Carnaval

The honeymoon phase of my study abroad ended this week. After a month of making new friends, exploring new places, drinking legally, skipping class to travel, and getting back from the club just in time to eat breakfast in the cafeteria, I finally burnt out. I got a cold, I failed a pop quiz in economic history, and tennis was cancelled because it’s federal law that it rain at least one hour per day (plus city law prohibits sunshine in the month of February). Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, I found myself homesick, irritable, and blowing my nose every fifteen minutes. As I sat down to write a 750-word essay, I thought to myself, “¿Qué me pasa?! Ya no aguanto más este estrés por dios que estoy más cansado que la…” Let’s face it, you know you’re going a little crazy when you start to moan and complain in a different language.

     After a good night’s sleep and a Skype call with the homefront, I couldn’t even remember what had me so down. As they say in the military, “Fatigue makes cowards of us all.” I rallied in time for the highly-anticipated Carnaval costume party organized by the residents of the on-campus dorms. Picture a high school dance, except the students are allowed to consume alcohol brazenly and unabashedly. The pre-party was held in the game room of the residence hall, followed by a bus ride to a racetrack where the unbridled Spanish freshmen proved just how untamed they can be. For the sake of decency, I’ll leave the details to the reader’s imagination.

CARNAVAL: Didn't quite get my tiger costume together in time, but hey, I did comb my hair.

     Monday night festivities have become a routine amongst the local Getafe dwellers. Eighteen of us all gathered at our friend’s apartment for tapas and drinks, and the social chemistry was just right. The only thing is, whenever I say something in Spanish and everyone laughs, I’m never sure if they’re laughing with me or at me. Either way, the Mexican girls were doubled up on the floor laughing for half the night and I learned some new slang, so really it was a win-win.

MONDAY FUNDAY: It's become my favorite day of the week!

IN THE HOT SEAT: Demonstrating how Mexican cartels deal with Gringos like me.

     One final story to conclude: In HR Management last week, my teacher was explaining that an iPhone is a status symbol, which is why people put the Apple logo on their car bumper. Then he points to me, in front of a class of 40 people, and says (roughly translated), “Take our American friend here. He’s wearing Ralph Lauren, also a status symbol. He walks around showing off the logo because it communicates the message: ‘Oh look at me, aren’t I hot stuff wearing my fancy Ralph Lauren.’” It was embarrassing being called out, I won’t lie. Even still, I laughed so hard trying to imagine this professor walking into the Moore School of Business, where Lacoste-brand socks complement the Ray-Ban sunglasses students wear indoors! This story culminated in class yesterday, when lo and behold, Professor I-Would-Never-Show-Off-Like-Our-American-Friend-Here walks in wearing a bright yellow shirt embellished with a little blue polo player. We made eye contact and I swear he adjusted his suit jacket, not sure whether he should button it, end class early, go blind or steal third. Then, without breaking eye contact, he stops mid-sentence and scratches his head. “You know what,” he announced, “I have to admit. I wore Ralph Lauren today,” and takes off his coat. The whole class erupted in jubilation, razzing and joshing the professor in their uniquely Spanish way. The joke of it all is that I got my Ralph Lauren shirt at an outlet store for $12, and having now been vindicated, I’ll be sure to tell the prof that tomorrow.

Día del Amor y la Amistad

My best friend Matt’s twin brother came all the way from Dubai to visit Madrid for nine days, so it was quite the eventful week. Between late nights with the Australian twins and classes during the day, I am definitely burning the candle at both ends. “You can sleep when you die,” some say, but I usually just fall asleep anytime it’s remotely dark or quiet. Still, I’ll never say I didn’t live Madrid to the fullest.

     Monday night was the second round of Tandem Cañas. Even though the event is meant to help exchange students practice Spanish, there’s so many nationalities represented that most people really just want to perfect their English, the global language. I nearly died laughing listening to a Brit talk about how last semester he failed an exam that was poorly translated from Spanish to English. He just didn’t understand what to do, he said, when half the questions didn’t end in a question mark!

TANDEM CAÑAS: Practicing my Australian English with the twins, mate!

