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By makenadingwell

As the final two weeks wind down, I make my return to my favorite businesses around Madrid to spend my last euros.

  1. Café de la Luz – After wandering around the city, I usually take every visiting friend to this little café hidden in the Malasaña neighborhood to recharge and sip a café con leche. Filled with cozy couches, quirky tables, strange artwork, and quiet music, its great for catching up on work or taking a break from zigzagging through crowds. I’ve heard almost every European language in this café and only recently found out that there is an incense-filled basement floor with dim lighting and beanbags. Café de la Luz is the kind of place Zooey Deschanel would own.
  2. Irish Rover – At least once a week, I meet up with a friend or two here to watch a football match. Always full of Spaniards and foreigners, this restaurant and pub hosts language cafes, business groups, and passionate fans, especially since Real Madrid’s Santiago Bernabéu stadium is around the corner. Although we previously went to the outdoor café to watch the games, the Irish Rover and its rustic, woodland décor and warm nachos prove best in the cold weather. Leaving this restaurant is like leaving a game as the masses cloaked in team scarfs and beanies descend from the stadium.
  3. Mercado de San Miguel – A friend and I started chatting with a couple Finnish tourists on the metro the other day, and they asked about a good place to get Tapas. They told us they had already tried, but ended up not getting what they wanted. So I suggested Mercado San Miguel, an old and bustling indoor market with little beautiful little booths selling all types of tapas, mostly for one euro. They also sell paella, pizza, churros, Turkish delights, gelato, and a whole lot more. It's the quintessential place to see and try everything. The almonds covered in wasabi are my favorite to snack on and trick people into eating.
  4. Tiger – This shop is fundamentally random and originally Danish. I first went here with my hostmom’s daughter and granddaughter and was perplexed by the selection of art supplies, spices, notebooks, candles, toys, office products, light fixtures, party supplies, and much more, all for ridiculously low prices. I always walk out with a couple things and a very confused facial expression.
  5. Círculo de Bellas Artes (rooftop) – There are panoramic views of the most iconic parts of Madrid, including the Plaza de Cíbeles and the Edificio Metrópolis, as well as the faraway Sierra de Guadarram peaks and the entire city skyline. In the late summer, the bar/restaurant/café is the best place to relax on the lounge chairs or fake grass and sip a latté or mojito.

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By makenadingwell

My birthday always falls during finals week. Usually by the time the day comes, some friends have gone home and some have locked themselves away in a library, fighting off Facebook and other temptations. However here I face a different set of obstacles. Everyone is still in Madrid, but it’s the beginning of our last week, finals are just beginning, and I’m turning 21 abroad.

However, this day can be filed under ‘why homestays are the best.’ I woke up early and received messages from caffeinated friends in the U.S., still awake and studying in Gelman library. Shortly after breakfast my host mom woke up and greeted me with a little gift. “¡Feliz cumple!” It was simple silver and leather wrap bracelet and was such a lovely surprise.

For lunch, my host mom cooked her famous paella, accompanied by morcilla, toast with tomatoes, and delicious sangria for two of my friends and me. The night before I went to dinner with a group which encompassed a magnitude of mojitos and tapas and dim lighting. Despite being so far away, my birthday this year was probably the coziest I’ve had in years. Later in the afternoon I went on a walk, despite the cold and drizzly weather, with a cappuccino in one hand, and an umbrella in the other. After drifting in and out of a couple stores, most notably a Real Madrid store, I bartered with a family of florists to buy a bouquet of flowers to bring back to my host mom.

Even though the directors forgot about my birthday, this weekend highlights the benefits of a homestay and the kindness of the family you have abroad. Whenever my friends and I spend time together, we always chat about our host families and their antics. I know all about the architect dad and his rambunctious sons, the mom and her cool CD and teapot collections, the host brother and his nameless band, and the housekeeper with her teething toddler. At the end of the day, we all go back home to our families, chatting away in Spanish, about our friends and our city adventures. I’ve learned Spanish words for clumsy, cheesy, and such, all because of my friends and their host families and I wouldn’t have it, or my birthday, any other way.

