Adventures in Germany. Quite literally.

It’s been quite awhile since I have taken the time to update this blog and I understand that, at least some of you, have been anxiously awaiting the latest installment. I’m sorry it has taken me so long and, in the future, I will try to update it more frequently. 

However, my lack of recent updates reminds me a bit of a quote from one of my favorite movies, Forgetting Sarah Marshall (albeit, I’ve substituted some words): “I was going to update my blog, but then, umm, I just carried on living my life.”

Now, I mean no disrespect to any of you by relating my situation to that quote, but if I don’t live my life, I have nothing interesting to write about, and by default, you have nothing interesting to read. It’s a lose-lose situation and if I just wrote something for the sake of writing something, it would be worse than my very first draft of my Fulbright Statement of Grant Purpose essay (which was so bad it made my fifth grade paper on Humpback Whales seem like Pulitzer Prize winning stuff.) 

Anyhow, recent life took me to Munich, Germany from October 29-November 1*. (I put the asterisk next to that date because it really ended up being November 2, but that’s a story for a little bit later on in the post.) We flew out of Valencia on Ryanair, one of the classiest European airlines. It’s like the Megabus of Europe. Our flight there was relatively decent with the exception of being an hour late. Our return flight, was non-existent, but, yet again, I’ll get to that later. We landed in Memmigen, Germany in an airport that is smaller than Tuttleman Hall on Temple’s Campus and took the bus to Munich.

After our bus ride to Munich and taxi to the hotel which included listening to a mash-up of intense German rap and the Pirates of the Caribbean theme song, we arrived at our hotel very hungry and took the front desk guy’s suggestion of eating at the Indian restaurant next door. However, as we walked into the restaurant, which was really more like walking into some rich kid’s tenth birthday party, we were informed that the restaurant had closed only a minute earlier. Luckily, the host was nice and said we could eat there anyway, but still gave us a ten minute lecture on being aware of opening and closing times at restaurants. We tried to eat as quickly as possible and get out of there, but our plan was thwarted when said host came up and asked us if we would like more rice. Already full and thinking we should just pay and leave so we could let him close once again, we said, “Thank you, but we think we’re good.” That was apparently the wrong answer as we were immediately greeted by a huff and “You know, if I keep this restaurant open for you, do NOT deny the rice.” Of course, such a situation would only happen to us. 

Hotel Kent: The beds were like sleeping on clouds.

The next morning included a nice ride on the Underground, getting lost on the Underground, switching trains, and finally ending up in the Marienplatz. The Marienplatz quite literally looks like it jumped out of the page of a book in a fairy tale. We ate in a little shop that provided the best croissant I have ever had and waited for our tour to Dachau Concentration Camp to begin. (I will not be writing about the experiences at Dachau in this post as it requires a post of its own. I strongly encourage you to read the next post for that documentation.) While waiting, we got to watch the Glockenspiel, which, quite unfortunately, lives up to its dubbing as the “second most overrated tourist attraction in Europe.” In fact, the tour guide’s parody of what happens in the Glockenspiel was better than the actual thing itself. The rest of the day was spent at Dachau, followed by a good German dinner of Kaiserspatzle with new friends and walking around the same city block for three miles. 

Oh, Good Morning, Marienplatz!

I believe Neima's reaction to this was "HOLY S---!"

Does this not look like it was taken out of a Fairy Tale?

Sadly overrated.

Full day two in Munich started late as we were a bit tired from the day before, but it was still just as eventful. After attempting to find a free bathroom in the city and stumbling upon a makeshift memorial to Michael Jackson, we took a free walking tour of the city. The tour guide was very enthusiastic and you could tell she loved what she did. I thought it was a compliment when one of my roommates told me that he could see me being just like her in a few years...living in Europe, teaching English, and being a crazy tour guide. But the commonalities between the tour guide, whose name is Diana, and myself don’t end there: it turns out she is not only from Philadelphia, but went to Temple and received a Fulbright as well (she stayed after her Fulbright year and is studying to get a German teaching degree, hence why she is there now.) Small world. Later that night, we went on a tour that taught us about the German Beer culture. We had a different tour guide, but were surprised to see Diana join us on that tour. 

Random Michael Jackson memorial.

More important than MJ, but less publicized historical memorial.
The history is long, but displays the people's disdain of the Third Reich.

Lions all over Munich!