     Tuesday, I’m sitting in the cafeteria eating a leisurely lunch with two Paraguayans and a Greek. We were discussing the grievous fact that Paraguay didn’t qualify for the World Cup, and Juan was saying that the only way it could get worse would be if Argentina won, because they would never shut up about it. The Greek was delighted by this sentiment because his country, as he explained, also doesn’t get along with its neighbors. This refined, respectable Master’s student then said this superbly penetrative quote that I will never forget: “Don’t get me wrong. If someone from Turkey were sitting with us at this table, there would be no problem. But really, the Turks are #&%$#@_&^%#*&$.”

     That night, we headed over to the local pub where they sell jarras of beer for 80 céntimos each. We found a random table in the back and were sitting around shooting the breeze, like normal. Pretty soon, our beggarly pub in loathsome Getafe starts to fill up with people. What the heck! Well, it turns out that we happened to go on the night of the life-and-death revancha between fierce rivals Real Madrid and Atlético Madrid, and by pure chance we sat at the ideal table for watching the fútbol game on the pub’s TV. So there I am in the best seat in the house, wondering if Ronaldo is the quarterback or a wide receiver, while hardcore fans in their official team uniforms are jumping up and down yelling all around us. It was quite a treat from the soccer gods and it ended up being one of the liveliest nights so far. (Author’s note: turns out Ronaldo is the running back).

REVANCHA: Halftime cervezas alongside great friends

     I went out again Wednesday night, due to the unassailable rationale that it was Matt’s twin brother’s last Wednesday in the city. I pointed out that it was also his first, but I was promptly hushed. The club was called Gabana 1800, and it’s as upscale as a sinful nightclub can get. I wore my navy blazer (good call packing that, Mom) and danced to Pitbull under intense lights and smoke machines. There was a man in a blinking robot suit as well as scantily clad professional dancers - now that’s what you call high class!

     On Thursday night, the international students’ club put on a Valentine’s Day party in a disco with themed posters, candy, kisscam and all. At this point in the story, let me introduce Mariana, a girl from Torreón (a city in central México) who is also studying abroad at UC3M. I tried to ask her to be my Valentine, but it turns out that phrase is not directly translatable to Spanish. I coquettishly said to her, “¿Quieres ser mi Valentina?” and she looked at me like, What in God’s name is this crazy gringo asking me? Rather than requesting that someone be your Valentine, in Spanish you must “declare yourself” to the girl, terminology that I find to be less festive and overly earnest, but who am I to judge the very culture I’m here to learn!? Clumsy as the “declaration” was, she accepted my fake rose and we went to the party with her numerous Mexican friends. It was open bar sangria, so naturally we ended up on the kisscam way more times than I’d care to see on the club’s Facebook page. Thank you Zuckerberg for privacy settings!

     Friday night, 14 de Febrero, Día del Amor y la Amistad, I attempted to take Mariana to an at least somewhat elegant restaurant, but cheerless Getafe couldn’t even provide my most humble request. However, my heart started racing when Mariana said that all she wanted was beer and pizza anyways. Despite the steady rain and wind, it was a lovely date.

DÍA DE SAN VALENTÍN: No better Spanish tutor than one you can kiss!

     I stand firm in my belief that the best way to learn a language is by having a native-speaking significant other. You simply can’t pay a tutor for the quality and quantity of practice you get when you’re with your steady. The other night, Mariana and I spent six hours together (not all of it was devoted to talking, I grant you!), and let me promise you: there’s no stronger motivation to improve your grammar and vocabulary than under the pressure of courting someone you find attractive. I’ll admit that I was lucky; the next time I make a blunder like “¿Quieres ser mi Valentina?” it might mean a slap in the face. Forget flashcards, that’s one vocab lesson you will not forget!

Andalucía

This past weekend, I went with five friends to Córdoba and Sevilla, two beautiful cities in the south of Spain. The architecture was awe-inspiring but the weather was quite miserable. We didn’t let the chilly rain get us down, although these are cities that should unquestionably be toured in sunshine. It was an exhausting and damp trip, but it was worth the time and effort to observe the magnificent buildings that serve as evidence of Andalucía’s illustrious history.

TRAVEL COMPANIONS: My pals (left to right) from Poland, Chile, Colombia, Italy and France. We communicated using the global language: English.

LA MESQUITA: The Great Mosque-Cathedral of Córdoba displays a compelling combination of Moorish and Renaissance architecture.

RAVENOUS: A much-needed lunch after a two-hour bus ride from Córdoba to Sevilla

CATEDRAL DE SEVILLA: I attended Roman Catholic Mass in the largest Gothic cathedral in the world.

PLAZA DE ESPAÑA: Such an impressive exhibition of Spanish architecture that parts of Star Wars were filmed here

In Full Swing

CASH MONEY: A look at the local currency

Monday night was cold and rainy, but that didn’t stop the crew from rallying for the half-off special at an awesome Spanish restaurant chain called Cien Montaditos. The menu has a hundred tapas to choose from for just 50 céntimos each, and we demolished at least thirty between the ten of us. Matt and I (the Gringos) went with girls from Francia, Italia, México, Latvia and Chile, and it was a night of both hilarity and cultural learning.

CIEN MONTADITOS: A jolly Monday night out with good friends 

     Tuesday was a long day of classes, except that I shared a leisurely lunch with Tere, who skipped her class to eat pizza with me. For the record, the Spanish fast food pizza chain called Telepizza puts Dominoes and Pizza Hut to shame. Eating in the company of a stunner may have made the barbacoa taste that much more delicious, but more than anything I think it was the softer dough. The rain has been relentless, but at least the weather can only get better from here (I hope).

     Today, I had a tennis tryout so I could be placed in the appropriate skill level for class. It was windy and wet and I hadn’t picked up a racket in three weeks, so I figured it was pretty hopeless. To my surprise, I came out cranking ‘em and was placed in the highest level, which I can only attribute to the ping-pong I’ve been playing with the Spaniards in the dorm, which has kept my hand-eye coordination up to par. The tennis class starts Monday, and I can hardly wait to see how I compare to the university’s top talent (I’m pessimistic).

     Even though I write this at 9PM on a Thursday, the most electric night of the weekend, the party won’t start for many hours yet. I figure I still have time to sneak in a REM cycle before catching the last train into the city. When you’re living the Spanish university lifestyle, you gotta get your Z’s when you can!

CITY RACE: One of many painfully awkward events that day - gotta love icebreakers!

EL PRADO: Who thought art could be so fun?

EL PALACIO REAL: The photo doesn't quite capture the true majesty of the royal palace, nor does it do justice to the fact that it was so cold I was shivering like a mobster in a tax office.

Never a Dull Moment

HALA MADRID: Too bad I forgot my cleats or
 I could have shown Ronaldo a few things.

Friday night, ESN rented out a club for the seven hundred Erasmus exchange students studying at various universities throughout Madrid. It was a happy-go-lucky atmosphere, and I was boppin’ away to Rihanna, as per usual. But then a problem arose: I’m simply not built for all-nighters. Naturally, I used my free drink coupon for a bottle of water, but even this was not enough to keep me going through the wee hours of the night. Around 3AM, I went outside in hopes that the fresh air would revitalize me, but the cloud of cigarette smoke was suffocating and I coughed my way back into the debaucherous club. I resigned myself to being a spoilsport and caught the bus home before the party had even gotten up to speed. In the US, they say that nothing good happens after midnight, but here in Spain, it should read, “Nothing happens at all until after midnight.”

     Saturday afternoon, I toured el estadio Santiago Bernabéu, the stadium where Real Madrid plays. It was cool seeing trophies from decades ago and sitting on the comfy leather chairs that make up the players’ bench.

     That night I was utterly exhausted, but some girls from the dorm managed to drag me to a Pub Crawl by appealing to my ego and saying that they needed my protection to get home. Forget drugs, I need to learn how to “Just Say No” to women! As often happens, the night ended up being really fun and, best of all, I got home at a reasonable hour.

NEVER A DULL MOMENT: I’m so depleted by Saturday night, there’s only one thing that keeps me going.

     Sunday afternoon, all the international students went to the Prado, one of the most visited museums in the world. We broke into teams and had to find and identify various famous paintings. I was on a team with Tere (my really cute friend from Chile) and her friend from Italy. It was funny how we alternated communicating in our three respective native languages, and I learned just how interesting art can be when it’s accompanied by charming females.

     Afterwards, Tere invited me to go to evening mass with her. The Cathedral was amazing and it was a marvelous service. Now I need to learn the Catholic prayers in Spanish, because all I knew how to say in response to the pastor’s prompts was “Amén.” Despite the language barrier, it was an emotionally stirring hour for me and I left feeling very thankful for the experiences and friendships of the last two weeks. Amén to that!

The Infamous Video

DAY TRIP: The international student outing to Toledo.

My first week of classes went off without a hitch. The following is my class schedule, all taught in Spanish:

• International Finance
• Innovation and Technological Change
• Economic History
• International Human Resources Management

So far, they’ve been really enjoyable. In HR Management, for example, the teacher constantly asks me questions about American culture and business practice. We watched parts of Apollo 13 and The Spirit of St. Louis to show the individualistic, can-do attitude of the US, and I shouted “Go America!” as Charles Lindbergh landed in Paris. The professor frequently maligns the French, but the two foxy French girls in my class are always too absorbed by their cell phones to notice. Ah, the irony.

     I dropped one class called International Trade because it involved a lot of microeconomics, and I spent half the lecture trying to figure out what the abbreviations stood for. Sometimes it’s just a simple reverse of the letters (PM for Producto Marginal, or Marginal Product) but I swear it took me fifteen minutes to realize that "RMS" means marginal rate of substitution.

     School is compelling and I’m learning a lot, but let’s get back to the festivities. Monday night, ESN put on a get-together called “Tandem Cañas,” where the idea is for all the international students to gather for a drink and tapas to practice Spanish. I met an engrossing girl from Chile who goes to university in Lima, Peru. She set the standard for maps drawn on napkins, sketching a shapely South America with climate, topography, capitals and all. My Chilean slang, though in any other setting would be flagrantly unbefitting, actually really delighted her. It was an enjoyable night and a nice change of pace from the chaotic club scene.

     Afterwards, I’m riding home on the train thinking happy thoughts when I feel a little movement in the pocket of my khaki pants. As I reach in my hand and grasp only cloth, I see a chubby little boy running away with his hands in his shirt. Not about to be pushed around by a 10-year-old, I stealthily follow Sticky Fingers all the way to the other end of the train, where he finally runs into a roadblock. I grab him by the shirt, pin him against the wall, and start yelling in his face: Give me the money! ¡Dámelo o te pegaré! Just as I’m about to pick him up by the ankles and shake out my money, a middle-aged man arrives claiming to be the boy’s father. He feigns to check the boy’s pockets, cusses me out, and assertively drags the lad with him to the back of the train. Having caused a scene that captivated and thrilled at least a hundred spectators, I conduct the walk of shame back to my friends, 40€ poorer. The lesson I learned is that once a pickpocket has your property in his grubby hands, it’s as good as gone. Unless, of course, you’re prepared to knock the teeth out of a youngster and search his underwear.

ENDORSE HERE: E is one of my best friends
and goes to University of Northern Colorado.

     Tuesday night, I went out to dinner with my Mexican friend Efrain (who goes by “E” since his name is too hard to pronounce) and two of our friends, Alex and Kimia. For 12 Euros each, we were served a three course meal with mouthwatering dessert and two bottles of wine. None of us could figure out what anything on the menu was, so we each ordered something different. To my intense amusement, E ended up with octopus soaked in its own ink. We were so merry that we couldn’t resist asking our dour waiter for a feather to dip in the ink so we could sign some imaginary documents, but he wasn’t quite as amused by this as we were. No feather, we settled for this picture (see above).

AMITY: Fine dining was not prepared for this rambunctious crew.

     Wednesday night, I hung out in the dorm with some Spanish friends. Being a sucker for a pretty face, I let a girl I had only just met take a video of me dancing Reggaeton to a masterpiece of the genre. Next thing I know, random people in the cafeteria are coming up to me and asking if I’m the one from the video. By no means is it an unseemly clip, but it’s still pretty embarrassing seeing as I’m inflexible and have no rhythm. I would post the video here, but I prefer to contain my ignominy within the country!

     Thursday night, Matt and I “caught two pigeons with one seed” (as the direct translation from the Italian expression goes) by going into the city to attend the international student event, and then making it back to Getafe in time to go to the big Thursday night party for the residence halls. I haven’t seen so many obstreperous 18-year-olds since hanging out in Bates House my freshman year. What’s more, since all the chicas had seen the video, I was pretty much a local celebrity… not in a good way, but hey, there’s no such thing as bad publicity except your own obituary. At 2AM, we all walked to a run-down club in Getafe (think The Thirsty Parrot) and danced until well into the morning. It was far from humanity at its finest, but I had a great time and met a ton of people from the dorms - though I doubt they’ll be able to remember me.