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By makenadingwell

image (9)Growing up in England, thanksgiving was never a big holiday. Although I’ve lived in the U.S. for years now, I’ve given the holiday little thought every year, and even went to Canada to eat curry and nachos with my friends last year instead of binging on turkey. However, after spending the day with Americans abroad and hearing frequent nostalgic mentions of family traditions, I’ve come to realize how important and seemingly irreplaceable cuisine can be in respective cultural customs.

In Spain, there are many gastronomical habits that both follow and oppose stereotypes, solely judging from my homestay meals. There is a very generous amount of ham in meals, but I had no clue Spain consumed the largest quantity of fish per person in Europe. People occasionally drink sangria, but there’s much more beer and wine and even vermouth. Chorizo is popular, but morcilla (blood sausage) is sometimes better. My host mom hates gazpacho, loves lentil soup, and snacks on sunflower seeds while watching movies. I have paella often, but my favorite is black squid paella, which as it sounds, is dark, tangy, and can include a variety of calamari.image (10)

In reality, the most common and easy to make Spanish dish is the Spanish tortilla, which is actually a thick omelette with potato, and is not something you can wrap a burrito in. This was particularly confusing the first week since a French tortilla is a plain omelette. And while most of us miss peanut butter, I have found that plenty of nut-centric desserts that pop up around Christmas are festive alternatives. One named turrón, which is made of honey, almonds, and other nuts, tastes like condensed peanut or almond butter and can be found in large bricks everywhere. Lastly, while churros certainly aren’t an everyday staple, when Spaniards go out until the morning hours and the famous churros place in the center of Madrid is open 24hrs, grabbing a few with friends is an inevitable final activity.

Of course there are plenty examples of American culinary influence all over Spain. Besides the scattered assortment of Starbucks and KFC stores, there are many twists within them too. The “Dunkin’ Coffee” shops (that's right, coffee before donuts) serve pastries as well as tomatoes on toast (so Catalan) and Serrano ham. McDonalds also offers gazpacho and cherry tomatoes.

image (11)Thanksgiving dinner was again an opportunity to for a Spanish interpretation of an American practice. We started with tapas, like croquetas and spring rolls, and finally received a healthy portion of turkey, with stuffing, gravy, mashed butternut squash, and a chestnut puree. The most controversial part was the accidental heating of the cranberry sauce, however the experience was a flawlessly Spanish thanksgiving. After pumpkin pie and tiramisu and plenty of wine, our program leaders left us to dance to the live music with the local Spaniards before hurrying back to our home stays.

To be honest this year I went to two thanksgiving celebrations. I attended GW Madrid’s swanky, intimate restaurant dinner and a friend’s program’s much larger, potluck style dinner the next night in France. However it was pretty clear at the second that the company of the “GW Madrid” family, and the indescribable Spanish flair incorporated in all our experiences, are incomparable to any other and I am thankful and very full.image (12)

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image (8)The trip started like they always have, wake up early, meet a couple metro stops away, board the bus (quickly exchange "last night stories"), and then everyone besides me falls asleep. Sometimes people hold out for a bit, bobbing to a new Spanish song they discovered the day before, but usually within three or four songs everyone is out except Isidro, on of our professors, who ceaselessly chats with the bus driver until we arrive. While it sounds quiet, especially combined with the view pleasures of desolate fields of brown grass and strip malls, it came to a halt forty-five minutes later when we arrived in Toledo, the "Imperial City."According to Isidro, there are seven cities in the U.S. named "Toledo," however I don't recall any being as beautiful and accessible. Toledo used to be the capital of Spain and is regarded as a city of three cultures and religions. In one day we visited the beautiful and historic mosque, cathedral, and synagogue, each architecturally influenced by the others. We weaved through the narrow streets of the Jewish Quarter, ate lunch in a park overlooking the misty river, and shuffled through a crowd of foreigners to take a closet look at a painting by El Greco, the ultimate foreigner with the name "The Greek."image (2)image (3)While Toledo was amazing, my favorite part was the stop on the way home and reminded me of what can be problematic with studying abroad in Europe. As the semester winds down, we have all compared and contrasted our trips around the continent. She liked Amsterdam, he loved Milan, she didn't enjoy Stockholm as much as expected, and they never wanted to leave Budapest. They are all fun and adventurous, but the trips are rarely surprising. We all know what the Eiffel Tower and the Colosseum look like, but my favorite trips have been the ones that I didn't have any expectations for.  I had no clue what to expect for Toledo and for Los Molinos, a collection of windmills outside of Toledo. However as everyone fell back asleep, I watched the sun disappear, the glimmer of bright city lights appear across the horizon, and the return to life at home in Madrid and the end of our final program excursion.

