When I wasn't looking

Today, I am in the midst of planning last minute details for my final trip of the quarter while trying to ignore my headache from too little sleep and the unfinished sociology paper I have due the day after I return. I have another casual weekend trip to a not-so-casual destination (this time it's Paris!), and while I am extremely excited to see another city that I once only dreamed about, this trip solidifies the fact that my study abroad experience is almost over. One week from today my roommate will be packing up her things to leave, and two weeks from today, I myself will be getting ready to ship out.

The other day I had a beautiful moment of gratitude and nostalgia, but not regarding things from home. I was walking home from having dinner with a friend and in the dusk of the evening during a moment of relative quiet, I was taken back to my first week here - when the streets seemed loud and crowded, when I found something new every day as I walked to and from school, when the sun would set before 7pm. All these things that somehow changed when I wasn't looking. This wasn't just a repeat of the "meta" experience that I had earlier this quarter - it wasn't just that now I don't get lost or that I know where to find such item - it was rather a feeling of attachment to this place and a sense of sadness that it has now (almost) come and gone.

I still miss plenty of things from home and as much as I have tried to make this place my home, a part of me has held back, knowing there will be a time that I will return to normalcy and so there is no need to fully give in. As it gets closer and closer to the end of my trip, I have begun to think more frequently of home. It makes it hard not to miss things that are familiar and safe so I was actually a bit surprised when I was struck with such a deep sense of sadness of leaving this foreign place. Maybe I have become a little bit more than just a student studying abroad...

Another dose of wonderful, Seville part II

I spent the whole first day wandering around Seville by myself. I had nice chats with a handful of people throughout the day, but I had yet to meet up with my friend from Florence with whom I had made these travel plans. We finally made plans to meet in the hostel lobby the next morning and head out from there for another day of sight-seeing.

A large group of Stanford students studying in Florence (my friend from my hometown included) traveled together to Seville, but another friend from my hometown happened to be in Lisbon around this time and was also able to make it out to Seville for the weekend - double win!

It was another hot day in the city, so we took our time strolling through the streets, visiting some sights and sharing study abroad stories. I have to admit, it was nice to be around fellow El Pasoans after being away for so long - there are some jokes only we can make :)

We headed out to the beautiful Spanish plaza again then went on a search for Agua de Sevilla (lots of alcohol, pineapple juice, and whipped cream - what more could you want?) on our way back to the hostel.

The others wanted to see a flamenco show before leaving Seville, so after dinner we went to a bar deep within the Jewish quarter that offers free flamenco shows. I wasn't able to stay for the whole show because my bus left late at night, so I bid everyone an early goodbye and headed back to the hostel through the winding streets. I had just walked for a minute or so when I stumbled upon this:

a yellow arrow from El Camino de Santiago. I can't escape it! The camino will follow me for the rest of my life! I did a double-take when I saw it and knew I had to take a picture of it. There was a group of tourists walking past me as I stopped to take the picture, and while I'm sure they thought I was some weirdo, I felt like I was in on some cool secret society symbolism that no one around me knew about.

Walking through the streets in the warm night air and reflecting on my arrow-sighting, I remembered how lucky I am to be here. I realized that I really have acquired an immense amount of knowledge, both in and outside of the classroom, and that I have gained a greater awareness of myself and those around me. Sometimes I try to think of what will be the first thing I tell my mom or my sisters when I get back to El Paso, but honestly I don't even know where to start.

A dose of wonderful: Seville, part I

After a long bus ride into the night, I found myself walking the streets of Seville in the dusk before sun rise. The sleeping city (well, sleeping minus those who were just heading home from their nightly activities) was calm and surprisingly relaxing. I struggled to find the hostel in the jagged, poorly marked streets but I was welcomed by a smiling receptionist who handed me a key (even though check-in wasn't supposed to be for hours) and invited me to breakfast on the terrace. I welcomed the glorious sight of the morning sun on the terrace as I sipped my coffee.