Hofbaruhaus. Even my mother told me I "just have to go there."

Paulaner Biergarten.

The next day was a long one, which was made longer by our airport mishaps. We left our hotel early and with time to kill just meandered around the city. Neima went to a Starbucks to read while Brittni and I explored a bit and then sat in and looked around the Frauenkirsche, the church that was built by the Devil himself. Britt had a lot of questions about certain things people do in Catholic churches (since she is Protestant) and it was nice to see her find everything so interesting. Finally, we all met up at the Hauptbanhof and got on the bus to go home. 

Or so we thought....

We had to go back to Memmigen Airport, which is an hour and a half away from Munich. Our flight ended up being delayed four hours due to fog and then was ultimately cancelled. Now, I’ve never been on a flight that was cancelled and didn’t know what to do so I made a 6.50 euro phone call to my Dad, which in retrospect was a stupid idea since, being 6,000 miles away, he was unable to help me. (It’s okay though...Britt made an equally expensive phone call to her grandmother in South Dakota to arrive at the same conclusion.) Memmingen Airport kindly told us that if we would like to wait until the next flight, we would be guaranteed a spot on it. The only catch is that flights only fly into and out of that airport on Tuesdays and Saturdays. We then started calling friends in Spain and luckily our good friend, Lisa, was able to find us a flight to Alicante (a city south of Valencia) through Air Berlin at 6:00 am from the main airport back in Munich. We boarded the bus again which was another hour and a half ride to the Hauptbanhof, where we boarded a half-hour train that took us to the airport. After arriving at the airport at 2:15 am to find that the Air Berlin check-in desks were not yet open, we slept on chairs with the other stranded people from our original flight. Luckily, I woke up just as the check-in desk was opening at 4:00 and we were seamlessly able to get through check-in and security and then sit at our gate. I was so hungry that I relented and bought a 5.50 euro bottle of freshly squeezed kiwi juice knowing it was all I had eaten in close to over thirteen hours and all I would eat in God only knows how long. 

Air Berlin itself is a very nice airline. It provides you with free sandwiches, drinks, and magazines, and includes my favorite thing: assigned seats on flights. (I HATE fighting to get a good seat on Southwest and Ryanair.) Too bad Brittni and I were asleep the entire flight and did not enjoy any of these things. Luckily, Neima was nice enough to ask the flight attendant for some nice vegetarian sandwiches for us for later. The only time I wasn’t sleeping I vaguely remember groggily staring out the window down at the beautiful French Alps that were snowcapped and visible through the clouds. I stupidly didn’t even think to take a picture. 

After arriving in Alicante, we had to take another half-hour bus to the train station where we learned that the earliest trains and/or buses to Valencia were at 2:30 pm. It was only 10:08 am. Therefore, we did the only thing we could think of doing: sleeping at the train station. I’ve never felt so dirty in my life. Long story made shorter, we arrived at our apartment at 5:00 pm after over 24 hours. I’ve never been so happy to be home in my life. 

Looking back, I’m proud of myself for having only one moment of freaking out in which I called my Dad and then regrouping to get it together and get home. Looking back, it’s a good story to tell and a great life experience to have. It’s nice to be able to look back on it and laugh. After all, what else can we do?

I’ll be leaving Spain again next weekend (November 11-13) with Brittni and Lisa to go to Paris. We’re flying Ryanair again. Please just say  prayer or something that we don’t have any problems with our commutes. As fun as our German airport adventure was, I’d like to skip that same good time in France. 

Oh hey! An introduction!

I'm realizing that with starting this blog, subsequently deleting it, restarting it, and just diving into the meat and potatoes, I've so rudely forgotten to introduce myself. Granted, the only people reading this already know me, but it may just be a good idea to throw some fun facts out there for the world to know.

Here it goes:

• I’m a dork. You can take it or leave it.

• I love what I do, I believe in what I do, and I  have no problem saying it.

• I tell everyone not from Pennsylvania that I am from Philadelphia, which is partly true. I  was born and raised in Allentown but my whole family is from Philly and I have lived there for the better part of the past few years. 

• Just because I moved 5,000 miles away and want to see the world does NOT mean that I don’t love my family, as was suggested to me a few years ago upon expressing my desire to do this. Conversely, I love them and miss them very much and wish more than anything that we could all be together. But, I have to do what I have to do. As Mark Twain said, “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

• That being said, Spain has taught me to live by the British mantra of “Keep Calm and Carry On.” 

