Visca el Barça

I can’t even begin to recap everything we did in Barcelona. Every day was literally full of so much activity, so many sights, and such excitement that it’s all kind of a blur in my mind. Fortunately, I had already experienced the shell-shock that accompanies your first visit to Barcelona two years ago, so I was able to take a step back this time and really appreciate things. I could listen to the tour guide explain the concepts of Gaudí’s Casa Batlló. I could sit and appreciate Picasso’s interpretation of Las Meninas. I got over the ultra-touristy La Rambla after our first day. Unlike my first trip, I could tuck facts and info away in the pre-existing Barça compartments of my mind and actually comprehend what was going on around me.

That said, one thing that will never lose its powers of humbling even the most cultured men is the Sagrada Familia. The outside, while a little more complete than last time, still looks like Gaudí gathered up everything he had ever thought about, swallowed it, and then threw it up in the form of a building. The mixture of Gothic towers with arab tile work and mocárabe arches literally make it look like a child’s drippy castle. To me it’s fantastic. But the real treasure lies inside. Upon first walking in the door – as much this time as the last – I was immediately struck with awe. Designed by Gaudí to resemble a forest of stone, your eyes are immediately drawn up the central nave to what literally appears to be a canopy of rock. Light pours in through a mixture of translucent and stained glass windows, filtering ever so gently through the forest of columns, making it feel as though you are walking through the woods. The colors, the shapes, then angles, the light, everything is just so much more continuous and precise than Gaudí’s other works. I don’t think I could ever fall out of love with the Sagrada Familia.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In terms of night life, everything they say in Barcelona is true. The city is bumping twenty-four seven. The first night, we were all still a little too exhausted from Salmonella Salamanca to go out, but the next night we managed to find our way pretty well, although nothing really seemed to pan out. Given the shear amount of foreigners and students in Barcelona, we were almost from the start pointed in the direction of La Ovella Negra (The Black Sheep), a bar where young people from all over congregate. The first time we went, the four girls in front of us in line were being incredibly annoying. They barely spoke Catalán, Spanish, or English, and whenever the guy opened the door they would try to slip in, despite being blocked out every time. Eventually, the bouncer just closed the door and said “We’re closed. Go away.” The next night however, we made it in without a hitch. Inside, the Black Sheep is lined with long, Harry Potter style wooden tables, and you can buy what looks like the kind of jug a lemonade stand would have full of beer or sangria. Needless to say it was a rowdy place. Most of the the clubs, however, are down by the beach, so eventually we made our way down to Opium – supposedly one of the best clubs in Madrid. But they wouldn’t let us in. The bouncer said you had to be 23, but I’m sure after 2 or so they only let in Barcelona’s finest. Given our restricted luggage space, we didn’t exactly look the part. Instead, we went next door to the reject club, where no one seemed to be dancing at all, and it closed an hour later. Despite all of that, it was still a good time, especially taking a quick dip in the Med and getting caught in the downpour on the way home.
I love Barcelona. It’s a modern, hip, and energetic city. The nightlife is amazing, the sights are amazing, and the food puts Madrid to shame (a nod to the Mediterranean restaurant complete with hummus, felafel, veal, lamb, and hookah). It’s no wonder Barcelona is consistently one of the top places to visit in Europe. But with everything in mind, I would leave it at that: a place to visit. The city itself is overrun with tourists and no matter how hard you try to speak castellano, most people will just talk to you in English. Fittingly, most of the attractions are touristy in nature, and there didn’t seem to be much to do besides site-see and party. In my opinion, living or studying there would get old fast. Madrid, however, exhibits much more of the Spanish culture – something that has almost been wiped away by Barcelona’s industrial boom. If you get bored, you can always take a quick jaunt down to Retiro to relax or Juan Carlos I to take advantage of the free bike rentals. While Sol is pretty touristy, the streets of La Latina, Malasaña, or Huertas are so typically Madrid that you’ll forget Sol even exists. All in all, Madrid is just seems more real, like a place where people actually live, not just a destination. When we got back from the airport, and I walked up the stairs of Francos Rodríguez, I felt as though I were coming home. While Barcelona was amazing, I’m glad to be back in Madrid…at least until I leave for Berlin tomorrow.

