"Pagatto duo notti, Angela"

For those of you who don't know, Italy is this mystical, charming country where everything is magical and there are unicorns and rainbows of gelato and pots of golden pasta... but sans the leprechauns because leprechauns are a bit creepy. Spending a weekend there has had me scheming on how soon I can get back ever since.

To start the adventure, Aaron, Ashley, Mike and I flew into Pisa and rented a car that I once again piloted. (sidenote- That makes three countries now- Spain, Portugal and Italy!) We drove around for a while trying to find the Leaning Tower of Pisa with our free rental car map that only had about 1/4 of the city's streets actually marked. Incidentally, during that search we accidentally found Galileo's birth home:
Question: How rad is Italy that you are driving around trying to find the Leaning Tower of Pisa and then you stumble upon Galileo's house? Answer: Pretty rad. Shortly thereafter we found the leaning tower and took a series of leaning photos. We also read up on the information about the tower and due to a series of complications and century-long breaks in construction, it turns out that they just built it that way. Those Italians...
Tourists lending a hand to help hold up the tower:
After the photo shoot we ate the most delicious pizza on the planet and then ditched Pisa for a drive through the Tuscan countryside:Our destination was the Cinque Terre, a spot on the Mediterranean where there are five little fishing villages with trails linking them. This was us on the side of the road above the first village:
We decided to visit the first two villages by car and then stay in the third village and hike around to the fourth and fifth the following day. That turned out to be the best decision ever. Here are some pictures of our village, Corniglia: When we got to Corniglia we met the village's mob boss, Angela, a 70-something year old lady who spoke only Italian, but was essential in finding us an apartment with a rooftop terrace. We mainly tried to communicate through Spanish with Italian intonation and the few Italian words we knew (mangiare, ciao, bella, arrivederci, pesto, formaggio etc.,) but really we just sounded ridiculous. Fortunately money is the universal language, so just enough communication happened for us to move in for two nights. Much to our delight, she paused to go buy a take-out foccacia pizza during our proceedings, saying something that we patched together as, "I'ma hungry, I'ma gonna eata pizza now." After we paid, she wrote a homemade receipt in Aaron's little notebook that said, "Pagatto duo notti, Angela." (Paid two nights, Angela) That wasn't the only thing that led us to believe that perhaps we were doing something off the books- She had us park the car at her own house and when we moved out two days later, she told us that if the police asked us where we stayed, not to tell them we stayed at her spot. And just like that, Angela reached legendary status in our minds.

Our apartment was on the third floor of the building to the left of the yellow building in this picture:The four of us on our terrace:Haha... Fanny Bazaar in Corniglia:
Photos from the hike:
Victory at the end of the hike:After two splendid days in the Cinque Terre we headed to Florence to visit the city for a day and then spend the evening with Mike's friend, Irene, at her birthday barbecue. Irene's house was lovely, located outside the city and you could even see a giant stone church atop one of the hills nearby. The people were friendly and the food was great. This was easily the best trip that any of us had ever been on.

Here's a shot of the famous church in Florence:
In short, Italy is magnificent. I can't believe it's taken me this long to get there, but I can say without a doubt that it will be significantly less time before I am back.

Crepes and sexual harrassment

I went to Paris this weekend to visit an old friend who relocated there. Having already been to Paris, I didn't have much of a touristic itinerary, which was nice considering that it was the start of the World Cup. Hence, shortly after my arrival on Friday we went to the Eiffel Tower where they had set up a giant screen, to watch Mexico vs. South Africa and then France vs. Uruguay. It was cool to watch the game with all the excited Frenchies and hear them all sing their national anthem at the beginning but unfortunately, the game was a real bore as not a single goal was scored. Thus, I amused myself by listening to the French announcers. A stark contrast to the animation of the Spanish-speaking world, French announcers are quite monotone. My favorite announcer moment was when one said, "Allez victorie, non?" (Go victory, no?) to which the other replied, "Ah, ouais." (Ah, yeah.)

Other weekend activities included wandering around Montmartre, dancing in a couple clubs, surviving the Paris metro, strolling down the Champs-Elysees, eating crepes and managing to get invited to a wedding. In the end, we decided not to go because we felt that it might be awkward explaining that we had met the groom at his bachelor party the night before...

