The Post Where I Complain

Hi! Remember me? Where have I been???? I've been studying a lot (and playing with friends in town... but more on that later). Spanish is hard. I came in pretty cocky because I do so well in my classes back home and thought this one would be easy to ace as well. Boy was I wrong.

I'm understanding a lot more. I watched an entire Spanish movie, "Los Amantes del Circular Polar" without subtitles and got it. (It was really good, by the way. I recommend!) I just don't speak as much as I should. My roommates talk so quickly it's exhausting.

I'm having a hard time with all of these Spanish rules. There are FOUR different past tenses. Did I mention that? I have a complicated structure chart in my brain just to figure out how to tell someone about what I had for breakfast. We just learned about Preterite Imperativos, which is like commands or directions. They give you about 15 minutes to understand the concept then they throw in curve-balls. Like, the verb is totally different if you're telling someone to not do something. And when you say something like "Give it to me!", instead of being "Da lo me!" it becomes ONE WORD in different order: "Damelo!". When you're trying to break down the verbs, direct object and indirect object (which just made me throw up in my mouth a little to type because I'm so over sentence structure) it's really hard to understand, let alone make your brain come up with your own complicated little structure on the spot.

Plus, my morning teacher, Nieves, has it out for me. I don't know what the eff her deal is, but everything I do is wrong. The other day she passed out an assignment and asked us to read through it, which I did, but then yelled at me because I had a pen in my hand and it looked like I might write something. I'm not used to teachers not liking me. I'm attentive in class, I ask questions, I always do my homework. I try hard. WTF? And it's just me. Other people miss class, come in late, don't do their homework and don't participate but for some reason she singles me out. If I take longer than 2 seconds to think about the solution to something on the assignment she sighs, rolls her eyes and says, "You don't get it, do you?" and then starts to scribble the answer on my paper. Seriously. Gwenn asked me if maybe it was because I'm older, but there is another girl in the class my age and Nieves treats her like she's God's gift. (She probably is. She's a missionary.)

My late morning teacher, Rosie, told me yesterday that Nieves said I never participate and don't do my work. Rosie said she doubted that based on my performance in her class, so I'm glad I have some support. Rosie said Nieves has a bad attitute and that I just need to demonstrate my comprehension more in class. That in itself is fine (because seriously, get laid or get some prozac and back off lady) but I'm worried about the part of my final that Nieves is going to grade. I anticipate she's going to find every missed accent and little mistake I made and try to fail me.
So, to prepare for battle, I hired a tutor and have been studying non-stop, doing extra assignments and whatnot.

This morning I woke up thinking about Nieves and formed several sentences in Spanish telling her to suck it.

I think the tutoring is helping.

Morocco

Wow. In a word, that's the best way to describe Morocco. It was chaotic yet charming, dirty yet gorgeous and scary yet... uh... scary. I knew to expect people trying to sell you stuff left and right. The guidebooks warned against various scams and suggested travelers "go with the flow" because things work a little differently down there. Boy do they.

(That big rock you've heard of... Gibraltar.)

We arrived in Morocco via train to Algeciras (Spain) and ferry to Tangiers. The ferry was supposed to leave at 1 and was supposed to be half an hour long BUT it actually left at 2 and was 2 hours long. The seas were rough and people were puking all around me. You know it's bad when the staff runs around handing out plastic bags. I managed to keep my lunch down just fine but once I heard a guy yakking next to me I had to go outside for fresh air. Ug. Tangiers was just as chaotic as I expected. Within two minutes of departing the ferry Angela and I were accosted by men trying to sell us tours, hotels, taxis and one gentlemen offered me "a boogie boogie" if I came back to his house. Ug again.

Moroccans speak Arabic or French and thankfully Angela is fluent in French. Getting around was a breeze! I just sat back and let her do the talking for the most part. Whenever we were tired of being asked where we were from (a common tactic to get you to talk to a shop owner or "guide") we conveniently forgot all French and English and pretended to be Russian or Swedish, staring at them blankly. Ignoring the aggressive vendors is the only way to get through Morocco with your sanity.

