Cinematic Genius

For my 50^th blog entry, I’d like to write about one of the greatest and truly heart-wrenching moments in Spain thus far: seeing Titanic in 3D. Although it’s obviously that they only re-released the movie in 3D to make even more piles of money, it was of course the greatest thing to happen in cinema (apart from the original release), and actually really impressive to feel like you were in all the scenes—not to mention having Leo’s beautiful face popping out of the screen so close to you. Even the Spanish dubbing didn’t ruin the romance or the tension, although “acariciame, Jack” doesn’t have quite the ring to it as “put your hands on me, Jack,” and translates more directly as “fondle me,” a command which sounds sort of odd coming from such a respectable woman like Rose (or coming from literally anyone, in fact).

Titanic has always been my favorite movie, so it was so amazing that I got to return to view it in a theater. My parents brought me to see it when it first came out in 1997 (Can we question the parenting choices here? I was six years old and cried every time I got on a ferry for a few years after that), but I was not quite at an age to enjoy it then, to say the least. It’s amazing—Titanic might be the only movie that I can watch over and over again and still feel so many emotions (and it’s saying something when you actually have the desire to watch a 3+ hour movie more than once). Props, James Cameron. You did it again.

I also must say that I spent the consecutive two nights watching Youtube videos about the behind-the-scenes, deleted scenes, actor interviews, survivor stories ….Obsessed? Hopefully it comes out in another level of D every 10 years, so I can continue to see it in theaters every so often. Titanic in 7D could be truly epic. 

Recuerdo de Button

My dog died yesterday.

My dog Button died yesterday, less than 2 months short of his 15^th birthday, which is 105 in human years.

Button died yesterday around 5 a.m. California time, meaning that right around the moment when I was deciding whether to eat a kebab or pasta for lunch, the dog I’ve had since I was six years old passed away.

The last time I pet him was in August, at 4 in the morning on my way to the airport. A large part of me knew that was the last time I would see him, since he’s a big dog and it was sort of miraculous that he’d made it so long. But for eight months, while I’ve been having the time of my life in Spain, he was living the last of his. And it’s just not the same to be with him for his final days over Skype.

           Que descanses en paz, Button. ¡Siempre te echaré de menos!

"¡Quiero Ser Cocinero!"

           My English lesson yesterday was adorable. Eduardo wants to be an astronaut when he grows up, and Alejandro wants to be a chef (a five-year-old wanting to be a chef...cute in and of itself). So I decided to play off this idea and we focused part of the lesson on their future careers. For each boy I wrote on a blank sheet of paper, "When I grow up I want to be X" and later taught them vocabulary for their respective professions.
          Normally Alex is not all that into the lessons, because he'd rather be watching a movie (or cooking, apparently). But yesterday he was simply ecstatic. With huge eyes he exclaimed to me, "I'm going to open up a restaurant in the U.S.!!" Then, when he asked me how to say "croquetas" (a typical Spanish food) in English, I told him it was the same because we don't have that food where I'm from. He looked at me in shock, as if it was the biggest shame in the world that an American child might not ever get a chance to taste them, and shouted "Dioooooooooos!" (oh my goddddddd). Then he said, "I can bring croquetas with me when I move there!!!" In reality I think his business plan is a sound one, since opening another tapas bar in Granada almost surely means bankruptcy, whereas opening one in the U.S. means charging an arm and a leg for posh plates of tiny portions.
        It turns out that the lesson plan wasn't all that informative, since almost every single food that Alex likes only differs in pronunciation between the two languages, or has no direct translation (like croquetas). For example, he loves pasta (also pasta in Spanish), chocolate (same), and puré (pureé in English....or French?). Even his ultimate favorite, hamburgesa, is almost the exact same, since Spanish adopted the word. I guess when he opens his restaurant one day, he won't have any problem translating the items for the menu.

Croquetas--little fried balls of joy

         The next lesson, I had them fill in the blanks of some hypothetical questions, such as: "If I were rich, I would buy...." To the question "If I could live anywhere in the world, I would live...." Alejandro shouted, "IN A RESTAURANT!!" Not in a villa in the South of France, not in a spaceship like most little boys' dream, not even in a house made out of candy, but any ordinary restaurant. He's pretty easy to please. But should I be worried this kid is going to develop some serious eating obsessions?

Office Hours

Today I went to my history professor’s office hours, which, now that I think about it, is the first time I’ve done that here in Spain. I went to present a book that I read, as part of the final grade includes reading a book from the bibliography and discussing it for twenty minutes with him. Even though this class bores me slightly, I love the professor—he’s young and always saying things like joder and coño, two words I’m pretty sure are neither academic nor relevant to the class material.

What started out as a book review quickly turned into a lively discussion about environmental policy, US politics, and then later, life in general. He told me that he had studied one year in Michigan, so of course the topic quickly turned to American culture. He said his favorite grocery store there was Trader Joes (which promptly reminded me how much I’m craving their chocolate section, and we both reminisced about their delectable array of prepared foods), and how the most shocking thing of his life was entering a McDonald’s and seeing an obese man sitting alone, downing a burger in less than ten minutes. (And here I am, thinking….Ten minutes? It took him that long?) It was so interesting to have this cultural reflection with him. He simply could not grasp the fact that someone would eat a midday meal alone (McDonald’s here in Spain is a family place, he said), and the sheer size of the people in the restaurant blew him away.

Of course, as Spain would have it, one food conversation led to another, and I suddenly found my professor drawing me a handmade map, marking his favorite tapas bar right near my new piso. I couldn’t get over how typically Andalusian this was—go in for a book review, spend three minutes talking about the text and then 17 just chatting and discussing the culinary delights of this little city. He raved about the fresh fish portions at this bar, and how you can even ask for gazpacho (a chilled tomato soup) as your drink instead of a beer! I walked out of his office 20 minutes later, assured of a high grade and the exact location of Bar de Julio, clutching his homemade map in hand. It’s no McDonald’s, but I guess I’ll give it a try!