¡Hace Gazpacho!: Our Conquest of Salamanca (Or Viceversa)

Well, Salamanca was really something else. The city itself is absolutely beautiful. Home to the fourth oldest university in the world, Salamanca continues to have the feel of a typical college town. During the academic year, the streets are full of young people causing all kinds of ruckus. For example, that weekend also happened to be a weekend of intense hazing for the new college students. Apparently, hazing is a huge tradition in Spanish universities. A few weeks ago here in Madrid, all of the older students lined the freshmen up on a subway platform and just absolutely hosed them with all kinds of condiments, then marched them through the streets, making them drink and perform all kinds of ridiculous tasks. One kid was shoved into an overhead cabinet for like 6 hours or something. And it’s not  just guys either. Literally every new student gets hazed. In Salamanca, we saw all kinds of people wandering the streets in different costumes, from guys in German wench costumes to guys in penis costumes (this may have been something else entirely, but it makes sense that it was hazing right?)

That’s a bold move, Cotton.

But at night was when everything really went down. The upperclassmen (marked with a permanent marker “v” for veterano) literally had free reign to make the freshmen do whatever they wanted: unhealthy amounts of forced drinking, embarrassing tasks – you name it they probably had to do it. And Furman thinks they have hazing problems. It’s so bizarre to think that this is pretty much accepted as the thing to do when scavenger hunts are considered hazing at good old FU. Here’s to the bubble!

Anyway, the nightlife in Salamanca is crazy. What it lacks in big, glamourous night clubs it more than makes up for in atmosphere. Think somewhere along the lines of bars in Athens (Georgia, naturally). Every college student is out in the streets with barely room to squeeze through. Bars sell 80 centavo beers and bump music all night. It was so much fun.

Yet Salamanca’s historical roots provides an interesting architectural contrast to the university life. For me, it was very reminiscent of Oxford, England but with a good bit more pizzaz. Centered around the main Romantic/Gothic cathedral (half was built in the Romantic style, half later in Gothic style) the town is full of impressive old buildings and plazas, from the Duchess of Alba’s swanky palace (in which she still lives) to Casa de los Muertos, where legend holds that a jealous man secretly murdered every last one of his unfaithful wife’s lovers. The main cathedral, however, is definitely the biggest attraction due to its age, the mix of architectural styles, and the astronaut carved into its facade during the renovation after the earthquake in Lisboa. All in all it was an incredibly fascinating place, but I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat desensitized to things like this. We seen so many old things, so many churches, and so many views in the past month that it’s all turning into one big blur. I probably couldn’t pick out the cathedral of Salamanca from the cathedral of Toledo from the cathedral of Santiago from the gazillion other churches we’ve seen. It will be nice to get to Barcelona, where we have much more free time that touring.

But I think Salamanca could sense our indifference. We failed to show the city the love it deserved, and it didn’t let us leave without paying the price. First, on Saturday night three of the girls got their jackets stolen from a bar (which contained a variety of things from cell phones to wallets). Then, almost simultaneously, all but four of us fell violently ill with food poisoning Sunday night. It was one of the worst nights of my life. I woke up almost every hour on the hour to purge myself of whatever food had poisoned me in whatever manner my body deemed fit. And I had one of the milder cases. On Monday the only people that went to class were the four that didn’t get sick. Today, only eight of us were there. Hopefully everyone will be better for Barcelona tomorrow. It would be a shame to miss out on that one.

All in all, I’m sure Salamanca is an amazing place, but after Sunday night/Monday morning, it will take a lot to get me to go back! Fortunately, I did take a decent amount of photos to look back on once my stomach is ready to bury the hatchet.

Time Flies: Short Stories – My Adventures in Brief

First off, I would like to apologize for the tardiness of this post. We’ve been so incredibly busy the past week or so that every time I’ve sat down to write my brain just gave up. But wait no longer, for the gringo is back. I believe the last tale I spun for y’all was of our adventure to Moralzarzol, so I will do my best to recap the time that has lapsed since then. Gentlemen, start your engines.