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By makenadingwell

This weekend I traded in paella for curry and flew back to London, my second hometown. Not only did I get the chance to hang out with my childhood best friend, but I also arrived just in time to see a football match between the U.S. and Colombia with a friend from GWU. Since I spent my summer and the span of the world cup in Colombia, I was thrilled to be surrounded by passionate Colombian fans once again. However, being at the match was a little confusing, culturally.

Sometimes I said “grathias” like I was from Spain and sometimes I cheered like I was from Colombia. I snuck back into a British accent when I was with my British friends but I chatted like an American with my GWU friend. I’ve read that we’re different with each person we’re with, but is that really the same with each place we’re in? Which country, let alone team, did I represent? At one point I think I even said “merci” to a cashier at a café by Tower Bridge.

It seems like every weekend, students studying abroad are darting between trendy cities, picking up more than just the currency. However I remember being a kid, moving between England and the U.S., and traveling all around Europe, and always feeling so self-conscious of belonging to the “appropriate” culture. I heard, “you’re American, why do you say some words weirdly?” or “you’re not British, why do you like the football team?” I always reminded myself that I was supposed to be American first and other influences were secondary. Even to this day, I still feel that pressure to prove my “Americanness.”

However I only had a Colombian jersey when I went to the Colombia v. USA match, my British accent came out purely unintentionally, and I said “claro” to people who clearly do not speak Spanish. After my third trip to London in three months, it’s become clear with each comparison that I can’t fight the culture from any country or city I spend time in. Two months into Spain and I no longer like to eat dinner before nine. I prefer tapas-style meals and I stare unwaveringly at people on the metro, admiring fashion or following interactions between groups. I respond to everything with “vale” or “claro,” and I no longer feel a rush to leave after eating at a restaurant.

Now back in Madrid, I even still say “crisps” and “cheers” and prefer a refreshing foggy morning like those in London. Likewise, from Colombia, I crave finding seasoned strips of mango or fresh empanadas on the street and love obsessive football fans. I too appreciate a well-executed preppy outfit or a good political debate during Sunday brunch, a clear change from living on the West Coast.

But there’s also the culture of travelling, of always carrying an apple and a granola bar and finding comfort in naps on buses and small backpacks that we’ve all grown accustomed to. Finally, after months of dipping between countries and exchanging stories every Monday morning with friends, its clear we carry a little more than just the stamps in our passports and the pictures in our instagrams and I could get very used to this.

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By makenadingwell

image (7)It finally happened. I went somewhere where the line for the men’s bathroom was twice as long as the one for the women’s.

I attended my first official European football game! I had my eye on tickets for the Champions League game between Real Madrid and Liverpool for weeks and finally found a couple the night before. After going to local bars to watch games with friends all semester and missing the ‘El Clásico’ against Barcelona for a program excursion, I was itching for some football. I didn’t come to Madrid to miss seeing the team I’ve adored for years. I was not going to miss seeing the Spanish "B.B.C." players, which my Spanish professor explained stood for "Bale, Benzema, and Cristiano."

For days I scanned websites and daydreamt of finally seeing each esteemed player, the reverberation of chanting fans, and the sensation of being consumed by the crowd’s passion. And while the game was packed and invigorating, the atmosphere outside was almost as intense.

After anxiously adjusting my gloves and Madrid scarf, I set off from my quiet neighborhood for the chilly fifteen-minute walk to Santiago Bernabéu, Real Madrid’s enormous home stadium. The streets grew boisterous as the crowds collected by color. The bellowing Liverpool fans that amassed in scarlet red could be heard blocks away as they sang raucously. They paused at every other corner to survey the intersection, reaffirming their tourist status. As the shape of the colossal Bernabéu ultimately appeared, looming over the neighboring buildings, throngs of Real Madrid fans slowly emerged, arrayed in black and white and brushing past the lingering tourists. Some cheered passionately, but many merely chatted with each other in thick Spanish accents, occasionally smirking confidently at the disorderly Liverpool fans.image (6)

Upon arrival, I hurried into the nearby metro entrance to wait for my friend and to escape the crisp evening breeze. Anxiously scanning the rowdy crowds, I spotted a flustered older English fan struggling to communicate with a metro employee. When the unruly swarm of attendees filtered through the turnstiles and disappeared up the stairs, I approached the disillusioned pair and offered to translate. The fan had lost his family, and therefore his ticket to the match, while the metro employee offered advice for a meeting location. The whole transaction was both gratifying and comical, not only due to the proficiency of my Spanish, but also because the thick Liverpool accent seemed to be the harder of the two to understand.

