Carnaval

Okay so, remember my promise to stop treating my blog like a feral-russian-cage-child (Oh no he di-int)? Yeah, still working on that.

But anyways, who's ready for another exciting update?

Last time we left the week before Carnaval (which under no circumstances should be spelled Carn-i-val). I can only really describe the whole thing as a sort of Halloween without the candy but ten times the liquor. Of course we were all down to see what the fuss was about.

The start of Carnaval involved an intriguing visit to the local mall for some costume shopping. As always, I went for pirate - I don't attribute this so much to a lack of creativity on my part, but rather to a complete love for gold-hoop earrings and cheap rum. The selection at the store was very unorganized, but I managed to find a somewhat suitable wig and eye patch. The overall outcome looked like something of a cross between Brett Michaels and a douchebag, but still I was satisfied.

When the weekend came around we were more than ready to put our Carnaval shoes on and head out. We'd heard about the fantastic costumes, crazy parties and all the chaos that followed. We were pumped. We were ready. We were drunk - with excitement. We were...a day early.

Indeed the first night of Carnaval was not in fact the first night of Carnaval. This lead to a pirate, a hoola girl, an indian, a Grecian goddess, a devil, a Lady Gaga, and a hooke- a fairy, walking the empty streets at the early hours of the morning searching for a non-existent celebration. Needless to say we encouraged a profuse amount of staring. After some shenanigans and a trip to "Bratislava" we made our way home.

Take two - the second night began with a bang. We re-donned our original costumes except that our Aphrodite had transformed into Joan of Arc herself (Allison Kadrmas can do things with bed sheets that can only be described as life-changing). As we arrived at our beloved Plaza Zocodover, we discovered that we were the last to arrive at a party of hundreds. The night continued with live music, dancing, mice-families, and various shenanigans. I woke up the next morning with pain in my head and love in my heart.

Take three - Yes kids there was a third day to our Carnaval. We had fortunately been invited to a party in a neighboring town by some spainish friends. All we knew was there was going to be paella and a parade. We arrived to find a outdoor grilling of the biggest pan of rice and seafood I've ever seen (you could have swam in it). As we waited patiently for some hot eats we began to converse with the locals.

I've learned two things from interactions with the locals - they love to speak english with you, and they love to force-feed you wine. Since we were all a little gun shy from the night before we tried to indulge the former. It turns out that the party we were at was actually the gathering of a local band that was made up of people of all ages that played different instruments and after the party they would be marching in the parade - and so would we.

The dinner bell rang and the paella was served. Now at this point I can't say that spanish food was my choice of international cuisine, but the paella was probably the best meal I'd had since I arrived (excepting Donor Kebab). After my third plate the band broke out the drums and trumpets and began to play. The music was enthralling and everyone was dancing and singing along. Soon after we were given our costumes for the parade and as a pope, a nun, a pirate and a witch we marched along side the band.

We returned home, exhausted, full, happy, alive. Carnaval was over.

Next stop, Paris!

You are almost guaranteed to see dolphins...

Okay, I'm gonna start this one off by apologizing for neglecting my blog so. I promise to post more often. Really.

So, last time on my blog I was really excited for my trip to Málaga with Lindsey, and I have to say the whole thing was excellent.

The trip began with a bus ride to the airport in Madrid. Since our flight was at 8 in the morning on Friday we decided it would be best if we got to the airport late Thursday night and just slept in the terminal rather than risk missing our flight. The transit to the Madrid airport involved a very liberating journey on the metro subway system. As ridiculous as it sounds I was actually surprised that we found our way through metro stations and transfers so easily and it only cost 2 euros (compared to the 25 euro cab ride).

When we got to the airport it was a ghost town. Seeing as it was only midnight when we arrived we were in for a long night. As we were going through security the attendant thankfully informed us that no shops or restaurants were open beyond security and the only place to get a coffee was back up the stairs. After a short search Lindsey and I ordered a coffee, and after a short moment of contemplation we asked if we could have Bailey's Irish Cream in said coffee. The server happily obliged.