I wasn't sure if my friends were awake - or even what room they were in actually - so I headed out for a morning stroll. Despite the early hour, the city was slowly coming alive. It was precisely these next few hours, as I observed the day begin, that captivated me. I wandered through the streets without a particular direction, walking along the main roads branching from Plaza Nueva and the cathedral (the biggest cathedral in Spain!), then winding through the quaint narrow streets of the Jewish quarter.

Honestly, I had been feeling a little lukewarm about Spain lately. Something about my classes and uprooting every weekend to travel was wearing out the spark that reminds me how lucky I am to be here (ironic, right?). Seville was the perfect antidote - it was just enough quintessential Spain to get me to fall in love all over again but modern enough to offer more than a cathedral and a famous plaza. Seville may have just won as my favorite city in Spain!

Later that day, I went in search of flamenco tickets. I made a half-hearted effort to find a place a friend of mine had recommended but actually got sidetracked by a charming bar which turned out to have flamenco shows as well. Something about the place won me over and after talking to the bartender I scored VIP seating in the front row :) I had some time to kill before the show so I went off for some tapas and more drinks. It took me a while to escape the tourist traps but the place I found was a no-name gem - and I met my first real, live Francoist. I indulged him in conversation for about an hour and was fascinated by the way he truly believed Spain has slowly deteriorated since Franco's death.

Being my first flamenco show, I really have nothing to compare it to, but I was simply blown away. The space was small, which meant that 40 people were crowded around a small stage that must have measured 50 sq. ft. in total, but the intimate setting was actually the perfect prelude to what was about to be an amazing show.

Each member was incredibly talented individually, but the best part of the show was the way they all fed off of each other's energy - you could see the lead singer give up his heart and soul as he watched the dancer step to the tune, the guitarist's fingers moved like a spider's legs when spinning a web and were matched only by the dancer's feet. The sound of the guitar, the rich, sonorous voice, and the tapping on the floor enveloped every person in the room until we became a part of the show itself. If you are ever in Seville, watch the Huelva Ocho flamenco show - it is worth every euro.

Bing trip #2: the return of El Camino

After embarking on our once-quarterly Bing trip, we are officially 2/3 of the way through the spring program – only further proof that 10 weeks is a period much too short for studying abroad!

Our 3-day Bing trip took us to the northeastern region of Spain, to the provinces of Aragon and Navarra. We boarded th bus on Friday at the crack of dawn – well it was actually 8am, but it felt like the crack of dawn – and had a long trip to the French/Spanish border where we would walk a portion of the beginning of El Camino de Santiago.

Yes, the camino had returned. While most of us had packed away our boot and trekking backpacks and had a compostelana as proof of our voyage, we became pilgrims once again. The mountainous region was incredibly beautiful and quite different from the landscape in Galicia. We learned a bit about the historic landmarks in the region, including the ruins of an old pilgrim hospital and an international train station no longer in use, and the fact that we no longer had to carry backpacks or endure rain and hail made the day much more enjoyable.

We then visited el monasterio de San Juan de la Peña, where the old monastery was built into the side of a mountain.

(We visited another monastery the next day – hate to break it to you BOSP, but really, when you’ve seen one monastery, you’ve seen them all).

The next town we visited was Olite – a little town not too far from the place my host mother was born! Our plan was to take part in some of the patron saint festivities going on that day, but the beautiful weather form the day before had turned into gloomy rain all day long. Instead, we all spent the evening chatting away, watching the Chelsea vs. Munich soccer game (holla Chelsea!) and enjoying our sweet castle-turned-hotel. I can now check “spend the night in a castle” off my bucket list!

The next morning we visited a wine museum to learn all about the process of making wine – this region of Spain is known for the high quality wine it produces – and to taste one of the signature wines of the region. Thank you, Bings!

We had an absolutely amazing lunch and made our way to our last stop of the trip – a visit to the river Duero to walk along a romantic path that the Spanish poet Antonio Machada frequented with his wife. Once again, the inclement weather didn’t allow us to take the intended path, but we did manage to get a breathtaking view of the river. 