The past couple of weeks seemed relatively tame compared to what we’ve been doing (and the things that have happened to us), but it was still jam packed. Last Wednesday (September 26) I went to the Reina Sofia, Madrid’s modern art museum. What an interesting/terrifying place! I think we accidentally started in the most modern – and thus most avant garde – section of the museum. The first thing I saw was a three minute video of a woman standing naked by a river, pouring blood all over herself, and rolling in feathers for about two minutes. Further into the room was an exhibit of some kind of tropical island, complete with shanties and parrots (yes, live parrots). The next room was cordoned off by a thick black curtain, but on the other side of the cloth was what appeared to be a rave from hell. Bright, colored lights were flashing in no apparent pattern and a pair of large speakers was playing what sounded like a cross between Sigur Ros, The Mars Volta, and every terrifying sound from every nightmare you’ve ever had in your life. I don’t even know if there were any paintings of boxes or incomprehensible sculptures inside. I didn’t linger. The rest of the museum, however, was pretty cool. We say a few things Picasso things (including his famous Guernica) and a bunch of Guerra Civíl era art. There was also a bunch of Dalí’s works, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t wrap my head around modern art.

After that, I was fortunate enough to be able to attend a concert of the National Youth Orchestra (Joven Orquestra Nacional de España). The musicians were absolutely amazing, and most of them probably younger than me. There was also a percussion soloist (Juanjo Guillem, who is apparently pretty famous) that did a Marimba piece that was very cool. He also conducted a piece. Well, I thought he was going to conduct a piece. In the end, it turned out he was doing an interpretive dance on the podium – sans music. It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen. Most of the audience was cracking up, but i was dying. He just look so silly.

Over the weekend we took a day trip to Ávila, which sucked. It was super cold and rained almost the entire time, and pretty much the only things to see there were an old church and a wall). I have seen SO many old churches since I have been here that I honestly can’t tell them apart anymore. The wall actually was pretty cool though. It’s apparently the oldest, best-preserved wall of it’s type and it extends all the way around the city.

But the highlight of the weekend – without a doubt – was the corrida de los toros. As if we didn’t get enough bull-related violence last weekend, we decided we had to go to a bullfight. The season ends in October, and if I came to Spain without seeing a bullfight I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. The fights themselves are held in this big, mudéjar-style plaza, and we somehow managed to get great seats (second row, right where most of the action took place). My madre told me beforehand that I had to look through the violence and see the art in the fight, the juxtaposition of the power and size of the bull against the grace and agility of the torero. I thought nothing of it, but as it turns out, they’re pretty gruesome.

The fight begins with all of the toreros and their cuadrillas (basically a posse) marching out in a nice little parade. Then the madness starts. The first bull they release is usually the smallest and one of the less-fierce. The torero  and his cuadrillo go out and do the little cape thing at the bull. It seems unfair to have all of them out at the same time, but they only do this to study the bull’s movements and tendencies. Then, the picador comes out mounted on a horse covered in padding. Eventually, the bull charges the horse, hitting it in the flank head on. When it does this, the picador thrusts a giant spear into the muscles behind the bull’s neck. It was by far one of the more unsettling parts, because it happens three or four times. Apparently, from this the torero can tell which side the bull prefers to charge on, and it makes the bull keep its head lower when charging – a must for the kill shot. Then the banderilleros come out and get the bull to charge them. When it does, they jump out of the way and stick these two mini-spears into their back. This supposedly wears the bull down, but also pisses it off at the same time. Finally, after a little more teasing, it’s time for the main event: the torero. He generally comes out with much ado, and then does some cape work with the bull. The measure of a good torero is how close he can get the bull to him while it’s charging. One torero actually had the flank brush up against him, leaving a smear of blood across his costume thing. After a while, it’s time for the kill shot. The torero lines up the bull – usually while mumbling something about a good fight – and runs at it, thrusting his sword between the bull’s shoulder blades before it can gore him. The goal is to pierce the heart or spinal cord of the bull, causing an immediate death. This is usually pretty rare, however, and one of the cuadrilla usually has to finish the bull of with a dagger. As you can imagine, the whole spectacle involves a lot of blood. Then they repeat it five more times (each torero fights two bulls). All in all it is quite a show. The grace and nerve of the toreros is beyond impressive, and the age-old battle between man and beast is a sight to see. Once you get used to the violence of the first couple of fights, it’s really something to realize you’re taking part in a tradition older than the United States itself. And sometimes it can be really exciting. The best torero, hit his second bull dead on. The bull dropped immediately to the ground, but not before its horns found purchase in the torero‘s armpit. For a split second I thought he was dead, but he eventually stood up and walked out of the ring himself. It was intense.

This week, not much has happened, but I’m about to leave to go to the Reina Sofia again with class. Hopefully it will be pretty interesting with a guide.