As we sat in the cafe like two morning drunks we slowly slipped into a deep exhaustion and decided it would be best to go find the terminal and try to get some sleep. It was once we got past security that I realized I've never seen an airport completely empty - it was like being one of the last people on earth. In order to pass the time Lindsey and I decided to go on an adventure that involved raiding vending machines for gummy bears and diet coke and a daring VIP lounge break in attempt ( in which we were unsuccessful). Exhausted, we decided to take a nap on the waiting chairs... I've never felt more destitute in my life.

At this point it was about 3:00 in the morning and all we wanted was a little bacon and eggs


Sadly the airport cafes didn't open until 6:00 am and there was little left to kill the time. When the stores finally opened our mini-shopping spree yielded a bag of potato chips, the mega bag of haribo gummy bears, fresh squeezed orange juice, and the best doughnut I have ever tasted.

At last our boarding time came. Since the flight turned out to be nearly empty, Lindsey and I enjoyed the emergency row all to ourselves ( never underestimate the power of a little leg room) and after about an hour and some turbulence I can only describe as badass we landed. Since we were only traveling with backpacks it was really nice not to have to collect any luggage. Instead we quickly caught a cab to Torremolinos, a small resort town near Málaga.

When we arrived we were greeted by Barb and John Komoroske - the two nicest people I have ever met. For the past 6 years they have rented a room out of the same resort for a month to escape the Wisconsin winter. Since we had essentially been awake for the last 24 hours we really needed a nap, but we were determined not to waste any moment of our short weekend so we went on a tour with John and Barb along the beach. The whole town is filled with kitchy shops and restaurants, and the beach goes on forever. The Komoroske's took us to one of their favorite lunch diners- their treat.

We finally got our bacon and eggs!

The rest of the day we spent walking the beach in 70 degree weather, picking up shells and sea glass along the way. When we returned the Komoroske's were hosting cocktail hour with some friends. John came from the kitchen with two glasses of wine and this quote for us:

"Now I'll pour the first one. After that it's in your hands."

After cocktails we went for great chinese food just up the hill. For 5.50 Euro we got a spring roll, entre, noodles, ice cream, and "blandy" (which is apparently brandy in a chinese accent). Stuffed, we went to the neighboring resort for toothpick bingo and an amazing flamenco show. We continued to meet more and more of the Komoroske's friends and share our story about why we were in Spain. After the show it was finally time for bed.


The next morning Lindsey and I went for a walk in the opposite direction of the day before. We saw a beautiful harbor and dozens of interesting stores and restaurants. The Mediterranean Sea breath taking. To satisfy some pretty intense cravings we got some ice cream. I don't know if what happened next was good or bad.

Lindsey encountered a band of Australians looking for passengers to go sailing for two hours and 30 euro. As we contemplated spending close to 45 US dollars the spokeswoman pulled out her secret weapon:

"You are almost guaranteed to see dolphins!"

After we haggled the price down to 25 euro and discussed what she meant by "open bar" we opened our wallets and climbed aboard. We spread out on the front deck with a glass of sangria and a group of authentic French Canadians as the boat set sail (they turned the motor on). The ride was beautiful and Lindsey and I started to get pretty tired - well I got tired and Lindsey discovered she forgot her sea legs (she was nothing but a good sport about it). We returned to port with only one gripe:

Where were the damn dolphins?! My trust for the Aussie-folk will forever be shaken.

We returned to the resort just in time for cocktail hour, but after the long day in the sun we decided to just eat some cheese. Apparently the moon was as close to the earth as it's gonna get for the next few hundred years and we watched it rise over the sea.

Dinner was served in the dining lounge and to end the night we watched a cabaret show that was both awkwardly sexual and strangely compelling.