• And furthermore with that being said, I love Mark Twain with a passion. And Walt Disney. And The Beatles. 

• PGST 2006, PGST 2008, Temple, and Fulbright were four of the best things that have ever happened to me. 

• If you verbalize to me that your profession is not only better than mine, but more substantial, I will quietly think to myself that you’re probably wrong, but I will never tell you that out loud. Please don’t belittle my profession until you have managed to keep a room full of children who depend on you in a state of calm all day while educating them in ways that cater to their needs. Until then, watch me work.

• Fun dorky fact: I could talk educational theory and my educational philosophy for hours.

• I’m proud to say that I am incredibly well read. 

• I love to run and play sports. 

• I’m quiet and shy until you get to know me. Once you do, I’m fun. I’m funny. And, damn it, I know it.

• During my Fulbright year, my friends and I have plans to see Spain (check), Germany, France, Ireland, England, Italy, and possibly Greece.  

• I really dislike milk. I always have. Here in Spain, my disdain is even more so because they fail to refrigerate their milk in the grocery store.

• I could eat hummus and Mexican food all day everyday.

• I know two languages almost fluently and can get by in a conversation in three more. 

• If you bring me Peanut Butter and Nutella, I will love you forever.

• I’m vegetarian and proud of it. Unfortunately, living in Spain I have had to cheat twice, but there were no other options. 

• I WILL hit every continent in my lifetime except Antarctica. I don’t know where or when yet, but I will. I only have five more to go!

• I get obnoxiously excited over looking out the window on an airplane, Harry Potter, museums, good books, and a fun day at work. 

• I love Disney movies and music and living in Spain has shown me how much I miss Disney World. 

• I have no interest in owning a house. I really never have. Give me a large apartment in a city and a metro pass any day and I’d be a happy girl. 

• I don’t know if I really want to have children, and if I do, at least one will be adopted.

• My two favorite places in the world are Kelly Drive down near Boathouse Row in Philly and near the fountains and Palau de Musica in the Rio Turia in Valencia, Spain. 

• I’m obsessed with anything pumpkin-flavored. I recently heard that The Cheesecake Factory has pumpkin-flavored cheesecake and that my friends back home ate it. I silently sat in jealousy for awhile over here then. 

• I’m living the dream and thank God every day for it.

And that's about it. Do what you want with this info, but at least now you know more about who I am. 

Abrazos y besos.

Poco a poco.

I did something stupid last Saturday.

Check that. I did something totally worth it but culminating the experience may have been a little more, shall we say, painful, than I thought it would be.

My adventure on October 8 began when I was in search of Artesania Yuste, a small store run by a Spaniards that creates the art one sees while strolling the streets of Valencia. The shop has been in existence for awhile and has art for sale from many, many different centuries so, naturally, I thought it would be worth a looksee. So on this splendid and, well, yet again sunny Saturday, I found myself walking to the Plaza de la Reina to find said store. Going off the directions I had, I was to search for the archway before the McDonalds, walk through it, and the store would be located in a little plaza, Plaza de Miracle de Mercadonet) off the main one. Well, after searching all around the McDonalds (which I’m sorry to say did not look anything remotely like the grandiose McDonalds on Gran Via in Madrid and instead more like the McDonalds across from South of the Border in South Carolina), I realized that the archway is in fact a block South of the McDonalds, right in between the Reina Sofia Souvenir Store and the Ice Cream place that’s most popular flavor is “Donut.” (Note: I’m highly embarrassed that this paragraph mentioned McDonalds five times. Oops...make it six now. I swear on my life that I DO NOT eat there. No really, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t.) The archway turned out to be more like a long tunnel, and did take me into Plaza de Miracle de Mercadonet which was literally no bigger than the area of my parents’ house. I was so excited to have made it there only to realize that the store closes at 2:00. It was 2:02. 

Donut Ice Cream.

But why allow that little let down to ruin my day? With a whole myriad of things to do in the Plaza de la Reina, I turned my attention to the nearby Cathedral of Valencia which IS conveniently situated right next to the McDonalds. (Count now up to seven.) I meandered in, right past the incredibly large tour group of people from Asia, and walked up to the desk where I planned on shelling out 4.50 euros for a tour where I could check out the church...complete with earphones and bilingual digital guide! However, as I was explaining, in Spanish, that I would like to go on the tour, the overly enthusiastic receptionist misheard me and thought I wanted to tour the tower of the cathedral and directed me across the church where I was greeted by her less than happy co-worker who demanded I hand over two euros. “Why not?” I thought, “I have no idea what’s going to happen at the top of this tower, but sure. Let’s do this.” 

