Pomegranate, Spain

Dammit, so Granada happened the third week of March and I have no idea how I'm going to remember anything. Pictures will help. So will bullet points. 

Granada was by far my favorite excursion organized by CIEE. There's something about the influence left by the Arabic dynasties that makes it so charming and rich.

• La Alhambra was beautiful, really a work of art. I wanted to stay there for a lot longer than we could, sit near the fountains, listen to the water, and read Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving. It was the last stronghold of the Arabs before they were kicked out by the Catholic Kings. 

• Our tour guide explained that the sultan always had a "favorite" among his women, who he didn't use for sexual purposes but was the most intelligent and his most beloved. I don't really believe that he didn't use her for other things, but I guess I'll go with that. Our tour guide liked me so much I was named the "favorite". A lot of girls felt he was a little too chauvinistic with the females in the group. Whatever, get over it. I hate feminists. He's just Spanish, they're all like that, they all look. Haven't you been in Spain long enough to figure that out. Oh wait, no one probably looks at you anyway.

• El Albaicín is my second favorite part of Granada, complete with narrow, winding streets, las teterías (tea shops), and other small shops. The first night I ended up eating at an awesome tetería with a bunch of people and later smoking hookah at another one. The food and tea were delicious and I went to bed with a happy stomach and a dizzy head. 

 

• The gelato was the bomb. Other than in Rome, I've never had such good gelato. Gah.

Crap, I forgot to blog about Granada.

Last time I checked this was Catalunya.

I don't know how this popped into my head, but as I started thinking about it, the more it irritated me. So I have to get it off my chest.

The word 'Barcelona' is not pronounced 'Barthelona' here, as many people (all non-spaniards) like to tell me.

Yes, there is a distinction in most of Central and Northern Spain between the ceceo (pronounced with a 'th' sound) and a seseo (pronounced with a 'ss' sound), but with bilingual speakers in Catalonia and the Basque country, there usually isn't a distinction. Which is why I'm always confused when my host mother says "caza", because I think she's talking about a house (casa), but she means hunt. Also, Ibiza is in Catalonia and it's name in it's mother tongue (Catalan) is Eivissa. So no, you're wrong, it is not pronouced IBITHA. Say it like that if you're not from Andalusia and you look stupid, because you are obviously not Andalusian. 


And it's not a lisp, G-d dammit. They don't speak like that because they have a speech impediment, it's a mental choice and their upbringing that makes them either distinguish or choose between the two sounds. 


Before I came here I too was under the misconception that the majority of people here pronounced everything with the 'th' sound. And for a lot of us, we just didn't know any better. But it's when people who have been to Spain once or never try to tell me that I'm not pronouncing Barcelona or Ibiza right. Sorry, I've been living here for the past five months and I have yet to here it spoken the way you think it's said. 

Someone give me an ax to chop the right side of my face off

So before I left for Barcelona I decided to suck it up and finally go to the dentist. First of all, I hate her. No, that's not fair I just hate all dentists and she happened to be my dentist at the time. She told me I might need a root canal. Great.

Dentist:  There's no infection yet, so that's good.

Me:  So what do I do if it starts hurting?

Denist:  Take some advil or pain killers or something.

Me:  Okay...

*Mom comes in*

Mom: HELLOO SO HOW IS SHE?

Dentist:  She needs a root canal.

Mom: Oh...WHAT?

*I cry in corner*

My mom talks really loud. We all do.
Anyways, this day happens to be one week before I leave for Barcelona which means, can't get it done. So I wait. I can still kind of chew on the right side of my mouth in January, but by March I can't touch it. And yesterday I was woken up from a wonderful nap feeling like the right side of my mouth was going to explode. It was throbbing so hard, I knew that at any second it would burst and kill me. I ended up sobbing because this went on for 15 minutes relentlessly, and it wasn't even coming in waves. It was just one constant, immense pain. So I popped as many Motrin as I could without killing myself and laid back down. I told Ian I wasn't gonna make it til the morning or to the American dentist I found. He told me, "NO", so I listened and the Motrin finally kicked in.


Today was my appointment with Dr. Joseph Vilallonga. I walk in, it's in a nice part of town, and the office is pretty big for a city office. The waiting room is huge, I think there are two, and they had a bunch of fashion magazines to read. The receptionist was Japanese, so when I walked in I was comforted by the fact that she was speaking Japanese to another woman and that this is what living in an anime would be like.

After waiting for about five minutes she called me in. Dr. Vilallonga - He. Is. Amazing. I want to trap him in a sack and drag him back to America with me. He made me feel a whole lot better about the ordeal, and told me not to worry about the root canal, that it was a simple procedure. (Other stupid dentist at home told me she couldn't do it and that I had to be recommended to another dentist who could). So he gave me a prescription of antibiotics and ibuprofen. This is when I realized I'm a doctor! I've been taking ibuprofen because I knew it would help with the pain, but it was also an anti-inflammatory, which is why it's been working so well.

This is also when I realized that healthcare here is so much cheaper. He took an x-ray, and without insurance, those things in the States cost about $100 at least. My appointment plus the x-ray came to 56E, and the root canal would only be 160E. Back at home, my dentist told me it would cost from $500-$600 without insurance. WHAT A RIP OFF. So I run along to the pharmacy thinking that it's gonna be super expensive again without insurance. A huge case of antibiotics and ibuprofen came out to 8E. What? I love Spain. That's what.

But, more updates to come on my demon tooth after May 7th. Wish me luck! If I come back toothless, I'm sorry, Ian.

ANDA!

After downing my grande iced vanilla latte, I decided I had enough energy to write this blog about my husband, Joaquin Cortes. A few questions.

1. Why is he so hot?
2. Why didn't he propose to me when he looked at me in the crowd?
3. Will I ever see him again?!

Anyways, on to the blog.