A weekend of being wined & dined by Stanford is always something to appreciate and this trip was one more piece of my Spanish tour. Thank you Stanford <3

Haggling: it's an addiction

After a long 24 hours (had it really only been a day?!) in Marrakech, we were ready to explore the markets in the square and see what kinds of fun stuff we could scoop up. The street vendors had almost anything you could ever want to buy - soccer jerseys, designer handbags, shoes, hats, tea sets, jewelry, watches, scarves - all for prices subject to haggling.

It took a few tries to learn the strategies behind haggling- a type of dance between the vendor and the buyer, where you gauge each other's interest and willingness to compromise. Each purchase is a prize that you have earned and the thrill of it makes you want more. Most of us had things in mind we wanted to buy, but some purchases were a result of a deal that was too good to pass up.

Throughout the weekend, I scored some beautiful handmade necklaces, a couple bracelets, and a purse. I also bought some of the most delicious dried figs and apricots I have ever had and traditional Moroccan spices (in case you haven't seen my Pinterest account lately, I am counting down the days until I have a kitchen and can cook for myself). And the best part was that we could indulge in these treats without actually spending alot of money.

On our last day in Marrakech, we took a guided tour throughout the historic district. It was actually really nice to be able to walk through the more intimate areas of the city and avoid the overly touristy markets. We visited a mosque, a palace, a burial ground, the Jewish quarters, the Souk markets, and another pharmacy for an overall well-rounded tour.

At night, the main square transformed from a space owned almost exclusively by food and fruit vendors to one with dancers, pastry vendors, and henna artists. I got a henna tattoo on my hand, which actually turned out to be quite beautiful and well worth the price. A couple others got henna against their will as these women grabbed their appendages and wasted no time in applying the henna to their skin. The funniest case was when a woman insisted her design was for good sex and proceeded to apply a type of synthetic henna that now looks like a drawing made form black Sharpie on my friend's hand.

I still can't quite believe that I actually got to visit Morocco- trips like these are what remind me that I still have so much left to learn about the world. But for now, I think I'll focus on finishing up Spain (and perhaps a little bit of Paris too).

Adventures in Ourike Valley

The day after arriving, we woke up bright and early to take a day trip to Ourike valley where we would learn more about the Berber community, ride camels, and visit a waterfall. Our first stop was at a traditional Berber home where we learned about the home and family structure. We learned about the way animals are generally kept in a room inside the home because there isn't much room for them elsewhere, the way a man's first wife (they can have up to 4) is the one in charge of the household, and how villages grow from one household to a small nucleus in just a few hundred years.

Our hostess prepared us Moroccan mint tea and we enjoyed a lovely Berber breakfast before heading out once more. We drove just a short distance before I spotted our next activity: camels!

I have always wanted to ride a camel - I remember once at Stanford they had a camel in White Plaza for Israeli independence day and I was really sad I couldn't stop by to ride it. But riding a camel in Morocco is way cooler anyway :) After the camels, we made a few more photo-op stops before heading to the mountains where we would have an hour long trek to reach the waterfalls.

This hour-long trek sounded fine in theory, but it didn't take into account how steep the climb would be, nor how long it would take to come back down. Actually, it wouldn't have been all that bad if I had all my toes in non-broken condition - you never realize what important stabilizers they are until you try to climb narrow paths of rocks. I was way too preoccupied trying to climb safely to even think about taking pictures, but some of those climbs were ridiculously steep. On the bright side, the waterfall was refreshing (i.e. freezing) and helped to numb the throbbing in my toe quite a bit.

After the waterfall, we climbed a bit more and were relieved when we finally started going back down. I quickly realized, however, that going down a steep mountain is almost more painful on your toes than climbing up one. I slowed to a snail's pace, carefully assessing every patch of rock I would step on to make sure it wouldn't slide underneath my feet and that I could step down without putting too much weight on my toes. I felt bad because the sun was high and hot and the longer we took to climb down the mountain, the more time we spent in the sun and the longer it would take to eat lunch.