We ran into a couple while looking for a taxi in Tangiers and decided to explore the Medina (old town) with them. It was a guy from the mid-west and his Lithuanian bride. They had been in Tangiers since the morning and had already had their fill of Morocco. She was tired of men clicking at her or whispering in her ear as they walked by and he was tired of being harassed by salesmen. The whole cab ride and tour of the Medina was a trip to Negative-town. Blah blah blah the whole time about the people and everything that was wrong with Tangiers. I could sympathize to a point, but then what are you going to do? You're already in the country and have to make the best of it. Complaining about it is only going to make it worse. (I'll eat these words later, don't worry...) Angela and I were happy to run into another lovely couple when we were sufficiently lost (the Medinas are like mazes with lots of dead-ends). They were Parisian and had just moved to Tangiers a few months before. They offered to give us a tour with their adorable toddler in tow. We were grateful to hear about what they loved about Tangiers. The culture, the people, the history... They showed us around the various streets and markets , when Mr. and Mrs. Negative decided to head home, took us for Moroccan tea. They offered to have us stay with them on our way out of Morocco, too. So nice! We stopped for some couscous "to go" and found that they didn't really have a "to go" option. After a strange look and shrug of the shoulders, the chef wrapped the entire plate of couscous and veggies in paper and plastic for me to take. And charged me for it. Lesson learned.

(Inspecting Angela's "health cookie" that smelled like hay.)

(Specialized meals at the local McDonalds.)

(Tangiers. Well, the pretty part.)

We decided to take the overnight train to Marrakesh and bought tickets for a couchette. Unfortunately, after buying the tickets, we learned the first 2 hours of our ride would be by bus then a 2 hour wait at the train station before picking up our couchette at 2:30 in the morning. Mind you, carrying my heaping dinner plate the whole way. This inconvenience did allow us the opportunity to meet a very sweet 23 year-old who worked at the train station and insisted on keeping us entertained while we waited. He also insisted on joining us in Marrakesh and offered to marry me for my birthday. He didn't mind that I was 10 years his senior. His only request was that I'd convert to Islam.

We arrived in Marrakech 6 hours later and found it to be very different from Tangiers. The air was cleaner and you could see snow covered mountains in the distance. Our Riad (hostel) was right out of a Cost Plus or World Market. It was gorgeous. After winding through the maze of stuccco'd streets you come to a plain and small door. Behind it was a three-storey residence with an atrium in the center and balconies running around the inside. Our room was dripping with Moroccan decorations. There was a rooftop terrace and our first taste of sunshine. It was perfect. (Cats patiently waiting outside the door of our Riad.)

After getting a map of our neighborhood (just a left then a right, right, right, left, right, straight, right, left and straight again to get to the main square) we ventured for some lunch and sightseeing. The main square is what Marrakech is know for. It's full of vendors and entertainers. Like a Pike Place Market on steroids, acid, PCP and crystal meth. It was a little bit intimidating. There are rows and rows of vendors selling everything from potter, leather bags, clothing, shoes to fruit and meat. I don't have pictures of the snake charmers or various performers because they make you pay for them and I got really tired of being asked for money.

One of the loveliest things about Morocco is the food. There are flakey pastries full of nuts and spice-laden meat dishes baked in tajines, clay teepee-looking things. Carrots with cinnamon? Who knew??? I can't say enough about the food. They use so many different spices, it's hard to say what's in anything. I had coffee with cinnamon, clove, nutmeg and lavender. I bought a blend of 25 different spices that are common in Moroccan cuisine. In our cooking class I learned that the blends vary from home-to-home and include anywhere from 25 to 72 different spices. Mostly cumin, turmeric, paprika, ginger, pepper and coriander. The meat falls of the bone and the veggies (usually eggplant, carrots and zucchini) are like butter. If you lacked teeth you could easily eat like a king there.