Our group ended up in the highest part of the theater, but luckily for me I was right on the edge of the balcony. The stage gets dark and suddenly, there he is, dressed so sharply in black. I wanted to tell him I loved him, but I guess I decided to play hard to get at the time. He begins to dance, and as the show goes on I find myself smiling like a little school girl. I can't suppress my cheers, much to the annoyance of the old people sitting next to me, but I didn't care. When he dances flamenco I want to die, but most of all when he flips his long, beautiful, straight hair back. Gah. I loved the act where there are seven women, topless, with long skirts starting from their hips, laying on the floor, in the dim blue lights like mermaids on the seabed. The way they crawled and slithered off stage. Beautiful and haunting. And the act that was a homage to his mother...heartbreaking. I didn't quite understand at first, who the picture was of on the screen, it must have been from the 60s or 70s, but after seeing his misery, and the way he twisted and turned into variations of the fetal position, it dawned on me. At the end, he sat down to speak to the audience, what a gentleman, and his speech ended by thanking his mother, as he looked up and blew a kiss to the heavens. I wanted to cry. All in all, the show was phenomenal, and it was worth every single damn second. 

i'm seeing this man in less than a week:

god help me not jump on the stage. also, please give me a seat close to the front.

GAHILOVESPAINANDFLAMENCO.

Box of tissues in bed - Barça with Ian

Day 1: After waking up groggy and disoriented after our escapade at Sutton, Ian and I clamor down to a cafe/restaurant across the street from my University. I can barely eat in the morning, but Ian ordered a delicious pork chop breakfast with eggs, fries, and salad. That day we bummed around our hotel room and headed to el Barrio Gótico for my birthday dinner/belated one year anni celebration at Matsuri. Ian & I, with our super sense of direction, end up getting lost for about an hour. But luckily, the restaurant was worth the hunt and we shared a bottle of sake and some yummy asian fusion cuisine. And of course, I ordered fried ice cream for dessert. 

Day 2: 

Ian & I ended up sleeping for the majority of the morning/early afternoon and finally mustered up the energy to go into town. After eating at a buffet, we took the metro up to Parc Güell (this is now my fourth time being there, I should really get paid to do tours), where it was full of street performers and people. I was starving by the time we walked around the park, so we ate lunch at the cafe overlooking the park's benches & promenade. I order una jarra de sangría and end up getting a 1.5L of it. We then make our way to Camp Nou to watch the FC Barça vs. Ath. Bilbao game. 

At the ticketbooth, my credit card wasn't working and I started to panic thinking that Ian & I might not get a chance to watch the game. They kept asking me for my passport, I didn't have it on me, why should I if I have the confirmation numbers and the seat numbers. Ian looked so worried cuz I must've had this horrible look of distress on my face, and the people in the line were getting more and more antsy. Finally, I say, Try this number. Doesn't work. Wait a minute, I thought, it must be a 6 not a 9. So we try the second number, doesn't work either. But the guy comes back with a passport number written on it, and it's exactly the second number I guessed. Adrenaline rush would have worked out in the end. This is how I passed orgo.

Anyways, the game was exciting since Barça scored four goals which, according to Ian, is a lot for a futbol game. It was funny to see all the Bilbao fans in a caged box with security guards around them. Ian was like, Why are there people in that cage thing? Oh, they're Bilbao fans... Oh sports. After the game, we try to sit down at a restaurant, but I'm already feeling the beginnings of a cold, so we leave and end up getting burgers from Quick to take back to the room. One of my favorite pastimes with Ian was, and always has been, watching anime while cuddling or pigging out. We watched the latest episode of Naruto while I sobbed and gobbled down my burger. 


Day 3: Ian & I thought breakfast was included, so at around 10AM we walk down to the buffet (tomorrow we find out that it was not, woops!). I swear, I had the best croissant I have ever tasted in my entire life, and I eat a lot of freaking croissants. It was fresh baked out of the oven, warm, flaky, buttery - just perfect. We then head back upstairs, where we promptly pass out again until the late afternoon. Finally awake, we buy tickets for "Opera i Flamenco" online, take a bus into the city, and walk around Las Ramblas. We luckily stumble upon Taller de Tapas, an amazing tapas restaurant that I recommend. I was thinking about taking Ian there before he came, and it's weird/awesome that we went there by chance since I had totally forgotten about it when he got here. During our lunch, it began to rain heavily so we decided to wait it out. Again, we get lucky because the rain slows down after about 15 minutes and totally stops soon after, allowing us to get gelato and walk around el Barrio Gótico. With the time nearing 9PM, we head to La Palau de la Música Catalana, the beautiful venue where we would watch the flamenco show. 

 

I learned about La Palau in my Catalán art class and saw pictures, but this was much more beautiful and ornate in person. Definitely worth seeing to anyone who is in Barcelona or is planning on going. Lucky moment #3, upon receiving our tickets we find out we have box seats and a perfect view of the show. Lucky moment #4, we realize that the show is only at La Palau four times in the year? And we just happened to stumbled upon tickets online that same day. The show was fantastic, and the venue and the fact I was with Ian made it that much better. After the show, we head to Burger King to get some fast food and head back to the room to watch Paranormal Activity. To anyone who knows me: Kristine + scary possession movie = not good. That's all I'll say about that.

Day 4: Exhausted, with each of us getting barely any sleep due to the stupid movie, we head downstairs and find out breakfast will cost us 14E each. Forget that. So we go back upstairs and pass out. We then make our way to the beach front  and Cava Mar for some paella. At this point, I'm already fully sick and feeling miserable. But we make the best out of it, and even fit in a peak at the MNAC at Montjuïc. 


Summary -  Best spring break ever.