The trek down was tough but was made infinitely better by all the support that I got from my friends- from words of encouragement to holding my hand on the trickiest patches of rock, they helped me keep my sanity and even laugh every now and then.

The last part of the trip was visiting a pharmacy to learn all about Moroccan spices. We were given a tutorial on what each spice is used for and the types of health and cosmetic products made from them. A few of us bought some spices, but most of us were itching to get back to Marrakech to hit the good stuff at the markets. Haggling actually turned out to be one of our favorite pastimes...

[to be continued..]

Visiting a whole new world

One of my favorite books growing up was A Little Princess (by Frances Hodgson Burnett). There is a particular passage in the book where the main character, Sarah, says that what she misses most from her hometown in India is the way the air is thick with the smell of spices. Growing up it was hard for me to imagine what exactly that meant, but this past weekend I got to smell this rich aroma with my own nose. I didn't go to India, but my roommate confirmed that the smell that filled the air in Marrakech was very similar to that in India.

Dejemaa el Fna

Morocco was an experience that I can hardly begin to describe. It is by far the most "exotic" of the places I have visited, a place where everything was so foreign to me that I learned something new with literally every step I took. We arrived to a triple-digit weather and made our way as quickly as possible to the main central square (Dejemaa el Fna) where we would then walk to our hostel. The square was bustling with activity - motorcycles, pedestrians, and horse-drawn carts all shared the same path, vendors selling everything from fresh-squeezed orange juice, dried apricots/figs/dates, and all types of food called out to us as we walked past.

We couldn't find out way very well and eventually had to follow an interesting old man who insisted on guiding us to our hostel, and by insist I mean he kept walking in front of us, gesturing ahead and repeating "Waka Waka" (the name of our hostel) over and over. We finally arrived and, after dealing with some logistical issues, walking to the building where we would actually be staying in, and drinking a cup of tea with our hostel staff, we were officially welcomed into Marrakech.

Our first evening we decided to find something to eat and explore the square and the surrounding markets. We all tried our best to avoid the motorcycles and aggressive vendors that swarmed the walkways, at least until we were fed and ready to tackle the markets with the intent to purchase.

I'm going to skip some details of the day and talk about one of my favorite subjects: food. I will soon be adding food pictures to the blog because I personally didn't take any, but my friends with better cameras did :) Our hostel included breakfast with our stay, which meant that each morning we got a beautiful fried egg with various breads, juice, and coffee - a breakfast fit for royalty! We also sampled a traditional Berber breakfast on our day trip which is Moroccan bread dipped in butter, olive oil, or honey (all of which were AMAZING) paired with Moroccan mint tea. The typical lunch and dinner dish in Marrakech is a tagine, which can be various types of meat and/or vegetables steamed in a clay dish and seasoned to perfection (an example pictured below).

Photo credit: Anna

There were also various fruit stands throughout the market, as well as dried fruit stands and food stands serving tagine, couscous, snails, and various other treats in the square. Once in a while you came across stands filled with colorful mounds of spices which created the wonderful aroma in the air. But we struck gold when we discovered fresh fruit smoothies - none of this Jamba Juice stuff, think more along the lines of a licuado - for the equivalent of 50 cents! We didn't have to spend very much money to eat well - and quite frankly, there are few things better than sharing a great meal with friends.

[stay tuned for camels, waterfalls, haggling, henna, and more!]

Barcelona, we meet again!

Though it's the 2nd largest city in Spain and the 4th most visited city in Europe after Paris, Rome, & London, it took two visits for me to fully appreciate the city.

I have to admit my first visit was a bit unfair - friends who had visited/studied there hyped it up so much, our 1-day visit during orientation (on the day of a nationwide strike in Spain) was nowhere near enough time to get a proper feel for the city. The second time around I had more time, got to see a long-time friend, and had a completely different experience.

Hi Pukar!