All in all it was a pretty nice weekend. And while I won't go into extensive detail on why my blog is titled thus, let me just say that yes, there are plenty of Frenchmen who are complete gentlemen... however those were not the ones who flocked to me this weekend. Incidents throughout the weekend piled up and after enduring an hour and a half cab ride to the airport where I was propositioned for sex nearly the entire time (the driver did pause occasionally to change the music and think of words in the two languages I understand), my final straw was being told I had to take off my featherweight cotton cardigan at airport security so that the three young security guards could get a better look at my chest whilst scanning my bag and flirting with me. Flipping out in the security control certainly did pass through my mind, but I thought better and decided that getting to leave Paris without visiting a jail was reward enough for not decking one of them.


Other interesting Parisian sights...

The line to get in to shop at Louis Vuitton:

The mass of Algerian soccer fans who gathered at the top of the Champs Elyssees after the game. "One, two, three, Vive L'Algerie!" was their chant:

This little kid with a budding mohawk was pretty cute:
Princesse Tam-Tam:
At the crepe shop in Montmartre:
Tiny Eiffel Towers for sale at the Sacre Coeur:

Francisca and I at the Arc D'Triomphe:

Prom á la American

Super-hip chaperones and Organizer Extraordinaire Mike:

While I was busy planning a boring Science Fair, my amigo Mike, who is doing the same thing as I but in a high school here in Madrid, was in charge of throwing a Prom for his students. The evolution for how this became his responsibility went something like this... note that I took the liberty to paraphrase:

....First day of school in September....
Mike: Hello! I'm Mike from Tennessee and I'm looking forward to working with you!
Bilingual Coordinator (i.e. his boss): Hello! I'm your boss and last year's Fulbrighter organized a prom here and we want you to do the same thing. By the way, here is your class schedule for the year.
Mike: Oh. Ok, great. I'll see what I can do.

A bunch of kids and a teacher I don't know:

What followed next were a few months of planning, assorted props gathering (such as a tropical backdrop for pictures, streamers and balloons) and lectures to the female student body that boots and mini-skirts were not appropriate attire for a prom. He also managed to wrangle up some extra chaperones for prom night to pass out flowers and check tickets at the entrance. That was where I came in. I never thought I'd be on the adult end of prom and now that I have, I can sympathize with why some of my teachers looked bored out of their minds while the kids were busy humping like monkeys and trying to sneak out of the dance-hall to find the hidden flask in the bushes.

Insert awkward prom memory here:______________________

Really though, aside from being a grown-up (eek!) at a kid party, it was fun to see the different outfits the students chose (some were looking sharp while still others wore jeans and mini-skirts) and their excitement at the entrance of the prom court and subsequent crowning of the King and Queen. (I wonder if it meant more to them given that Spain is a Parliamentary Monarchy?) Anyway, they all seemed pretty happy with the results of the royalty picks.

Given that we even danced the Electric Slide to Billy Joel's Achy Breaky Heart, I'd have to say the only genuinely American things the prom was missing were the limos and the girls puking in the bathroom. However, as this was only the Second Annual Prom, I'm confident that within a few years it is bound to reach "Social Event of the Year" status among the high-schoolers... well that or maybe they just won't show up in jeans.

Prom court- the winners in blue just right of center

I went to a Bullfight.

Surprised? Well it's true. And no, I didn't like it. And no, I'm not going to start eating meat again. And no, I didn't cry. Fortunately we were in the 4.50 euro, no-shade, nosebleed seats of the famous Las Ventas arena because being any closer and seeing the large quantity of blood or hearing the bull's cries might have warranted a different outcome...

Here's the breakdown on how my life spiraled out of control in three simple steps: 1. A friend came for a visit to Madrid. 2. He wanted to see a bull fight. 3. Somehow, I was persuaded to go too. Apparently I succumb to peer pressure and cultural curiosities quite easily.

So in case you were wondering, a bullfight goes something like this...

1. A bull enters the ring and about 4 matadors wave their silky pink sheets at him. The bull chases them around one at a time and gets a little dizzy and a little tired, but aside from the stabs that he gets before he enters the ring (yeah, he gets a stab before even seeing the first matador), nobody draws any bull blood. The matadors run and hide behind the wall after the bull starts to chase them and sometimes the bull crashes into the wall. At times they do some really tricky stuff like make the bull run around them in circles with the bull's horns extremely close to their bodies. They also wear toupees.

