looking around at the poor souls wearing a light t-shirt and shorts, I wasn’t even the worst of the crowd in my jeans and vest. Thankfully, the 3 hour tour of the city went much faster than I expected. We visited the Basilica de San Vicente (which unfortunately was not heated) and its secret crypts. We walked the walls of the city, built OVER 1000 years ago for military purposes which still stand today as a landmark. Finally, we were left free to roam the Plaza Mayor before lunch at a 15th century palace! Avila is the hometown of both Santa Teresa de Jesus and San Juan de la Cruz, two influential catholic figures and writers of their time. Their works have become so famous that Avila is now known as the center of catholic mysticism in the world.
We departed for Salamanca soon after lunch and would overnight there both Friday and Saturday night. Truthfully, most of us were so exhausted from trying to maintain body warmth in Avila that we just wanted to sleep in Salamanca. But once the bus rolled up to the 4-star hotel in the city center, we only wanted to explore and indulge in what Salamanca had to offer. I believe the first thing everyone did was change into their swimsuits and go to the spa, which consisted of a hot tub, sauna, and Turkish bath. We had plenty of time to relax and prepare for dinner at 8:30, knowing that after we ate we would be seeing the nightlife of the town. Salamanca is known for being a very young town because of its world renowned university, one of the oldest four in Europe (including Uniwersytet Jagielloński in Kraków!). We immediately found a club styled in ancient Roman architecture and took over the dance floor with our invasion of 30 American students.
The next morning, the first thing everyone made sure to do was dress properly because it was actually pouring this time. After we descended from our rooms, we discovered the regal breakfast set up for us (including the cappuccino machine which I fell in love with that weekend) and then were ready for the walking tour. Salamanca was actually much more interesting to me. The first place we stopped was the University of Salamanca. Being enchanted by Notre Dame for 2 full years already makes you biased towards your school, but Salamanca had an ancient glamor about it that I think only Hogwarts in the Harry Potter series could rival. There were centuries upon centuries of professors, religious leaders, and famous graduates from that school. There was a chapel in which a wedding was being prepared and a grand hall where the reception would be. There was even a retired library (used only by experts and scholars now) where some of the books were from the 1100s! It was something extraordinary, the university. The next stop was a tour of the cathedrals. The only thing that distinguished them was the style: one was the old Gothic cathedral (from the 14th century) and one was the new Baroque cathedral (from the 18th century). These edifices were, as Spaniards say, “impresionante”, meaning they impressed people who saw them. We would later go to mass at the New Cathedral the next day, in awe of the chorus and sheer fact of being in such a gigantic place.
I was so lucky to have been able to go to these two historical and unique cities this weekend with a group of people I am already so close with. Each weekend here in Europe seems like an illusion… This upcoming weekend will be my first trip outside Spain this semester – Brussels, get ready for us!
Julia Goes to Spain 