(I snapped this pic at the first restaurant we ate at. Sweet, no? The tower you see on the left has a loudspeaker on it. There are dozens of these throughout town and 5 times a day you'll hear a haunting wail come from them. It's announcing when it's time to pray.)

We stayed two nights in Marrakech. Most of the time we just wandered through the streets and markets. We made the mistake of venturing out of our Riad at 10 pm for some snacks. Of course we were instantly accosted. The whole time in Morocco we were a target, obviously western women. We were hissed at, beckoned to, offered various sexual encounters, appraisals of various body parts were yelled... it was constant. The men also offered to be your guide, even if you knew where you were going. They'd follow in front of you and point to streets you should go down, then demand money for their services. This, despite us saying No no no no no no no repeatedly. That night one guy was particularly insistent in "helping" Angela negotiate the price of oranges and then insisted he lived near us and followed us home. Down the darkest part of the alley he grabbed my arm and rubbed my ass. I spun around and hit him with the bag of oranges and screamed at him not to touch me. After chewing him out he got all pissy like I had offended him. That was the lowest and scariest part of my trip. Western women are treated like property- there are no boundaries. Every other country I've been to, they may yell at you but they'd never grab you. At that moment I was ready to go home. We went back to the hostel and decided our curfew was 9 pm for future nights. The hostel owner put the TV on for us and we watched Halloween H20 for a nice distraction.

The next day we found what looked like a spice market but was actually a "pharmacist". The owner was very nice and gave us the full tour of all the spices and items for sale there. I bought some coffee (with various spices), a vanilla and cinnamon mixture and a special Moroccan seasoning blend. When we told him we were on our way to see about a cooking class he said he was friends with the teacher and hooked us up with reservations for the next day and took us to the location so we'd know how to find it the next day. See, some niceness again! It's all up and down here. The great things are really great and the awful things are really awful.

(Locals and their "wizards" coats.)

(A stork nest in the middle of town!)
On my birthday I went down for breakfast to find chocolates and other treats my travel companion had brought for me. How sweet! One box had an airplane on it and looked like it was a toy. We discovered she had actually bought me food coloring. And lots of it! I'm going to make a yellow velvet cake before I leave. What else could you do with it??

We went to the cooking class and were blown away by the setting. It's at the Maison Arabe, if you decide to go to Marrakesh. I found the class by looking in Trip Advisor for things to do in the city. It was the second highest rated activity. A special birthday treat for me! The class had four other students- a couple from Paris and one from New Zealand. We learned how to make preserved lemons (it takes two months!), all about Moroccan spices and the specialty dishes. Then we cooked. It was the best meal I've ever ever ever made. Delicious. Absolutely wonderful. I'd like it again right now. They served us wine (Oh, by the way, you can't get alcohol anywhere in this Muslim country... we searched and searched and searched. Only hotels seem to have it.) and desert after our meals, pool-side.

(Ok, the henna tattoo. I don't really care for them, nor did I want one, but this woman grabbed me and said she'd just do a little flower for me. For good luck. She seemed nice and was being very sweet. She pulled me to sit at her station (two crates on the ground in the main square) and then proceeded to do this whole hand of crappy flowers. THEN she demanded I pay her 600 Durham for it. That's about 80 dollars. Seriously. I told her I'd give her 140 Durham and she scoffed at me. Then offered to go to the ATM with me so I could get more money out. Hell-to-the-no! Then she looked me up and down and demanded a gift if I wouldn't pay her more. Awful! Chalk that up to another bad experience in Marrakech. Unfortunately, this little reminder is going to last a week!)

(Our teacher, Angela and the nice girl from New Zealand.)

(The hotel and our classroom.)

(My dish! Look at that steam!) (Our class.)

Next stop was Fez. It was a 6 hour train ride through rolling green hills dotted with sheep and cows. This was not the North Africa I was expecting! During our time in Fez it rained heavily. We only had one day so we hired a guide to take us around. We had been told that Fez was magical and I'm assuming when it's not raining it is. It was much cleaner, mellower and quieter then Marrakech. We didn't get harassed at all. I also had bought one of those big sac dresses the locals wear to try to dissuade attention. So, I don't know if this had any bearing on our experience, but our last day in Morocco was much nicer (treatment- and window-shopping-wise) than the rest of our time. The Medina is the largest in the world and one of the oldest neighborhoods. It's winding streets hug both sides of the river than runs through it. More great food and a lot of time spent on the couches of our Riad, waiting out the pouring rain.

(Leather tannery in the heart of the Medina. This place stunk so much they passed out mint leaves as you walked in.)

(A view of Fez from the "south castle".)

(Ruins of the "south castle".)

It took us exactly 24 hours to get home. Our night bus ended up being the morning bus and we missed our ferry and subsequently missed our train back home. I don't know if the delays are scams (so you buy different tickets) or just how things go there. I recommend flying, though. I'm glad I went. It was the experience of a lifetime, meaning, it's the only time in my lifetime I'll probably experience Morocco. Without a private bodyguard, that is. Or, maybe when I'm old and grey and harassment will be at a minimum.

Seriously.

If you were buying a giant statue/water fountain to place outside of one of the most famous sites in Spain (Alhambra), wouldn't you walk around the whole thing? Just to make sure someone won't take pictures like these to giggle at and post on their blog?

Costa Del Sol (Y Lluvia)

This weekend I rented a car and hit the road! After a couple of weeks of feeling like I'm not really making the most of my time in Spain I decided to use my weekends to the fullest. La Costa Del Sol (Coast of Sun) is super close and the weather reports SAID it was going to be sunny and in the 60's. Well, you know what they say about best laid plans...



I started out with a loose itinerary of Malaga and the various small beach towns scattered around it. Malaga is about 45 minutes away and one of the larger cities on the coast in Adalucia (...the part of Spain I live in. They are responsible for the fast-talking, lispy Spanish I find so hard to master). I visited Malaga, Marbella, Mijas, Torremolinos, Antequera and another town I can't recall. I only had two days so for the most part I blew through towns using my gps to get me to the scenic spots. I didn't get to any museums or cultural hotspots- seeing the beaches was my main goal. Most of the towns on the coast are touristy (like, Brits) but very lovely. Each beach was a little bit different. The prettiest was Marbella (for me) but it was getting dark when I got there and the pictures of the twinkling lights on the horizon don't show up on film very well. I did enjoy a solid hour of sitting and watching people fish, gather wood for bonfires and listen to the pounding surf. Sigh.



Bored yet? Should we get to the slide show? Ok! *Beep*



Uh. This is the town I can't recall. I think it's Neja. Or Naja. Something like that. But look at that church! All through Spain there's this very orderly countryside with trees in even lines and green plots of crops, rolling over shallow hills and then every now and then POW, you get a grouping of these white houses on a hill with a big church in the center. It's very pretty but doesn't photograph well. Just get in my head and pretend to remember it, k?



It was nice to see that Black Angus is just as popular in Spain as it is back home...

Old stuff and blue skies...

Break time! I know it's weird to think an Ikea is like a little slice of home, but those meatballs taste JUST the same here as they do back in Seattle. It was nice to be somewhere familiar, if super different, you know? Plus I got some stuff for my place, like a blanket for 2 Euros so I can stop using my sleeping bag. I know it's awfully indulgent, but...

Did I mention I decided to sleep in my car? For some reason everyone thought this was crazy but I didn't want to blow 30 bucks just for a bed. Sleeping in your car for a bit is just like taking a nap while someone is driving but you're not actually moving. I just found a safe little neighborhood and snoozed. I did wake up in a dreamy panic that I was running out of oxygen at one point and rolled down the windows for a second to let fresh air in. It was raining super hard and I was paranoid about having an open window while I slept so I groggily waved my pillow around like a maniac to try to bring in as much fresh air as possible before I going back to sleep. All was well in the morning, though.

If wet.

Sunday was all rain, all the time. Also lots of fog, so my pictures aren't as great.

Fuengirola, I think. I had breakfast here and got to watch the Olympics for the first time this season. Granted, it was in a Euro tourist restaurant. I've looked and it's not to be found on Spanish TV. My roommates looked at me like I was asking when Bunny Rabbit Boxing was on. Winter Olympics: Not a big deal in Spain.

My rental car. I sure do like Volkswagons.

Antequera. More churches! More white houses!

And very narrow streets that a Volkswagon just fits through. Phew!

Laguna de Fuente de Piedra and the HIGHLIGHT of my weekend!!

A flamingo refuge!!!!! Seriously, I squealed the whole way into this place. This is one of Europe's two main breeding grounds for flamingos. I regret I won't get to see the chicks hatch in April, but seeing these lovely pale pink birds in person was awesome. In Spain! Who knew??

The grounds:
The birds:
So cute!

It was nice to have a weekend to drive around wherever I wanted to go. It's been two months since I've driven. I miss being able just to go.

Next weekend is the big one: Morocco! It's my birthday present to myself. The nice girl from my class (Angela) and I are going to go. Did you know the tip of Africa is a mere 9 miles from the bottom of Spain? It'll be nice to knock one more continent off my "been there" list. Plus, MOROCCO!

Another "Adventure" In Spanish Living!

Yesterday we ran out of butane for the water heater, apparently. I came home and my roomie was filling up the bathtub with water from the stove. So, I had an old timey bath last night that took more than 30 minutes to make. I filled the three biggest pots with water from the stove, dumped the hot water then ran the 50 feet back to the kitchen to do it all over again. Three trips later I had a very (non) lovely bath in 3 inches of hard-earned hot water.

The butane guy didn't come by today. I'm debating the "French Bath" with ice-cold water or do I just wait? How long would you go without a hot shower? (And yes, I did the cold shower thing in Cambodia but this is totally different. It's 50 degrees in the house alone.)

Now I'd like you to go to your shower right now and THANK IT for being hot all the time. K? I'll wait.

Translation Not Found: "Hangover"

I write you from my deathbed.

Ok, not really, but I can tell you I feel awful. Moments like these I wonder WHY I thought it was funny to ask for the "mas peor" rum the bartender had. My brain feels to big for my head and I wish I could make my insides stop moving.

What got me in this state, you ask? I made some friends! Yay, me! And they are all in their early twenties and then can all adjust to "Spanish time" easily and convinced me to go out on a school night resulting in Krista dragging her 33-year-old butt home at 5 am. (Soon to be 34-year-old butt! Consolations, spare Euros and gifts of peanut butter-related products can be sent to: Krista Meyer/ Calle del Hidalgo 2, 2A/ 18008 Granada/ Spain)

Anyhoo. I was doing what I do best here in Granada (wandering) and I ran into a girl from my class, Angela, and two other gals doing the same program as us, just at different levels. They were going for tapas and invited me along. This was a first! The tapas were crappy (potato chips? really?) but it was nice to have some people to talk to. Oh, and they were being really good and speaking only in Spanish but the kind of Spanish I speak, with lots of pauses and "um"s while trying to find the right word instead of the mile-a-minute Spanish my roommates expel. One of the girls (A mere 21 years old. Lordy!) and I started talking about music which led to discussion about a club she liked where some bands I like had played recently which led to her suggesting we all go to this club TONIGHT. I hemmed and hawed until I reminded myself that yes, I have to get up early tomorrow but I'm in Spain and this is a rare chance to socialize and dance and see some nightlife and pretend I'm in my 20's still!!!! So I said yes.

We started out at Alexandria's (the 21-year olds) for some good old fashioned pre-funking. We sat around her living room table * chatting and having some cocktails. We slipped into English once we exhausted our Spanish vocab. We left around 1am (so late! but so early here!) and after 20 minutes of Alexandria saying it's just up ahead, one more block, it's just around the corner, it's just over there... we found the club. It was packed with a strange mix of Spanish hippies (sans perros o flautes), Senegalese gigalos, gringa chicas like us and the kind of people you'd expect to see on Spanish "Big Brother". The music was great, though, and we boogied until 4:30 or so to a mix of funk, soul and dance. I learned that, much like Thailand, there is no toilet paper in Spanish clubs. Apparently it gets stolen. I hate drip drying. I also learned that pot is on the "no big deal" list here and likely received a contact high. Poor 21-year-old showed her age by getting too drunk, too fast and needed to be taken home.

I had the silly idea that I could sleep for two hours then get up for school at 7:30 but nooooooooo. My alarm may or may not have gone off and I may or may not have desperately scarfed one of every item in my cupboard to try to tame my tummy (would milk help? ok. hm. what about bread? bread is good, right? no? don't like that? how about a cookie? no? a slice of ham? that'll do it, right? lemon soda? jelly? work with me, here!)

I'm glad I went, though. I wish I had some pictures to share but... on the other hand... thankfully there is no proof of my patented Dance Moves To Make You Laugh. But I can tell you what I looked like when I woke up. (Not for the faint of heart...)



* Another weird Spanish thing: So, nobody seems to have central heat but they all have these heaters that go under your dining table. Then you drape a big fuzzy blanket over the table, drag it over to your sofa and sit, cooking your legs under the massive heat-tent. It's heavenly when you're cold, it's just... well... different. We have one in my apartment, too. I prefer to use my space heater to bake my legs while reading/studying/wasting time on the computer. It reminds me of my days at the office with my "not to code" heater blasting year-round. (Until Gwenn told me I could do permanent damage to my legs by "cooking" them and that those little red patches below my knees wouldn't go away if I kept it up.)

Seville

Ah, Seville. Was it so great because I had such a lovely hostess? Perhaps. But a city where orange trees are abundant and the homes have touches of my favorite color wherever we went... magic!

We lucked out because the weather was great. Sunny and surprisingly warm. Sela was an excellent tour guide and taught me some very important things, like, the term "perro y flaute" which is a term for hippies, since they always seem to have dogs and flutes. Ha!

The sights were lovely!


Sela and I enjoyed many tapas and drinks. I especially enjoyed what I think now was wine and Fanta.

Hanging in her high school haunts. These crazy Spaniards drinking in high school! Sheesh!

Some ancient grafitti?

And across the street, the ubiquitous Starbucks!

Pictures of famous bull fighters on the storefront.

The neighborhood where you should see Flaminco... not that I did.

Did you know oranges start out green and lumpy? Like green cauliflower? I didn't!

The river. Lovely day!

Sela teasing me because I tried to ask for another fork and instead ended up holding up the fork and saying (in Spanish) "Again?" instead of "Another." What a nerd I am!

Sela's girls. Sela (junior) is trying to hid the mess she made of her room while playing dress up for me. The first hour or at Sela's place the kids just stared at me. Like I was a unicorn. They'd never seen an American before, I guess! In no time they warmed up and rattled off Spanish that was far beyond my comprehension. They are lovely, lively, fun and sweet girls. And you could not give them enough bread. What is it with kids and bread?

Sela, trying to get Chloe out of the picture. I love the look on Chloe's face. (That's what too much bread does to you!)

Chloe, all dressed up as a Fairy for me. :)

Saying goodbye to Sela was bittersweet. It was so great to see her and catch up. We made each other giggle to the point of tears. I miss that! I was making her laugh with my attempt at Spanish, combining phrases to make new ones I thought were usefull. Like, "Please sir, would you have my shit?" (You had to be there, I guess...)

There aren't very many people in my life who knew me when I was in high school. Sela is one of those few. It was great to see how her life has turned out and just reaffirmed for me the sense that everything that is supposed to happen is exactly what will happen. She made an agonizing decision in the past that ended in heartbreak (as myself and so many of my friends have done) and now she has a wonderful husband who she knows was meant just for her and two adorable girls in a house close to her family. And also reaffirmed that you have to choose happiness and make your life what you want it to be. (Maybe those two ideas conflict... hmmm....)

Anyway, my trip to Seville was lovely and seeing old friends was even lovelier!