2. Then the matadors with the horses enter. They have spears. They spear the bulls in between their shoulder-blades. Their horses have armor. The bulls try and jab the horse with their horns. The horse is usually ok. The bull starts to bleed a lot and gets weaker and madder.

3. Next come the matadors with the decorative sword-things. They chase the bull around and have the daunting task of jumping into the air to try and jam more swords into the bull's back without getting crushed by the bull. They are received better by the audience if the swords remain in the bull's back because after all, they are decorative swords. One of the matadors trying to do this got clipped by a horn and got trampled by the bull. I think he was ok, but I'm not really sure because he made it to the safety wall but then fell and after they got the bull off him, all we saw were his feet being dragged out of sight.

4. After all the decorative swords have been placed, the boss-Matador comes out. You can tell he is the boss because he has the red sheet and gold piping down the sides of his fancy uniform (?) I was scolded vehemently by a fan when I said "costume", yet still not provided with the correct term for his ornate get-up. The other employee-matadors have to have any other color but gold down their sides. He waves his sheet around a bunch and does what I believe is considered to be the "art" part of the show (where he has the bull running around him and does a lot of Shannon Miller-esque, arched-back finishes). This is usually when members of the crowd, like the little old lady in a pink and green dress behind me, start to morph into bloodthirsty pterodactyls that squawk "MATALO!!!!!" (KILL IT!) and other equally unnerving chants. The crowd is quite lively throughout the entire process. That same woman yelled, "Stop being shameless! You're not fighing with a cow!" in a later round. Once the boss-matador is ready, he gets the sword and kills the bull. Hellooooo arterial spray. It usually takes a minute or two for the bull to die so one of the employee-matadors punches him in the skull a couple of times to speed up the process. I am still unconvinced that this is an attempt at mercy, as has been the argument presented to me.

Notice how this boss-matador is missing his smart, little, black slippers in the photo above? This is because that bull was able to get a piece of him and then the slippers got lost in the process. He was so angry when he got back up that it looked like he was going to try and charge the bull. One of the employee-matadors held him back. Then while he regained his composure, the employee-matadors cornered the bull and shook their sheets at him to confuse him a little more. They also do this at the end when the matador is killing the bull.

5. After the bull is dead they attach him to some horses and he gets dragged out of the ring. The crowd goes wild. This gets repeated 5 more times, as they kill 6 bulls every match.

Well now that's the story of how a team of matadors kills a bull. Feel free to print this and read it to your children at bedtime.

The Spaniards with whom I've discussed bullfighting usually think it is either really great or absolutely atrocious. I've yet to find one who takes a position near the middle. However, matadors are treated like rockstars here. They have their faces all over the tabloids, their bank accounts handsomely full and the affections of many a female admirer.

Bullfighting has seen more opposition as of late, as some of Spain's Autonomous Communities have started deliberations on the banning the traditional "art" altogether. It seems that Catalonia leads the way on this issue. This article explains a bit about the current situation. (I'd just like to point out that I can't help but find it amusing when the author notes that right-wing reaction is that this is just another attempt from the Catalans to separate themselves from mainstream Spanish culture. While I, being a foreigner, don't really feel that I understand the whole depth of the situation as far as making a decision about the cultural ramifications of continuing or banning bullfighting, I still can't imagine that the main interest of the Catalans in favor of the ban would be cultural separation. Whatever happened to simply being against the killing of mass quantities of animals for sport?)

Though I can't say that I will ever attend another of these fights, it was educational to see what this type of archaic feat was like- it made me think of watching the gladiators of Ancient Rome. The house was full, the people were there for blood, and disappointed they were not.

One last thought- If you want to see this graphic video of a matador during a fight who recently took a horn to the neck and that left out his mouth, follow the link. I'll leave that one up to you.