The infamous tower.

Giddily, and stupidly, I walked towards another archway that led to the tower entrance and saw the lovely staircase that would lead me to the top of the church. I climbed it. I got up there. I was a bit startled when the bell rang, but whatever, the steps were big and I wasn’t going to fall. Then, as I started climbing higher and higher, the steps started getting smaller and smaller. “That’s okay,” I thought, “I’m almost to the top.” Finally, I reached the summit where I was pleasantly surprised by this:

I could see the WHOLE city. Everything was visible and the views were beautiful. I stayed up there and took it all in for a good fifteen minutes, getting my two euros worth. 

And then comes the stupid part: I realized I had to get down, and the only way down was on these: 

Dreaded stairs built circa 1238. Clearly the best time I've ever had in my life.

So we meet again. 

As I was standing at the top of them, I recalled a comment my mother made while we were on a lifeboat drill on a cruise last summer. The lovely cruise staff was explaining that in the event the boat sinks and we cannot make it to our lifeboats in time, we are to find an edge of the boat and simply just act as though we are walking off the boat until we safely make it into the water (while wearing a life jacket, of course). My mother, being both afraid of heights and unable to swim very well (which is the reason my sister and I were on a swim team for years), told us that if that happened, my sister and I were to be right behind her and push her off the boat. Well, same story, different situation: Maybe I should just turn around and find someone to kindly push me off the top of the tower safely to the ground below. 

No such luck. As I stated before, the stairs were smaller towards the top. Moreover, they were made completely of concrete and were a bit wet, guaranteeing me a nice bloody mess should I fall. I gripped that handle tightly and started me descent. 

I don’t know if any of you have ever walked down spiral, concrete staircases in Cathedrals that were built in, oh I don’t know, 1238, but it is not a fun experience. And naturally, as I was going down, it seemed everyone else wanted to come up. Too bad. I was not letting go of that railing. Furthermore, I had half a mind to turn around and tell the two overweight men bounding down the steps behind me that 1) Yes, I understand English so I know that you’re cursing me under your breath for walking so slow, and 2) Do not touch me again to try and get me to move faster. That plan was thwarted when I realized that turning around to angrily deal with two frustrated, rotund men who were in their mid-forties and walking significantly faster than me on extremely thin stairs would only cause my impending death by spiral staircase to come a bit sooner than I initially thought. I resorted to simply wonder why they didn’t  just walk around me. 

I’m proud to say, while I almost slipped once, I made it down relatively safely, yet with a little less piece of mind. I’ve never been so happy to see solid ground. My legs were shaking for hours afterwards. 

Our more recent adventures have not involved nine stories of spiral staircases. Instead, they’ve involved the usual: teaching children that no, American Pie is not a real representation of American high schools and neither is Glee for that matter, wondering why nobody in Spain eats anything remotely similar to pumpkins (especially when I know for a fact that friends back home indulged in a pumpkin cheesecake the other night), carefully calculating every step on the streets since Spaniards don’t understand that both people are supposed to move to the right when walking towards each other, learning how to stay energized while working twelve to fourteen hour days and working out upon arriving home, and handling simple differences in opinions with some people. I've also been hanging around the lovely Rio Turia more often as seen here:

 And in two weekends, on October 29, our adventures will include navigating RyanAir, surviving in Munich, Germany, a country where the only vocabulary I know is a few school objects, body parts, how to count to ten, and say Happy Birthday! And the worst part? Only packing enough to fit in a backpack since checking a bag on RyanAir will cost more than the return flight. 

Should be a good time, but suffice to say, if anything that remotely resembles a steep, spiral staircase built in 1238 is involved, I will be the one staying on the ground who obnoxiously waves up at my counterparts above.

Vida.

"If only I had more time, I'd take you where you wanted to go. Spain isn't the same without you here. If only I had one wish, I'd want a million trillion lifetimes that I could spend with you...Fall in love with you again and again." -The Ataris, Looking Back on Today


To everyone who is home....this post is for you. 


Solamente fotos para esta noticia porque un foto vale mil palabras y yo no tengo las palabras corecta en esa instancia.

