Sabbatical in Spain.: Flamencallie.

Spain is just one giant how did I get here moment. I had that thought this week in the middle of a intense conversation about Spain's attempts to propose an anti-abortion law with my roommate, when I learned about wave celerity in Catalan, and when a group of enthusiastic Zambians in Sevilla. This is a country where Greek yoghurt is cheaper than normal. My only complaint is the number of times I've seen bright yellow dog pee flooding towards me through cracks in the brick sidewalks. Or the constant fear I live in of stepping in something worse.

Every time I try to explain why I'm here to other students, it's a total adventure. Most of the student friends I've made are part of this two year multi-country master's program and are all on scholarship. The rest have nicely organized agreements with their home university or go to UPC normally. It's hilarious to say Hi, Yes, I only have seven hours of class, and am just here by myself, and have no idea what's going on. But then again I pay 1/3 of what most of them pay for housing.

It's also extremely strange to be taking engineering classes in a different country. Besides being in metric and sometimes a smattering of languages, the content is just like what I'd be learning in the US. Which while it totally makes sense and should be encouraging that the world learns the same things, it's so strange because I didn't really expect it. And it's strange because NONE of the students are anything like the engineers at Cal Poly. I can't even explain it. I'm used to a group of boisterous competitors who joke with the professor and spend 70 hours outside of class in extracirriculars. But here they're all silent in class and never engage with the professor and are just so different. But it's great too because learning foreign engineering is also about learning foreign engineers. We also only have two tests and I know students go home and study every night and are busy with school work, but I can't possible imagine how.

But two miracles happened to me this week. The first was in the realm of admin. I began my Tuesday with big plans to spend all day in Spanish government offices begging for an identification number to open a bank account. In a whole convoluted process, I had to go to the bank first. I ended up going to three banks, and leaving each after a mix of frustration with them not being helpful or having extremely long lines, until I found a Catalan bank full of angels. They actually, um, helped me notice, that although everywhere online and in person and everything says NIEs are NEVER given to lowly folks with six month visas, I apparently have one. So that was great. And five minutes later I had a Spanish bank account. Except all the agreements are in Catalan, so that's been fun reading those...

The second miracle is almost bigger. I have a crystal earring that I wear and I noticed the crystal had fallen out and was devastated. Then today I got a call from the bank saying they needed my US address so I had to go back in. And SITTING ON THE COUNTER WAS MY TEENY CRYSTAL. Bless them. They had no idea.

In other news, my Japanese roommate has been in Portugal this week. I told her to send us pictures of her adventures. Faithfully, every night, Rocio and I have received EVERY picture she's taken. It's so funny. She also fed me shots of cherry liquor that she brought back from Obidos. I panicked and thought it would taste like medicine and was in total fear. Until I found out Portugese cherry liquor goes in chocolate shot cups. CHOCOLATE. And tastes nothing like medicine. Or cherries. And is amazing. Can't wait for Portugal.

I met the director of Barcelona YoungLife this week as well. Luis. Having so little class makes it almost feel like I'm not studying abroad and I just randomly moved to Spain, which is kind of true. But this also means that while it takes a bigger effort to make friends, I desire to invest in places beyond the elite clubs you stay in until 5 am. So I found Luis and his two recently vaccinated and candy-bribed children in the middle of a mall and learned about Spain's 1%. Here, only 1% (probably less) of the population proclaims the wealth they hold in faith in Jesus. The rest don't care or are rather turned off by the way the Catholic church and often corrupt government abuse their position. I was honestly shocked to hear so few Christians exist here. But I may be spending Wednesdays with chicas from the barrio trying to make friends.

Week 2 of my sabbatical finished with a weekend in Sevilla, a city on the Portugal side of Spain. I took a train for the first time since a horrible 30 hour imprisonment in high school to the city. Sevilla is one of the most marvelous cities I've ever been. The typical tourist attractions are surprisingly astounding. A giant, Gothic cathedral full of history and possibly Christopher Columbus. An era-stretching palace, government or garden. Narrow streets full of classy boutiques and tapas bars. The best of all though was the Plaza de Espana. I've never seen a Plaza like it. It resembled more of a palace and is an incomprehensible work of art. The giant semicircle square is covered in mosaics, and has one for every city and piece of Spain. It's also part of Planet Naboo from Star Wars I and II. And then of course, Roman ruins with immaculate mosaics and passageways exist on the outskirts, because this is Europe and everything is like that. Pretty much all of Sevilla was tapas and photography and people watching and living in awe. Plus I met two Zambians who have whatsapp'ed me everyday, shared a room with ten Mexicans, and met a guy from Boulder. Hostels are weird.

I also went to a Flamenco show in Sevilla. Thought it would be like Tango in Argentina. No. I literally almost fell out of my seat when the woman started singing. Basically the dancing is like pent up sexual tap dancing with a lot of sweating and stomping. And the singing is a lot of Tarzan calls and vibrating lips. But all of that combined into one teeny barely lit room makes for a really eventful and energetically glorious Saturday Sevilla night. If Flamenco dresses didn't cost 350 Euros I would absolutely have bought one. Still might.

The only thing I'm finding hard about traveling alone is my propensity for subconscious, audible singing when I walk. If you either know me extremely well or have traveled in depth with me, this should come as no shock. But for the rest of you, and the people in the streets of Barcelona and Sevilla, I'm sure it does. I personally would judge anyone I hear belting "sing choirs of angels, sing with exaltation." Been stuck in my head for two weeks.

So I'll leave you with that.