As I walked away to accost my late friend, I overheard the British fan say to the employee, “Sweet girl, nice people you have in Madrid. Lucky she spoke English.” And so that’s how it ended, Madrid 1 – Liverpool 0, just like the final score sheet. I can't wait to go back.

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By makenadingwell

la fotoImagine walking around D.C. on a sleepy, cloudy Sunday morning and turning down Pennsylvania Avenue to see, hear, and yes, smell thousands of sheep hustling down for blocks and blocks. You would be confused too, right?

No one warned me, but today was the Transhumance Fiesta, a day in which a handful of shepherds celebrate and utilize their right to droving routes that existed before Madrid became a sprawling metropolis. While the Ministry of Agriculture has only supported the official festival since 1994, the tradition has firm roots for centuries.

Many of the paths used by shepherds are over 800 years old. Incredibly, the path that goes through the heart of Madrid, Puerta del Sol, which was used today, is one from 1372. According to a local, the sheep come from the north, most recently Segovia, and head south for warmer weather.

My host mom told me that the shepherds bought the rights to the path with 25 maravedis, which were coins first used in the 11th century. Traditionally there were almost one million animals including sheep and cattle, however now its closer to four thousand of the native Merino sheep, which are a great source of pride to Spanish shepherds.

While an incredibly odd site, the tradition is truly astonishing. It distinctly highlights how traditions can be protected and cherished despite threats like urban expansion and agricultural modernization.

After seeing thousands of sheep descend upon Madrid, I am yet again reminded that I'm definitely not in D.C. anymore.

I’m definitely not in D.C. anymore.

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By makenadingwell

image (2)After five strenuous midterms I packed my backpack and met the group before dawn on Friday for our long bus ride to Galicia. I can’t sleep on buses, mostly because I don’t want to miss anything along the way. In Dark Star Safari, Paul Theroux said he, “hated parachuting into a place. I needed to be able to link one place to another.” I believed in this principle wholeheartedly, and therefore saw the dry grass grow green and full in a dreamy daze.

We first stopped in Léon, a small, misty city founded in the 1st century BC, to see the Basilica of San Isidoro. Full of beautiful stained glass, a gothic design, and a crisp coldness, the Basilica was vast and impressive. The stop was concluded by a quick walk through the historic area of Léon and a hearty lunch, during which we discovered that a customary Spanish steak was barely cooked. image (3)

Finally we crossed into Galicia and arrived in Santiago de Compostela at sunset. Our excursion was filled with unique, yet refreshing plans for the rest of the weekend. On Saturday morning we arrived in O Grove, a quiet coastal town, for a small cruise around the fjord. We ate mussels along the way, occasionally feeding one or two to curious seagulls after our professor demonstrated how to do so. After a peaceful picnic by the water, we returned back to a walking tour of Santiago.

Before leaving for Spain, I hadn’t heard much about the Camino de Santiago besides a few musings from my friends. However we learned plenty during our tour of the famous Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, hearing all about the pilgrimage to the Cathedral and the religious significance behind it. We finally climbed the old steps to the roof to peer over the stretch of red rooftops in the historic part of the city and the ornately sculpted stone towers.

image (4)The most refreshing and unexpected stop was the visit to Las Médulas, the site of an old gold mine of the Roman Empire, on the way home on Sunday afternoon. After a quick stroll to the viewpoint we gasped at the remarkably colossal rich towers of red rock scattered along the landscape. We sloppily scuttled down the hillside trail through a blanket of fallen leaves and tall barren trees to draw closer to the towers and preserved caves.

While the previous excursion to Barcelona was glitzy and exciting, the visit to Galicia was unparalleled. Perhaps it was the relaxation after the stress of exams or the lack of expectations, but the break from Madrid and the escape to green hillsides and a sea breeze has been my favorite stop by far.image (1)image (5)

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By makenadingwell

“I know, it sounds weird. I thought I would want to skip it, but trust me. It’s the best thing the group does, I swear.”