Mi calle- Calle de Finlandia (Finland Street)

Mi vecendario en el rio Turia.

Plaza de la Virgen...la es muy bonita.

Mi foto favorito del mundo <3

Hola Joaquin Sorolla

Hola estatua del hombre con parajos.

Plaza de la Reina. 

El rey león.

La catedral de Valencia.

Torre de las campanas.

Plaza de la Reina una otra vez.

Mi calle.

"These walls are not meant to shut out problems. You have to face them. You have to live the life you were born to live."

Blessed

“Blessed are those that can give without remembering and receive without forgetting.” - Unknown

There are times that I feel so incredibly selfish for not just being in Spain, but LIVING in Spain and getting to experience the opportunities that have been presented before me. I have meant many sleepless hours, especially in the first few days here when I was in Madrid, pondering why I have been selected to partake in this opportunity versus the hundreds upon thousands of others that applied for this grant. I’m positive that they are just as qualified, if not more qualified than I am, and would relish this opportunity and love it just as much, if not more. 

So why me?

To be honest, I will never know for sure. Maybe I will never understand the reasons why I am here and am completely floored and honored that I was selected. I am so humbled by this opportunity and feel so undeserving. I cannot put into words or even come close to expressing the unending gratitude that I have for all of my mentors, friends, family, and supporters that made all of this possible. I am truly and unequivocally humbled.  

I don’t understand why, but it has never been easy for me to accept compliments or that I am good at something. In fact, I was talking to my friend Abhishek in Pittsburgh earlier today and he put it best: “Fish, you SUCK at taking compliments.” Please understand it is not that I don’t appreciate the sentiments; it is that I don’t see them in myself. And, thankfully, as I’m living here and starting to gain more confidence in myself, I am starting to see the talents with which I have been blessed. It is a trying process and I will always remain humble, but it’s about time I started accepting myself for who I am.

So maybe that’s why I am here. Maybe this was supposed to be more self-exploratory than academic. Maybe I needed to be thrown completely out of my comfort zone in order to prove to myself that I can survive. Or maybe, for what feels like the first time ever, I’ve started actually living my life as it was meant to be. I don’t know and this early blog post perhaps isn’t the time to have all of the answers...and for once, I am content not having an immediate answer. 

The point of this blog is based on the title and comes truly and completely out of my humility. I am very blessed and have been blessed in infinite and what feels like undeserving ways throughout my life. Part of what opened my eyes to how blessed I truly am is my student teaching cooperating teacher, Mrs. F.  Mrs. F was one of the most incredible people I have ever met in my life. She and my mother would be best friends. They have the same outlook on everything. Mrs. F would constantly tell her students how blessed they were- whether someone brought them a treat, gave them new dictionaries, or just for having the chance to go to a a great Philadelphia public school. Her actions showed me, and taught me, that the simplest of things in life are blessings and that just waking up in the morning is a blessing. I keep that in mind every day, especially now.

Being blessed has also helped some of my craziest dreams come true- even some that I never thought existed. I went to my first European soccer game yesterday and while I would have been content to see a simple game that didn’t really count for anything, my friends and I were able to snag some tickets to a UEFA Champions League game- Valencia vs. Chelsea. Now, those of you who know anything about my family know that we are huge soccer fans and always will be. We are such big fans, we probably reside on the wrong continent. To be able to experience a real European game, let alone one of this magnitude between two of the best teams in the world, is mind-blowing to me. I made sure to take lots of pictures and video for my friends and family and have posted some below. I even got to fulfill one of my sister’s dreams and saw Fernando Torres (her favorite) in person. (By the way, it was a GREAT game- Valencia and Chelsea tied 1-1.) 

Furthermore, my roommates and I just booked out flights for a long weekend in Munich, Germany at the end of October. As I’m writing this and thinking about it, I can’t even imagine that it is real and actually happening. Everything is so surreal right now, it’s ridiculous. 

And even more, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE MY JOB. I love it to the point where I will probably get certified as an ESL teacher in the States upon returning, whenever that may be.

I am making new friends, enjoying the language, work with incredible and pleasant people. Who could ask for more?

Blessed. 