The next morning we had to leave pretty early, but the sadness of our departure was completely forgotten as we all saw the sunrise over the Mediterranean.

We said our goodbye's and million thank you's and made our way to the train station. Since we couldn't get tickets on the same train we rode back separated, 3 hours apart. Two things:

1. Frost Nixon is an amazing movie, even in Spanish
2. Why can't planes be as comfortable as trains?

Well that's Málaga. Up next: Carnaval!!!

Till next time!

Aventuras en Madrid

Well I'm back for the latest of my life abroad and I'm happy to say some interesting things have occurred since my last post.

First of all it is very hard to type in English right now. I find myself thinking in Spanish frequently, even when I'm not in class. It's really difficult to switch between the two languages and I often find myself speaking a mix of the two (I would like to think I have made a new language, but I think the reality is that my Spanish could use a bit more work). The language change also makes classes here very exhausting. While each class is only an hour a day, two days a week, by the end of the day my brain feels so fried from focusing on EVERY word that I find myself begging for the sweet relief of chemistry once more.

If you are interesting in the classes I'm taking here is a list with my feelings on each:

Spanish Culture: YES

Spanish Literature: YES

Spanish Conversation: YES

Spanish Painters: YES

Spanish Theater: NO NO NO NO NO

Apart from musings, when we last left off I forgot to mention that the Fund was throwing us a party style dinner to which they had invited dozens of local Españolos, both young and old. The goal of the dinner was to get to know each other and find partners for a conversation exchange program. The dinner was great and I met a bunch of people. I ended up being partners with a girl named Mona (her name tag said José, but that's her last name and her actual name is Maria, and her other last name is Rodriguez... P.S. people Spain have a lot of names). I'm really excited to start our conversations, which are two hours once a week: first hour in Spanish and the second in English.

The trip to Madrid that I mentioned in my last blog was an interesting experience. The day started with a tour of the Royal Palace. After came a bus tour of the city. Finally we got to lunch which was at the Museo del Jamón which translates to... brace yourselves.....

¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡¡THE MUSEUM OF HAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Apparently Spanish ham is a delicacy and it's served uncooked. I was told it was like spanish sushi, only with ham. We were all really excited because our lunch was included in the program fee.

We were served fried chicken for lunch. Fried chicken. At the ham museum. Who'd've thunk it?

After lunch we were given free time. This is where I discovered one of the highlights of Madrid; there is a four-story H & M. Oh, and it's down the street from another H & M. Oh, and between them is a store called Zara, which was described to me as a european H & M. On an unrelated side note, my faith that there is a just and loving God has been renewed. Needless to say shopping consumed most of our day.

The busses left to go back to the Fund at 6:00 (or 18:00 for all you world timers), but I was one of the many people who decided to extend the trip through the weekend. My roomie Sandy and I found our Hostel with little trouble. The accommodations were nice and for the two of us we were given a room with 5 beds (I quietly calmed my urge to make a fort). After unpacking for about a minute we were surprised to discover that many of our other friends had booked the same hostel and their room was right next to ours.

Plans for the night were dinner and clubbing for my friend Kina's 21st birthday. I would like to just forget dinner all together, but I feel it involves some necessary life lessons in european dining:

1. Just because a waiter puts olives, bread, and water on the table without you asking, that doesn't mean it's free, but if he puts pig liver on the table you may partake.

2. Splitting a meal is a difficult concept for Spaniards.

To explain the latter, two friends and I wanted to split two entrees between the three of us. Somewhere a grave miscommunication occurred and the three of us were all served two entrees each. At 11 euro a plate we were on our way to having one hell of a birthday. After realizing the error, we tried to explain the misunderstanding to our waiter who, with regret, informed us that we would have to pay for the entrees regardless. 110 euros later we were happy to not be washing dishes and left.

Note to Family Members: The adventures in Madrid ended here. We went home, said our prayers, went to bed, and lived happily ever after. The end.