I was hesitant. The former GW Madrid student seemed oddly enthusiastic about it at orientation, but how exhilarating could a burro excursion really be? It sounded a bit overhyped.

But there we were, an hour outside of Madrid and strapped atop donkeys strolling along the hillside and it was hilarious. The eleven of us looked ridiculous and very out of our element. It was a cold fall afternoon and we were all bundled heavily in anticipation of rain. The young man leading us in front wore a thin t-shirt on the other hand, and carried a cat in one arm and the reins to the first donkey in the other. He occasionally looked back at us with a bemused expression as we squirmed while passing large puddles or sharp turns. We were definitely not modern day Don Quixotes.

For an hour we wandered down the path, passing horses and cows and patches of dense trees. The shifting clouds changed the light in the valley and the strong breeze reminded us of our distance from the city. At first we were all lively, laughing and competing to get to the front of the pack. Each donkey was stubborn, determined to either not let another pass or determined to eat plants along the way. Some students shrieked with every sudden movement, but slowly we all grew quiet. Perhaps because it became colder as the far away storm crept closer, or perhaps because we settled into the stillness of the environment. It was so far from metropolitan Madrid life and somewhat demanded a more serious, meditative mentality. As we drew closer back to the cabin we started from, the breeze picked up and it slowly started to rain.

For the next two hours we huddled by the fire, assembled along a long wooden table, and feasted on Spanish tortillas, steak, chorizo, morcilla (blood sausage), stew, and much more. Everyone collapsed and fell asleep as we drove back to the city through the storm. As I started to drift asleep I thought to myself what I’d tell the next GW Madrid students about the burro excursion. It sounds weird, but trust me, it's the best thing the group does.

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By makenadingwell

imageIt's official - one month in Madrid already gone by. In true Spanish fashion, I spent the morning on a bus on the way back from Bilbao to get back in time for a bullfight in Madrid. I read bits of a spare Spanish newspaper and constructed a brief list of do’s and don’ts in Madrid.

Do 

Say “que chulo” & “vale” – “Chulo” can mean many things, but mainly cool, good-looking, or cocky/arrogant. My host mother told me that pure Madrileños are definitely chulo. “Vale” is basically “okay” and is a response to anything anybody ever says to you ever.

Live on the street – Not in a homeless way. Anytime in the afternoon or evening, every Spanish city is filled with people watchers sitting in plazas or bursting out of tapas bars. Usually with a glass of wine, a beer, or a good-looking partner, everyone lives on the street.

Give directions in apples – I made a rookie move one afternoon in an attempt to sound like a local. I was on a walk and an older, hurried man stopped me on street to ask for directions. I told him to continue “tres cuadros,” or three blocks, which would have been fine if I were back in Colombia. However, here in Madrid, blocks are “manzanas” or apples.

Applaud for forever – So far our program has been to two ballet performances and one comedy show. After each show concluded and the performers came back on stage to bow while the audience clapped ferociously. Arm in arm, they walked backward and then forward again to bow. However it never stopped after the third or even forth time. It went on for ten minutes, until our hands were red and tired and we had to sit back down.

Have an opinion about Cataluña – Last weekend, our program had an excursion to Barcelona. Whenever we mentioned our plans to anyone, professor or peer, there was a response, positive or negative.

Do Not

Go into a restaurant hungry at 7 or 8 pm – Don’t expect to eat dinner before 9 or 10 anywhere unless you prefer eating in empty restaurants. Everyone is too busy living on the street with their glasses of wine to be seen eating during daylight.

Dress casually for a bullfight – Everyone looks like they were going to a country club or date night. Long-sleeve collar shirts, structured dresses and cardigans surrounded us in the arena. Although we were high up and in the heat of the afternoon sun, the “corrida de toros” was unexpectedly a fashion event.image (1)

Expect the check to arrive – Eating a meal is a social event and entails substantial conversation during and especially after. There is no “quick bite to eat” mentality and no rush for a check.

Keep one hand in your lap while eating – Elbows or wrists on the table. Always.

Watch a football game in silence – Watching football requires passion and it should be clear if your team is winning or losing.

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