Ode to Spain

Well it's been some time. In some more time, one month to be exact, I'll be leaving this curious little peninsula for the land of democracy, mythology, feta cheese, unionized prostitutes and rampant bankruptcy- Greece. I can't wait. But before I go and Spain becomes just another country on my list of foreign lands I've called home, I wanted to reflect a little on my Spanish sojourn, namely the things that I've come to know and love and will certainly miss dearly. It's true that Spain and I started our romance off a bit slow, but in the end she has won me over. Here's 15 Reasons Why Spain is Great, in no particular order:


1. Hearing the children at school yell "toma!" when I tell them good news or something goes their way. I guess the kid equivalent in American speak would be "yes!" or "who-hoo!" something like it? It always makes me smile.

2. Little old ladies marching two-by-two, arm-in-arm, decked out in fur coats, stage make-up and high heels (we're talking Easy Spirits here, not stilettos, but regardless it's a heel and they're like 97), walking around the sidewalks manifesting their authority and wisdom by refusing to let other pedestrians pass and at times even yelling "Quitate del medio!" (Get out of the middle!) when they think that you're taking up too much space on the sidewalk.

3. These same old women drinking beer in a bar before noon while engaging in serious conversation about their grandchildren, the weather, and their husbands' ailments.

4. Tortilla. And not Mexican tortillas, because we all know I have been missing those since the second I boarded the plane leaving the US. No, I'm talking about Spanish tortilla, the potato, egg, onion, pie-like goodness that I can never say no to, ever.

5. Seeing nuns just walking around, being nuns, doing nun stuff, on a daily basis. I don't think I'd ever even seen a nun before Spain. They also walk two-by-two but sans the fur coats.

6. My international family of flatmates, each of whom has friends and family from all over the globe. As this year comes to a close, I can say that while broadening my Spanish linguistic ability, I have also learned to say naughty things in French, Italian and Catalan (and hopefully some Portuguese before it's over because we just got a new Brazilian roommate). We've also had some really good times exploring and at times perpetuating each country's stereotypes (it's true, French really people do love cheese). Not to mention there was some first class dancing.

7. No matter how I look, men driving delivery trucks never miss a chance to slow down their trucks, stick their head out the window and holler at me in this city when I'm walking down the street. I could have just woken up and be heading out for some milk in my PJs, last night's make-up, hair like I just stepped out of a wind tunnel and be covered in pigeon-poop and it wouldn't matter. I think that's just how they keep themselves entertained throughout a long day of driving...

8. Greeting people with kisses instead of handshakes.

9. When someone drops a lingering, broccoli fart in the metro and I have at least 2 more stops before I have to get off the train. (haha gotcha! I'm not going miss that one!) But I will miss having a quick, efficient, public transportation system.

10. Drinking beer with a large group of friends in a plaza at 4 am and not getting arrested.

11. The lack of dumb drunk guys fighting each other. People drink in Spain. Actually, people drink A LOT in Spain (see #10). And yet, I have not seen one bar fight. It's quite remarkable how easy-going the people are. In fact, the only time I have ever heard of a bar fight, it involved foreigners. People love to have a good time here and for the most part, get along quite well while doing it.

12. Coffee done correctly almost always and served in proper proportions...none of this Starbucks "venti frappucino" nonsense. (While Starbucks has infiltrated Europe, it hasn't had an effect on how typical coffee shops do coffee.)

13. The children's reactions to how I am dressed each day. I have gotten remarks from, "Tamara, que guapa!" (Tamara, how pretty!) to "Tamara, you look like a goth" or "Tamara, you are muy gitana" (very gypsy) or "It's time to trim your bangs." The five year olds treat me like a rockstar; they almost always tell me that I'm beautiful and come run to give me hugs and kisses. The 6th graders, however, are my harshest critics. A month back, my co-worker, Aris, got married on a school day and I was at class in the morning telling the 6th graders that I was going to her wedding that evening. One boy named Jose looked me up and down and said, "En ese vestido?" (in that dress?) I nearly died laughing. (Dress pictured at right. Bride in pink.)

14. Spanglish. Not only do I speak it on a daily basis with my children, friends and roommates, but it is used in businesses and advertising. I saw an ice truck last week from a company called "Hello Hielo" (means- Hello Ice, pronounced- hello YEH-low). My favorite example of school Spanglish to date is of Paula, a 4th grader, who was doing the pee-pee dance when she told me "Tamara, I no can aguant." (what she meant was "Tamara I can't hold it") Fortunately she made it to the bathroom before we had an accident to deal with.