Continuing:

The fiasco at dinner called for heavy drinking, and heavy drinking in Spain calls for lots cheap wine, and cheap wine in Spain tastes like grilled ham and cheese sandwiches. Regardless of the meaty aroma of the vino, we decided to do like the Spaniards do.

A word on Spanish night life. Everything here seems to be pushed back a few hours, this includes going out. Most clubs in the US close around 2 or 3 in the morning. Most clubs in Spain seem to open around 2 or 3 in the morning. This made for a long night that involved rain, a british guy I couldn't understand for the life of me, an irish bar, and a woman wearing lingerie who tied herself to a rope and rose 15 feet into the air and proceeded to show the club her danger-zone while pouring champaign at the same time.

The only real failure of the evening: The DJ had no idea who Ke$ha was and we had to go the whole night without a little Tik Tok (don't judge). After a much needed taxi ride we made our way back to the hostel and fell asleep.

The next morning started bright and early (and a little blurry). We visited the Prado museum and a Starbucks. We missed our train home by minutes and had to buy tickets for one leaving a few hours later. This gave us a little time to explore the Madrid Train station which is AMAZING (there is a turtle pond IN the station). We boarded our train and finally made it back to our beloved Fund.

Well, there's your Day in the Life. Lindsey and I are going to Málaga this weekend (God willing) so stay tuned for updates. Until then, peace, love and happy thoughts!

Culture Shock

So, if you were all wondering, I survived my first week abroad. It's funny, but it feels as if I've been here for months now. The days are finally starting to get a little routine and I am slowly getting used to this Spanish lifestyle; however, this acclimation came with a few minor struggles...

First thing: the toilets here flush by pulling the handle up, not down. As far as other bathroom necessities, it seems that righty-tighty lefty-loosey

is a universal standard, so no worries there.

Moving on...

I may have overestimated my excitement for cobblestone streets. While at first they appear enchanting, the overall image is somewhat misleading, because after only about 10 minutes of steady walking you're ready for a good foot rub. It's also hard to not look like a meek tourist when you are tripping on stones all the time. Another comment on the streets

of Toledo: it's very rare that you're not walking up or downhill. It's also very rare that you are not walking up or down said hill at a 45% degree angle. The final formula is something like this:

Cobblestone + tripping + steep hill = pain and suffering

I was also mislead about cafes. I was excited to exercise my inner european with some cafe camaraderie, but I'm starting to lose hope. Spain isn't really one of those countries that has menus. This turns getting a cup of coffee into a game of 20 questions if you don't want it black. And just because a cafe might have tortilla española one day, that doesn't mean they will have it the next.

Jesus is big here. In the older parts of Toledo, every building seems to have a cross. There are also some fantastic nun sightings if you look hard enough. Also the cathedral right outside my window rings it's bells every fifteen minutes. Every fifteen minutes. If I sleep with the windows open I can use Quasimoto as my alarm clock.

Oh, and fun fact for the day: The phrase Holy Toledo! is a reference to the amount of churches in the city.

I have become more accustomed to the food here, although the portions of meat are ridiculously large. Overall I'd say B+ which far exceeds my first day expectations.

Interactions with the locals have been pretty positive. Most seem really excited to listen to our broken spanish. Occasionally I will get the blank stare or well duh! response, but overall it's not that intimidating. Small conversations are all you can generally get out of people, but I think that will change once we assimilate a little more.

Side note: Nobody can pronounce my name

"¿Cómo te llamas?

"Me llamo Kyle."

"¿Karel?"

"Ky-el."

"¿Kay-lel?"

"KYLE!"

Well that's all for now, I have to get to class. We have a trip to Madrid this weekend and a birthday to celebrate so check back for details.

Just Arrived

This is my first time blogging so bear with me.