I do feel a bit guilty that these opportunities have been presented to me, but I feel as though I would be disrespecting my friends and family, if I didn’t take full advantage of them, especially my good friend Angel who has been so influential in my life despite only knowing her for a year. Angel recently joined the Sisters of Life convent in the Bronx and, despite the fact that the convent has severely restricted her internet usage (to practically none) and does not allow her to email or use a cell phone and only send three to five letters a month, she was kind enough to purchase some airmail stamps so we can be pen pals. She wanted this for me almost as much as my mother wanted this for me and I know she would want me to take full advantage. I know everyone would. And just thinking about it overwhelms and humbles me- because my parents raised me right.

Who knows? Maybe all these blessings, which even show up through the times of tribulation, are all part of a bigger scheme to help me prove my worth to myself so that I can finally reach a point of being comfortable in my own skin and give to others in return.

And I wish the same for all of you.

Assimilation and Immersion.

“Times change. We need to change as well.” - Matt Damon, as Francois Peinaar in Invictus

It’s a funny thing, living in a land where you know you don’t belong. Well, let me revise that last statement to where you technically don’t belong as per immigration laws, travel restrictions, etc. Every day is merely a tactic in attempting to survive: waking up on time, navigating intricate metro systems, successfully navigating the metro system and having a brief moment of clarity to only realize you now have to navigate the even more complex street patterns, going to work where, even though everyone is so welcoming and nice, you feel ridiculous because you can barely communicate with them, go home, find things to do in your spare time, go to bed, and do it all over again the next day.

Monotony.

And it was in a moment of that monotony, where my roommates and I were sitting and watching some more good ol’ American cinema (Zoolander, to be precise), that it dawned on us: We don’t want to survive here. We want to live here. The times, locations, and virtually everything about our lives have changed. Therefore, like Matt Damon so eloquently stated in my favorite movie (see quote above), we need to get out there and stop resisting the change. 

So now we’ve switched it up a bit.

With our jobs underway, our side jobs sort of underway, and our plans fresh in our minds, we set out by foot and meandered all the way across the Puente (Bridge) de Aragon, which is literally right around the corner from our house, made a left, made another left, and ended up at our shining beacon of light: Portland.

We were on a mission to do something we have found somewhat difficult here thus far: make friends. Granted, we’ve only been here for two and a half weeks, but we want to live here, not survive here, remember? And much to our surprise, something strange happened: we were greeted like heroes there. An employee I will refer to as Jason greeted us and said, “Americans? Alright!!!” as though he had won the lottery (it turns out he is from California and his Spanish uncle is a co-owner of the place). Then he proceeded to introduce us to the main owner Matt*, and his friends, Stacey* and Tom*, all Americans. Matt, Stacey, and Tom were the most hospitable and pleasant people I have met in Valencia yet, with the exception of my co-workers. They immediately began asking us questions about how we were doing, where we were shopping, and told us that we were now part of the Portland family and if we need anything to go to them. Then, they did the best thing that anyone in Spain has done for us thus far: they helped us make friends.

You see, our intentions for going to Portland were not that innocent: in addition to making friends, we want to practice our Spanish so that we can become better to get past the whole survival state of mind. Portland offers something called an inter-cambio, which is essentially a language exchange. Basically, you show up, hang out, and talk to people that the owners so kindly set you up with all night. It’s like speed-dating without being remotely interested in anyone to whom you are talking. But there’s a catch: on Tuesdays, you can only speak in English and on Thursdays, you can only speak in Spanish. 

Being that there are not many native English speakers in Valencia, my roommates, our friend, and I were hot commodities. We were swarmed by people just like Fernando Torres was earlier that day as he was walking into Mestalla for training. So many Spanish people wanted to talk to us about the United States IN ENGLISH, which was funny because we wanted to talk about Spain IN SPANISH (unfortunately, we didn’t realize it was Tuesday until we got there and will be making a return trip tomorrow). And, to put the cherry on the sundae, because we are native English speakers, we get a free meal for hosting a group. Free food, new friends, and practicing speaking? Not to shabby, considering what we could have been doing that night. 

But as always, despite the good times, a little old friend called Reality hit us over the head: These people are GOOD at English. Really good. They say they come to practice, but they must come a lot. In turn, that makes me so nervous for tomorrow when it is all Spanish.....will we be able to keep up?