First was the obligatory tour through the gothic quarter, catching sight of a few landmarks we hadn't seen on my last trip.

Monument for Catalunya's independence

The day was beautiful so we had to visit the beach afterwards (don't have pictures of this, sorry), and a swanky spot for dinner where we got free champagne and delicious wine.

The next day, I got a closer look at several of Antoni Gaudi's works around the city (not including La Sagrada Familia and Parc Guell, which I saw last time).

Güell Palace

Casa Batlló

Casa Milà

Spent the afternoon in a cute park out by the Arc of Trionf and tried to rest up before heading out for a night on the town.

The evening was then spent accidentally ordering enough tapas to feed a small army (maybe I can steal pictures from the others as photographic evidence of how much food it turned out to be) and meeting up with another friend to check out a bar and a club. A few drinks, some good laughs, and a couple taxi rides later, our last night in Barcelona had come to an end. More than anything, I'm glad that a few more people got a glimpse of (and loved!) the wonderful country I have called home for the past few months <3

The one where we were dazed and confused

37 kilometers. That's all the stood between us and the end of the pilgrimage. We had 32 km planned for the day- 32 long and somewhat painful kilometers, but we were so close to the end we could almost taste it.

The first 25 or so kilometers were manageable, not too difficult and with plenty of people along the way. The whole path through Galicia (and throughout Spain) has various signs that lead the way. There are stone markers adorned with conches that serve as distance markers at each half-kilometer. After passing kilometer marker 12.5, when theoretically we only had about 7 km to go - the markers for the path became few and far between and the distance markers disappeared entirely. We knew we were close to our next hostel, but somehow those 7 kilometers stretched out over 2 hours of hills and lonely paths.

From the beginning - Photo credit: Anna

After 8 hours of walking, the first people began to reach the hostel. We arrived in a state of confusion, not knowing whether we wanted to shower, eat, or collapse to the floor. We were exhausted, hungry, and in pain. Knees were barely functional, feet were shiny with blisters - but at least we were dry! I thank Mother nature for looking down kindly on us that day, otherwise I'm sure the trip would have been much more difficult to complete. As a friend pointed out, we all looked a bit like zombies- limping and tired- as we made our way out to dinner.

Photo credit: Randy

The next day, a few of us woke up early to get a head start on the remaining 5 kilometers and to get the chance to see the sun rise. The view was absolutely beautiful and more than made up for the aches of the morning. Within 2 hours we were in Santiago de Compostela and were official certified pilgrims!

We explored the cathedral, saw Santiago's tomb, and even got to hug his statue on the altar.

This experience has been unbelievable - and unforgettable - in so many ways. The people around me continue to amaze me with their thoughtfulness, humor, and intellect. Not to mention I have 1000 things I have to add to my list of things I am grateful for. Spain is incredibly beautiful and I am thankful for getting the chance to learn about this cultural tradition.

Photo credit: Anna

The one where I broke my toe(nail)

The 3rd day of the pilgrimage consisted of a 28 km walk through wet terrain and prospects of more rain. I was with a small group of students and went at a really great pace, so we reached the midpoint in almost no time at all. For lunch we decided to try some delicious octopus from a town in Galicia that is famous for it.

Photo credit: Anna!

When we started walking again, we faced interspersed rain bouts but made it to kilometer 40 without any problems. The landscapes were beautiful, as usual, and having great company to walk with made the distance seem a bit shorter. Usually by the time we reach the 10 km-left mark, and especially the 5 km mark, we could breathe a sigh of relief knowing we didn't have much left, so when we knew we only had 4 km left, we were all a bit anxious to get to the hostel. Unfortunately, even though we only had 4 km to go for the day, unbelievable hills and another torrential downpour (let's not forget the hail) made it seem like so much more.