I got to the airport at roughly 1:00 p.m. for my 4:10 flight to Philadelphia. I was happy to have mom, Jacob, Katie and Scott with (oh and Marley made a special guest appearance). As we parked the car, flashing fire truck lights greeted us and we began to speculate about the man with a bomb in his underpants who was probably going to ruin my entire day. Luckily when we entered Lindbergh terminal there were only a handful of people and my bag check took only a minute. Of my allowed 50 pounds, I weighed in at 47 (pretty good if I say so myself). However, my victory in the weight department was short lived as I was told I had too many carry-ons and my ukulele would have to stay behind (sorry I wont be returning the virtuoso I expected). After a Houlihan's appetizer feast and some corny photos I said my good-byes and got in the line for US Airways. For the most part security was a breeze. No beeping, no searched bags and no pat-down. But once I was beyond the checkpoint, I could only wave one last good-bye to friends and family before I was on my own.

I literally had to take a deep breath and count to five.... Here we go!

With my big-boy shoes on I began to search MSP for gate E2 which I found in seconds. I took a seat in the empty waiting area and was considering going on an airport adventure when more and more people my age kept showing up. Like strangers at a movie theater, we all seemed to sit a few seats away from each other and waited for someone to break the silence. Small conversations began to pop up.

"Are you going to Toledo?"

"What's your major?"

"What year are you?"

"Home-stay or dorms?"

I hopped on with a conversation going on behind me that turned into a game of P&A and Egyptian Rat Screw. Meeting new people helped the time pass easier and before I knew it we were called to board. Here comes my one and only hurdle. Being one of the last people in line to board I was told that there wasn't enough room for my carry-on. As the flight attendant strapped my bag with yellow tags a "why me?" feeling set in. I made her promise me at least a dozen times that I would see my bag again as she hauled it away (I never seem to trust airline employees). It was when I sat down on our matchbox of a plane that I remembered how my, now out of sight, bag held a good portion of my money and all of the chargers to my various electronics. My anxiety was well cleared by my seat mate, Angie. After going through the preliminary questions I learned that she was from Eden Prairie and we knew some of the same people. Our conversation soon reached out to our neighbors as we all shared life stories and even had time to deal out some nicknames (mine is Coco Chastity). All of a sudden we were landing.

The layover in Philly was marked by the highlight of my day: the return of my beloved bag and then scarred by the ten mile walk to our connecting gate. I was happy to be greeted by my friend Lindsey and I learned my transit was going much smoother than hers. After a short time we boarded the plane and I found my seat. Here was how my plane was arranged

AB CDEF GH........ I was riding in seat D, or as I like to call it, bitch.

On the bright side, my row was filled with toledo-ers and I spent a good amount of time talking with a junior named Kina (from Kristina). We all played the get-to-know-you game until lights went out and our personal tv's on the back of each seat turned on. The movie selection was grim (I watched Juno) and I spent the next 5 or so hours trying to get a little sleep. After an eternity the lights came on and we all bonded over which body part hurt the most. There was a thick excitement in the air for everybody as we landed.

Customs was a breeze, as was baggage claim (although Lindsey had to wait a good 40 minutes for her bag to arrive). We left the airport and were greeted by Yuki who might be my new favorite person. Next came an hour long bus ride to Toledo and I have to say the countryside is comparable to driving through North Dakota in the fall. That was all a little misleading though because Toledo might be the prettiest city I've ever seen. It is, no joke, like something out of a fairy tale (pictures soon). I would, however, offer this warning: wheeled luggage and cobblestone streets do not mix.

Once inside the Fundación, which is a renovated 16th century convent, I received my room key and hauled my luggage up two flights of stairs to unpack. We were fed dinner which was for lack of a better word interesting, but I'm going to reserve judgement until we get through the whole week's menu. Later, we were given a tour of the Fund which I topped of with some me-time and a nap. The home-stay kids have all left to go meet their families and everyone else seems to be unpacking. It's kind of quiet.

Bottom line: I made it here, I'm safe, I like it, it's different, I'm having fun, I miss you, I can't wait for tomorrow!