15. Last but not least- It is socially awkward to be on time (with the exception of work). They call it "tiempo britanico" which means "British time" (apparently the Brits are famous here for their punctuality and strict adherence to rules) if they really mean that you need to show up on time. This is something I will struggle with giving up when readjusting into American life. I was constantly late before, normally just a degree or 2 past fashionable, but now I'm going to have to work quite hard at not missing events altogether...


So, that's the short list. There are oceans of other reasons far less flippant, such as the beautiful architecture, fantastic museums, well-preserved monuments, acres of olive orchards and great beaches, but nobody would read until the end if I wrote a "9001 Reasons Why Spain is Great" list. Hell, I don't really know if anyone is still reading this anyway so who knows, maybe I just will...

Twin Tias and the Rio Tinto

Oh man, life's been good lately. It's spring in the city, I've had loads of visitors, I've been to a loving wedding and I've just added about 6 new dresses to my summer wardrobe inventory. Bring on the days of drinking sangria in the sun (because, strangely enough, waiters don't actually expect you to order sangria in December).



Spring Break finally came and brought me Pam and Morgan (who had claimed it before it had even been affirmed that I won this grant!). They made it out the week before Semana Santa to check out Madrid and then stayed for the week after to do the tour grande of Spain. We spent a lot of time wandering around Madrid after I finished work each day, as I had to be sure to show them every nook, cranny and tapas bar that I know. Then we took a train to Barcelona to see all of Gaudi's masterpieces and then another train a few days later to Granada to see the Alhambra. After that we rented a car that I drove from Granada to Lisbon, stopping off in Sevilla and the beach in Faro, Portugal. It was beautiful and springy and there were wildflowers everywhere and I had wonderful company. Bliss.



Then came Kim from Mammoth and her mom Rusty, who were at her mom's high school reunion in England when the Icelandic volcano blew. They were stranded there and as their flight to Madrid was canceled, they decided to take a train from London to Paris and hop in a rental car and drive all night with strangers because it was headed to Madrid and Madrid was the only open airport. Once they got through all that mess, however, things were great. The weather was friendly and we ate lots of food, drank a little beer, saw some neat stuff (including tulips at the Botanical Garden!) and made nice day trip to Toledo. I feel like the theme for their trip was serendipity. Good things happened, but not necessarily when there was an attempt made to plan them.



Then came my friend Marshall from high school. In Madrid, my friends and I took him to a Lady Gaga tribute concert and then showed him the art of drinking in the street. We also might have gone to a museum and a historical monument or two... For the weekend we went to my favorite city in Spain, Barcelona, where I discovered a shop that gives graffiti classes to kids and sells spray paint in all the colors of the rainbow and then some. I took lots of pictures so I could show my brother who will undoubtedly be thrilled. (I also might have added a couple more dresses to my collection when I found a free second to break away and shop.)



Upcoming trips for me include a visit to Francisca, a good friend from Chile who now lives in Paris, and a visit to the Cinque Terre on the Italian Riviera. I can't wait. I am currently forming summer plans to do some farming in Greece- expected arrival date in California: August 26, 2010.

*Also bear in mind that I'm here in Madrid until the end of June if anyone wants to plan a last minute visit! We could take a picture in front of a flower like this one:

Science Fair

The Science Fair has come and gone and it was a success! I lectured for weeks on variables and hypotheses and the Scientific Method, and I had no idea how things were going to turn out given the fact that none of them had done anything like this, ever. But regardless of their inexperience, the children all brought something in and it was evident the amount of pride each of them took in presenting their experiments. They wandered excitedly around the room asking questions, showing off their work to visitors, and checking out which were the coolest experiments.



Most were incredibly simple (the fourth place winner did a project about melting ice) but many were incredibly well executed. The winner made three boats of different materials and raced them.



The most popular experiment was from the kid who made a cannon from vinegar and baking soda... or maybe some other ingredients, I don't know. I pretended to be the Omnipotent One because I was the facilitator of the event, but in all honesty, I find it hilarious that a liberal artsy, language-loving student such as myself happened to be the go-to gal on these projects. Perhaps that is why one child actually showed up with a homemade hourglass. His Project Question: How do I make an Hourglass? I nearly died.



The winners (1st-5th):



I also taught the kids the meaning of the phrase 'look sharp'. Here is one of the winners of the Best Dressed competition: