When You're Ready, Come and Get It

My first day in Madrid when I went for a run, I realized as I struggled to find my way home that someone had somehow pickpocket my running arm band of my ca$h (luckily just 10 euros at the time). Like any furious parent, I wasn't mad, I was just disappointed.

It's possible I just dropped the money while fumbling with a huge map of Madrid, but I've been warned about pick-pocketers so many times here and before I left- I think those who care about me fear I am an easy target- so I can't help but jump to this relatively plausible conclusion.

The second best thing I can do is hope that whoever has my money really needed it and be thankful that nothing more valuable was stolen and I didn't have more money on me. But the best thing I can do, and am actively trying to do, is teach pickpocketers a lesson.

Anyone, besides children, who wears jean shorts here is probably American and I have lived up to this stereotype several times already. Pickpocketers tend to go for the easiest victims and tourists are definitely up there, so right off the bat, I look like I'm probably oblivious. Also, I don't have a great poker face so my emotions are pretty readable if you just look at expressions- lately that expression is a confused one, a pickpocketer's dream.

Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice, strike three. What looks like a wad of cash in my back pocket, a pickpocketer's pocket of choice, is in fact, an old metro map wrapped around some wrappers from the plane ride.

I envision this going down like this: I flounder onto the metro just before it leaves, ask a dumb question  (but there's no such thing) revealing I don't have any idea what line I'm on, strike a frustrated but sassy pose, jutting out my hip and appearing engrossed in my phone. The trap is laid, the bait of worthless garbage and maybe even a strongly worded letter, ready for the taking in my pocket.

The culprit bumps into me, I apologize because Spanish Grace is sickeningly polite due to my strong grasp of pleasantries and little else. Culprit rushes off at the next station, calls his/her significant other and tells him/her that they're eating good tonight- the fanciest fine dining in all of Madrid. The significant other thanks him/her for working so hard, not knowing the no-count scoundrel he/she really is.  Significant other makes a reservation for overpriced small portions while Culprit pauses a moment to evil laugh and then take a closer look at the loot. But what? How? What kind of sicko keeps old candy wrappers in their pockets?! Doesn't the chocolate get on her pants? Yes, sometimes. She looked like her mind was empty but her pockets were full! Don't mistake a clear mind for an empty one, dear Culprit.

Natasha may have a pocket full of sunshine, but I got a pocket, got a pocket full of KARMA. 

Tengo Una Cita

Yesterday at the Instituto Internacional, I went to an intercambio/language exchange and I feel pretty damn good because now, next Tuesday, tengo una cita (I have a date/meeting) with an older man named Ignacio!

You probably have a lot of follow-up questions and you are right, this is a lot like the plot of the Lizzie McGuire movie, except of course set in a different country, no cool moped rides yet, and I don't have a pop star doppelgänger here to my knowledge. Full disclosure, Ignacio, is actually 70 years old so it's a cita in the meeting sense of the word, but I am still very excited to have made my first Spanish friend. Ignacio taught me that my last name, Carballo, is actually a Galician word that means "Oak tree". I taught him about feminism and he explained how in Spain, everyone has two last names. You keep both your mother's and your father's, which is pretty cool and I could definitely get behind. I, then explained to him the term "nickname" and based on this one conversation, I think it's safe to say that together, Ignacio and I are unstoppable.

I also figured out how to get a library card at the instituto! It wasn't that hard, but still I delight in my newfound ability to accomplish menial tasks here. I did what I always do when armed with a library card and a whole lot of material at my disposal- I checked out movies.

 I got Animal House because I've been unable to explain sororities and fraternities to my new family and also because I really want to see how the "Toga! Toga! Toga!" chant scene translates. I just looked up Desmadre because when I asked Carmen I didn't really catch her explanation, something along the lines of when you drink too much.  Online translators suggest "excess, overabundance; immoderation" as synonyms.  This is a title change I can get behind.
                                              
I also got Breakfast at Tiffany's because it's very classic and just a good one and I think they will relate to the cat having no name theme, unless their cat does have a name and I'm wrong about that, as well. Carmen has already seen it, but so have I and I'm not about to let that stop me.

I also really want to go to a movie here in a theater and they're really cheap on Wednesdays. This is a sign for Pitch Perfect which is rated PG13 I think in the U.S. but here you just can't be "younger than 7". An R movie in the U.S., was "not recommended for minors under 12".  Maybe this is why I feel like the Spanish people around me have a maturity I lack. They've been exposed to the prohibited mature themes before they even hit their teens.

Started From the Bottom Now I'm Still Pretty Much There, But Hopeful

I believe I mentioned that when I first arrived my wonderful host mom told me to close the hallway door always "porque de las ratas" or because of the rats. This didn't phase me one bit because she seemed very chill about it and I'm trying to be low-maintenance and honestly I'm not afraid of rats nearly as much as I'm afraid of actual scary things like sharks or my future kids growing up to be bullies.

I closed the door and didn't really think about it and just sort of lived and let live with these alleged rats. Until, that is, I came home for lunch after my first day of school and Marta and Carmen invited me to eat with them in front of the TV so we could watch the news about the elections. I sat down, very pleased with myself for knowing the political parties (only because we had a 2 hour lesson about that in class), ready to veg out both in terms of the food I was consuming and in my lackadaisical lifestyle when I spotted a beast unlike any I had ever seen.

Fortunately/unfortunately, my Spanish curse knowledge is very limited so I was involuntarily speechless upon seeing the largest rat probably to ever exist. It's long, bald tail swished against my leg and I waited to see what Carmen and Marta would do and time stood still and I like to think I kept my cool as they picked up the animal and proceeded to pet it and shower it with love.

Yes, folks, I made the common mistake of mishearing "rata" instead of "gato". I don't feel as bad about it as I feel about a lot of my mistakes here though, because it could happen to anyone, really. I mean even in English "cat" and "rat" sound eerily similar. And this cat, which I later learned had a son, so there are two, has an uncanny resemblance to its rodent counterpart.

 I actually like them now, which I think speaks volumes about how much my adaptability has improved.

This is just an example of what the tail was like. They are as soft as a baby's bottom or maybe an elderly person's because of the wrinkles?

I don't think hairless cats are super common in Madrid or Spain in general (possibly also called Egyptian cats) but my new brother, Victor, is allergic to cat hair so these are the cards we have been dealt. 

One is named Nea and the other does not have a name to my knowledge (like in Breakfast at Tiffany's), but I am sure in a few days time I will learn the truth and feel foolish for thinking this.

On the bright side, yesterday a Spanish couple new to Madrid asked me for directions because I think my hair gives me a Spanish look and I have knowing eyes. To prevent this sort of false credibility, I probably should start wearing my Fourth of July outfit everyday (I had to leave behind pajamas to allow room for this but I'm proud to be an American).

Full disclosure, I don't have Madrid figured out yet. The couple that asked me for directions ended up using the wife's phone to point me in the direction of my apartment. "Es muy irónica" were her words, not mine. When I stumbled upon them I was heading confidently in the opposite direction- so confidently, in fact, that I looked like I was the best person to approach on the street.

Right now, I am reading Harry Potter in Spanish to improve my Spanish, and because these books are fantastic in any language, and much like "el niño que sobrevivió"(the boy who survived), I too will face these obstacles head on without or without the accompanying cool scar.

As time passes, I find myself less incompetent every day then the day before.

It's Gotta Get Bad Before It Gets Good

Last night was our first night out on the town and I did what all the cool kids are doing these days which is taking artsy photos of streets.

 Dinner at 9:00-10:00 PM (aka bed time) is going to be an adjustment but you know what they say, "Early to bed, early to rise, is the only way to go to Madrid and not socialize". Full disclosure, I made that up- no one will understand what you're aiming for if you use it.

Yesterday was also a big day because there were elections. If there's one thing I'm really bad at it's talking politics in Spanish. At least now I know my greatest weakness when asked in an interview.

This photo is of one of the candidates for mayor of Madrid's campaign poster. Some gentleman who loves his mom, I'm sure, put that charming sticker over her mouth. I took it off and now I have my first souvenir of the trip!

I love all the people I'm traveling with and it was great to have people to speak English with who understood my panic, but I'm not sure if it was the 1 euro wine or the lack of sleep or the 7 hour time difference or the top-notch quality of the people I left behind or most likely the fact that I have not left my house once without having a hell of a time getting back to it, but I was very, very sad when I tried to go to sleep.

Conveniently, it was early evening in the dirty 630, so I was able to vent a little. Inconveniently, my coping mechanisms are useless here because HBOGo, Netflix, and AmazonPrime TV are inaccessible in Spain.

Mother of Dragons,why have you forsaken me?

Also, the only movie I have downloaded to my iTunes is Ocean's 12, which is good, but not in my top twelve favorite movies by any means and I'm mad at myself for buying it.

Fortunately, I was able to Youtube sweet, sweet Amy Schumer; her crude comedy with a side of sleeping pills lulled me to a peaceful slumber.

I like to think this was the low point of my trip. Gracias, Amy.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost

But those who wander with a big map and an aura of hopelessness probably are - so offer to help, dammit.

On A Jet Plane, Livin Da Life

My flight to Madrid was ideal in the way all flights ought to be: the turbulence kept my blood circulating, preventing a clot or me taking my own mortality for granted, AND there were free movies. I popped two sleeping pills right off the bat but I am a sucker for cinema and I used my time wisely, to maximize jet lag, and watched three movies (Batman Begins, Crazy Stupid Love, and 500 Days of Summer (which they translated to 500 Days Together in the Spanish version kind of defeating the purpose because her name is Summer but I'm not even mad) and three episodes of Modern Family. The voice they chose for Gloria didn't really fit in my opinion- probably should have just asked Sofia Vergara to do all the lines again but in entirely Spanish.

I landed about 7:45 am Madrid time which conveniently translates to 12:45 am Chicago time, about when I would have loved to go to bed. Customs was cake which made me regret eating all my American snacks on the plane because I thought they would be taken. Peanut butter withdrawal is not going to be pretty.

The shuttle I booked (shout out to mah girl Jessie for the stellar tip) was full of Americans so I had no practice with my Spanish until they left and I realized just how falsely high my confidence in my abilities was. My driver was so sweet though and gave me a tour of the city because I kept saying how "bonito" everything was, an adjective choice I stand by.

El Hogar

My host mom's apartment is on the fourth floor on Calle Fuentes in the antiguo parte de la ciudad. It's really close to everything, but remarkably hard to find your way back to. Also the stairs are from the original design, all worn and wooden, and I carried my 49.9999 lb suitcase up all four flights (which is really five because the first floor is somehow the second floor here) leaving me literally breathless when I met my new mother, Carmen.

Carmen is wonderful and very patient and extremely hospitable. I don't know if I've ever said "Gracias" to one person so many times and sincerely meant it and it's been all of 1.5 days so far. She has a daughter, Marta, who is 26 and a wonderful artist. She is a vegetarian, too, because in her words "es mejor" and estoy de acuerdo- now I can truly be Low-Maintenance Grace because Carmen already prepares mostly vegetarian foods anyway. We were a house of girls we decided and if there is anything the Delta Shelta has prepared me for, it is this.

I took a nap because I was too jet-lagged to speak English or Spanish or even my strongest language, Spanglish. When I reemerged ready to socialize (mostly just nodding given my current linguistic abilities), I found myself alone in the living room with a stranger. He was just as surprised to see me and I learned that Carmen had a son, as well, and this fellow was he and his name was Victór and it's possible I completely misinterpreted what I thought was a girl power anthem just a few hours before. 

I wasn't positive he was actually supposed to be there because she never mentioned a son and we had covered a lot of other topics, like mice that are a problem in the building. I decided I would not be gullible or foolish like my father reminds me often and would just minimize the risk until someone else came home to confirm he was in fact my new brother by going for a run to bank some endorphins before I was hit by a wave of homesickness. I've come a long way running away from my problems and I'm not about to stop now.

An Idiot Abroad

Unfortunately,  I failed to consider that I cannot access Google Maps and I have no sense of direction and a confusingly selective memory. When I wanted to return home, I was not even certain which way home was. Luckily I brought a map which had the big streets labeled and there I was- in the streets of Madrid amongst some of the most glamorous Madrilenos you ever did see with big sunglasses and cool shoes- sweating profusely clad in tie-dye and carrying a large map. 

I put on my most adorable, approachable, damsel in distress face but I think the sweatiness deterred them or maybe no one really cared. I had brought 10 euros in case of emergency and decided I would go to a store to buy a water bottle and then beg for help, but when I arrived in said store my money was no longer in my running arm band. I'm not sure if some expert pick-pocketer somehow nabbed it or I just dropped it out of carelessness and I'm also not sure which of the two would upset me more.

Like a beacon of hope, I saw a sign advertising free wifi (pronounced wee-fee here) and did a little jig. But to get the wifi you had to register with an email and like them on facebook which requires weefee in the first place and really riled me up.

Nothing looked familiar but also everything looked familiar. Finally, I found myself in another plaza and decided just to use data because I had literally become a lost cause. Amazingly, I had gotten within 4 minutes walking distance of my house! That is my biggest accomplishment this summer so far. 

What's a study abroad blog without scenic photos?

#NoFilter

Here I am shedding a few silent tears (thin walls and I still have some dignity) after the run debacle with a really cool painting in my room.

This is the clothesline outside the apartment window where all my clothes will dry/the reason I bought new, classy underwear.

This is my favorite thing so far. When I asked Carmen the rules she showed me this on the fridge, held up by some of the many magnets she has received from her host babies (this ain't her first rodeo). The only rule I've broken so far is cry only of happiness or emotion, but I've made up for it with "saber perdona" because I say "lo siento" like a broken record. I didn't know all of the verbs at first because I am a dingus, but she acted them out which was fun, too. 

If my Spanish doesn't improve, I think I could leave this trip an excellent Charades partner.