According to my new friends Chris* and Alfred*, yes. Very much so. We spoke a little bit of Spanish just for giggles last night and they helped me out a lot. Then they offered some real advice: You feel like you’re not good at Spanish? You’re better than you think. You just need to practice more. So, you’re nervous people will think you’re a blabbering idiot when talking Spanish? Don’t worry about it. That’s why you’re here. That’s why they’re here. This is how it goes. No, we may not have parents who were bilingual, we may not have lived in a completely Spanish-speaking country before, and we may really miss American peanut butter, but that doesn’t make us stupid when it comes to speaking Spanish. It makes us human, and that being said, humans from America who were never taught the vosotros tense extensively in school and learned more Mexican and Venezuelan dialect vocabulary than proper Spanish.

And it’s going to be okay, because we have your back. 

We’re going to live here just fine.

Now that I feel better about myself, let’s have “Sara in Spain” time. (Do you hear me @zannybato and @abhishek? This is the part where I tell stories.) Here’s a few of this week’s adventures:

• Spain may be it’s own place with it’s own people, customs, and things to do, but it never dawned on me that there is only one Hollywood. I’m teaching fifth and sixth grade independently now and in a moment of spare time, we were talking about futbol. Then the students started asking me if I knew of anyone celebrities “from movies and stuff.” Thinking they meant Spanish celebrities, I meagerly mentioned Antonion Banderas. I was quickly shown up by my sixth graders: “Oh, Antonio Banderas? So you don’t know who Andy Samberg from SNL is?” Whoa...hold it right there compadres. If there will be anyone talking about Andy Samberg, it will be this girl and ONLY this girl (points at self). Besides, you don’t even get SNL in Spain.

• Andy Samberg aside, I also made the mistake of thinking all Starbucks were created equal. Boy, was I wrong. I was so looking forward to a nice Pumpkin Spice Lattes at one of Valencia’s three (yes, I know, ONLY three) Starbucks locations. (Crazy since there are three in a block in New York....but, as usual, I digress.) I walk in and don’t see it on the menu exactly but there was a sign that advertised the “sabores de otono (flavors of Fall).” Intrigued, I asked the man “tienes lattes de calabaza?” Oh, lo siento, peru, no. Then, according to my friend Lisa, I apparently made the saddest face ever, prompting the employee to giggle. Nevertheless, my caramel macchiato was decent. 

• I teach four year olds who only speak Valenciano. They don’t speak Spanish. They ONLY speak Valenciano. That’s a time and a half every Tuesday morning. Good thing we sing songs about the weather the whole time because I doubt “Bon dia,” “Com voste?” and “Mol bet” are enough to get me by. Perhaps I should start looking for a Valenciano inter-cambio too...

• I went to the largest aquarium in Europe, L’Oceanografic, on Saturday. I remember watching a show about it maybe seven years ago and then, on my mom’s birthday, I went there. #blessed. But if you want a true analysis, the dolphin show at Sea World is better, which is saying something because the dolphin show at Sea World should really be “the bird show with dolphins and a random whale thrown in.” However, the very, very, very, VERY large shark tank was pretty nice. 

• One of my roommates works in a lab right next to the “Thank you for visiting Valencia! We hope you enjoyed your stay!” sign near the Northern edge of the city. I should reiterate again that we live right next to Mestalla, the stadium, and it is unavoidable to walk by there when getting from point A to point B. As he was walking home, he took the usual route and noticed a large group of people congregating around the entrance of the stadium. Well, curiosity killed the cat, and he joined the masses. Then John Terry walked off a bus. Then Didier Drogba. Then Juan Mata. Okay, so by this point he realized it was Chelsea FC’s bus. Then Fernando Torres walks off. Anyone who knows anything about my sister knows that she is enamored with Mr. Torres, so naturally, he snapped a picture. He then comes barging into our apartment to tell me he had a gift for Lauren. That gift was the picture posted below, which has been circulating all internet circuits for almost twenty-four hours now. Lauren, you better send a nice Thank You note. Moreover, the Chelsea-Valencia game is tonight. We have tickets. One thing to cross off the bucket list. Maybe I should email pictures from this game to the Temple University press so that they can document what they dubbed as my “pilgrimage of the stadiums of Spain’s iconic clubs.” Sorry, Temple, but this is so much better than that. #sosososoveryblessed.

As I sit here writing this, I’m looking across the street, where the man who lives in the apartment directly across from us is yet again staring into our apartment as he sits on his couch, shirtless, watching television. He does this all day, every day, If you come visit, be prepared.

In the meantime, check out these pictures!