After drying off and cleaning up at the hostel, we decided it was time for a much needed massage train to materialize (In case you don't know, a massage train is just a line of people where each person gives a massage to the person in front of them, then you switch directions so that everyone gives and receives a massage). A few of us gathered on the top bed of one of the bunks and somehow in my eagerness to get up the ladder, I stub my toe, hard, on one of the rungs. I squealed in pain and noticed a spot of blood forming on my sock - somehow I had survived 74 km of walking, rain, and hills but managed to break a toe nail while (supposedly) safe and sound in the hostel, way to go Cristina.

The massage train was absolutely wonderful and just what I needed to distract me from the pain in my toe (oh how the smallest appendages can cause so much pain). Not long after, a handful of us were standing around one of the bunks chatting away. As one of my friends begins to climb off the top bunk, his phone falls out of his pocket, perfectly hitting my toe with the broken nail. I immediately yell out and tears well up in my eyes. Multiple people ask me what's wrong but I try to explain between sobs, in English, and don't make any sense until they all give up and one person just hugs me. By the end of this episode I had officially given El Camino de Santiago my blood, sweat, and tears.

I was dreading the 32 km of the following day but was thankful I didn't have more serious injuries like others in the group. After doubling up on socks and loading up on ibuprofen, I figured I could make it work.

*note: at first I figured it was just a broken toe nail, but after taking a good look at it almost a week later and Googling some information, I'm 93% sure my toe is broken. First broken bone in my life!

The one where we survived the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela

I just spent the last 5 days in the Galician countryside walking the path that millions of pilgrims have walked to reach the body of Santiago (James) the apostle buried in Santiago de Compostela, Spain. There is a rich and fascinating history behind the pilgrimage, but nothing can convey the experience like walking it yourself.

Galicia

No matter how many things I had heard from the professor or from other students who had done it in the past, mentally preparing for the talk of walking 22+ km each day is more difficult than it seems. The walking, hills, and fatigue were hard on our joints, but a huge obstacle (at least for me) was facing the increasingly longer distances of each phase to cover the full 110 km. Here is a break down of our trip:

Day 1: Sarria to Portomarin - 22 km

Day 2: Portomarin to Palas do Rei - 24 km

Day 3: Palas do Rei to Arzua - 28 km

Day 4: Arzua to Monte do Gozo - 32 km

Day 5: Monte do Gozo to Santiago de Compostela - 5 km

Our days varied between walking in groups and walking alone, taking in the landscapes and contemplating life. Much of my journey sadly goes undocumented through photographs, but I hope to make up for it by taking a few from friends.

Route in Spain

We began our trip in Sarria-the 2nd dot from Santiago de Compostela on the map- roughly 110 km away from our destination of Santiago de Compostela (you can see that walking the entire route, the actual full pilgrimage, would take much, much longer than the 4.5 days we spent walking). With bellies full of bocadillos and armed with a backpack and two feet, we began our pilgrimage through Galicia. The first day was long and a bit daunting as we realized the toll 22 km could take on our joints. About a third of the group managed to reach the hostel before the storm hit; the others had a taste of mother nature's kindness to pilgrims. A hot shower, good dinner, and a glass of wine undid most of the damage and we went to bed with  20% of our journey under our belt

The second day began with a bleak outlook of rain and breakfast (a croissant and a cup of coffee - I understand the whole concept of a Spanish breakfast, but couldn't help wondering how far I'd make it into the 24 km of the day with not much else to eat). We had a slightly better idea of what to expect and how to time our breaks in order to ensure we made it to the next hostel in one piece and hopefully without getting caught in the rain.

The day turned out to be quite beautiful; the terrain wasn't too challenging and we all felt good when we stopped for lunch with 7 km left for the day. I had spent the last few kilometers walking and talking to a wonderful Irish man I met along the way, but was more than happy to take a break with my fellow Stanford travelers.

Unfortunately we only made it 10 min into the next part of our walk before the rain started coming down cold and fast, quickly followed by hail. We were close enough that I was tempted to run the last few kilometers to the hostel, but with a backpack and slick terrain, I don't think that would have been a good idea. We made it to the hostel, a bit more banged up and much more wet than the day before, but with plenty of time to recuperate.

[to be continued...]