How am I going to leave this place?

I just bought my ticket home after putting it off for so long, probably because I didn’t want to accept the reality that I will one day leave Granada. It’s true that the past three months haven’t been my favorite here. But in these last couple of weeks I have come to see my time here in a new light. I no longer see my breath when I go outside; I’ve moved pisos and now live with three of the nicest girls you may ever meet; every day I become closer and closer with my Spanish friends here (and my Californian and international friends too); I walk out my building into the heart of downtown Granada, with the picturesque Alhambra in the background and the winding streets of the Albaicín just a stones-throw away. I’m actually interested in my classes; my Spanish improves daily; I’ve just bought plane tickets to hang out with friends in Switzerland and Sweden. I’m constantly having delicious homemade feasts with close friends; I visit my besties in slippers because they’re right next door; and Spanish wine is such that one-euro bottles still taste good.

Is this real life? 

The Albaicín and Alhambra with the Sierras in the background

Carerra de Darro, one of the prettiest walks of Granada (in my humble opinion), and two minutes from my piso

Plaza Nueva, right behind my building

(All photos from Google, thanks to some gilipollas dropping my camera)

Semana Santa

The week leading up to Easter in Spain is called Semana Santa, and is celebrated with elaborate religious processions every day throughout the city. Andalucia, and especially Sevilla and Granada, is the most famous part of Spain for this week, so I decided to stay put for my week off from school to soak up the culture (and avoid the spiked airline fees during this time). Here’s how I’ve been spending my free time:

My terrace has been encouraging a serious red-wine habit, as my friend Mauna and I have been spending several evenings sipping Mercadona’s finest while taking in the setting sun and/or rain. I freaked out the other day when I thought about returning to the U.S. without being able to enjoy an evening glass in such a serene setting, but then realize that I did in fact turn 21 here, and will in fact be living on the ocean next year…I’ll have to splurge a bit more than 99 cents on each bottle back home, though.

On Wednesday I visited my friend Javi in his hometown of Almuñécar, a city on the beach about an hour from Granada. I left my piso in the morning in the pouring rain, and arrived at the coast to pure sunshine and crisp Mediterranean water. Javi picked me up at the bus station on his moto, and it was the first time I’ve ever ridden a motorcycle/vespa/2-wheeled vehicle. Although I sort of thought I was going to fall off the whole time, I have to say it was a thrill, much to my parents horror, I’m sure. At the end of the day I actually convinced Javi to let me drive it. After he eventually consented, he showed me how to use it. I was just about to take it out when the whole thing started falling over, almost crushing me before Javi and his friend Luis came to my rescue. After that I decided it was best to keep it parked.

In Almuñécar we walked through the city, ate some great seafood tapas, had coffee on the ocean front, and met Luis in another café which serves board games along with drinks. I, the foreigner, won our game of Spanish Taboo (we’ll look over the fact that I got double the time each round). My time in Almuñécar was really relaxing and fun, and it was just another reminder of how much I’m loving my time abroad and the friends I’m meeting along the way.

The beach at Almuñécar

One Wednesday night I returned to Granada in time to see one of the most famous processions of the whole week, led by the Gypsies through the Sacromonte neighborhood. It was pretty impressive, with hundreds of musicians and hooded figures holding up massive sacred floats. It seemed like the whole city turned out to Sacromonte to see the procession. Being from the U.S., however, these processions are somewhat unsettling, because the participants dress up like this:

The first day that I saw children and adults parading in these outfits, I was seriously shocked, until I realized the KKK and Semana Santa are in no way affiliated. Still, every time I went outside and happened to cross paths with a small child dressed in a pointy hat, I was a little taken aback. 

A procession during Semana Santa

On Thursday one of my new roommates, Pitu, returned from the break along with her English boyfriend Alex and his parents. I hung out with all of them for hours, and they were all so generous. We sipped gin and tonics and discussed all sorts of things—I felt like a civilized British lady. I can already tell that I’m going to get along so well with Pitu—she’s incredibly welcoming and makes me feel right at home.

On Friday I headed off to Almeria (the province East of Granada) to stay with my friend Alina and her family for the weekend. When I pulled into the bus station Alina and her dad Jose were already waiting for me, and they brought me on a driving tour of the whole city, including beautiful views of the beach and Mediterranean. We then went to her house where her mom had lunch waiting, and in traditional Spanish style, we stuffed ourselves and spent hours and hours chatting. This is now the third family I’ve visited in Spain, and I don’t know what it is with this country, but each and every one has been absolutely amazing. They’ve all welcomed me in with open arms and cared for me as though I were one of their own. My time at Alina’s, however, felt different because my level of Spanish has notably improved from my other visits, so I could really understand, joke, and tell stories with the family.


The weekend was everything I wanted it to be—relaxing, relaxing, eating delicious food, spending time with such great people, and relaxing some more. Alina keeps telling me she feels like she was a bad hostess because we didn’t do much (which was my choice—I’ve forgotten I’m a homebody at heart) but I can’t tell her enough times that when you’ve been away from your own home for almost 8 months, simply being in one with such a wonderful family is all I wanted to do. I can go out to tapas, discotecas, and see all the old buildings I want to in Granada, but only on rare occasions am I so lucky to bask in such unimaginable hospitality and have real conversations with moms, dads, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles….you get the point. Plus, there’s nothing like spending two nights on a good quality mattress.

This week has been great, but now it’s back to the grind. Well, what little grind there is here in España!