Shouldn't Everyone Be Inside, Paveando*?

This year, the last Thursday of November was a touch odd. For the first time in my life, I was not home for Thanksgiving, a holiday and time of year I always enjoy and look forward to. However, what was odd was not the fact that I was not home, but the fact that I forgot it was Thanksgiving. I forgot that all my friends back home were headed somewhere familial for the week, ready to enjoy their days off. Despite having Thanksgiving plans of my own, the fact that it actually was Thanksgiving sat somewhere at the back of my mind, still waiting for that jolt of excitement that would yank it forward. An excitement usually triggered by sitting in Logan Airport with a Starbucks coffee in hand, waiting for my delayed plane. No such excitement this year. I proceeded with life as usual on Thursday. I went to work and guzzled my daily coffee without a single thought of not being able to bake pumpkin pie this year. It wasn't until later that evening, as I was walking to Plaza Prosperidad, did the thought enter my mind. What are all these people doing outside? Shouldn't they be at home eating Thanksgiving dinner? That was when I realized I was not in the United States and the Spaniards les importa un pimiento** about Thanksgiving. Needless to say, it was a strange day. I felt a little disoriented.

The following day, one I usually spend digesting Thanksgiving dinner and then gluttonously eating the leftovers, I went to Segovia for the final group trip. Despite the chilly and rainy weather due to Segovia's mountainous location and the current time of the year, it was a marvelous day. Segovia's contributions to historical interest are the castle, which was the inspiration for Cinderella's castle, the aqueduct, the cathedral, and the church where Isabel I was crowned Queen of Castilla. The rest of Segovia consists of the same little streets and plazas--of which I will never tire--that the rest of the small Spanish towns embody.

Despite Segovia's Segovianess, the highlight of the trip was the multiple course, traditional Segovian dinner that served as a Thanksgiving subsititute for all of us Americans, struggling without a huge, loud, long meal. Except we did not get turkey; we were served cochinillo*** in the traditional Segovian style. Considering I ordered salmon because I do not eat pork, I was apprehensive about seeing a suckling pig, but the dish turned out to be a little different than the plump, crispy, porcine behemoth I had expected. The relatively small pig, with its head and appendages still intact, was flat because everything but the meat had been removed. Cochinillo is so tender that the tradition is to cut it with the edge of a plate, to demonstrate that it requires no knife, and then to break the plate to prove that the plate is ordinary. It was unusual, fascinating, and not as repulsive as I had expected. You cannot do that with salmon.

*turkeying

**don't care at all

***suckling pig

untitled

It boils down to this: if you don't have a sense of humor or a sense of adventure, we will not get along.

Sargeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

On my way out earlier today, I heard clarinet next door (or downstairs, since I cannot tell the difference). A few minutes ago, I chanced to hear drums. Add that to flamenco and gospel vocals and the trumpet, and the vecinos* have got themselves a band. I'm cool with it as long as I can sleep at night.

*neighbors

P.S.-

Yep, that's my neighbor. Gospel Girl is also in the video. I, however, prefer this version:

Bank Search Yields Some Wonderful Things

How pathetic is it that I have seen more of Madrid in the last two days than I have in the last month because of the constant search for a Barclay's Bank? Colorful Malasaña, swanky Salamanca, the festive museum circle, glitzy Gran Vía, and charming Chamberí, I saw them all. As much as I enjoy traipsing through various Madrid neighborhoods, I prefer not to be bank hunting simultaneously, because the rule is that when you intentionally look for something, you are not able to find it. It happened with the pastelerías* and it happened with the bank, which, in my opinion, can go follar un pez.**

Despite my quejas,*** I did discover some wonderful things this weekend, so the bank did not ruin everything. Read, enjoy, and come to Madrid and check them out.

carrot cake-I love a good carrot cake, so when a friend said to me, "There's a café near here that is famous for its carrot cake," I didn't hesitate. It was not the best carrot cake I had ever tried, but it was delicious nonetheless, with a thick layer of cream cheese frosting dribbled with chocolate. The café also had a relatively big selection of teas, juices, and coffees. I had a white pear tea, served in my own little teapot. The atmosphere of the eatery was just the way I like it: artsy, cozy, smoky, and warm, with clashing, yet comfortable, couches. I don't remember the name of the café, but I do remember where it is, which is more important anyway, right?

holiday spirit-Although it bothers me that Madrid is decked out in lights and Christmas trees that aren't yet lit (it's not too early, is it?), I am excited about the day when the city decides to press the 'on' switch. It will be a spectacular view. Speaking of holiday spirit, kudos to Starbucks. The employees are wearing red and green, holiday cups are being filled to the brim with the seasonal drinks, and I swear I heard "White Christmas" playing at the museum circle Starbucks on Saturday while I sipped my post-Thyssen mocha praline latté and discussed The Beatles with my friends. The only thing that feels unnatural to me is the warm weather. I am not used to seeing Christmas lights and frosty window displays without actual frost.

Calle de Goya-Fluorescent lights illuminating the street? High-heeled shoppers bearing stuffed shopping bags? Sounds like my kind of world.

VIPS-Until last week, I thought VIPS was a phone company or a business of that sort. The franchise's exterior doesn't really hint at food, and I had never stopped to look inside, so naturally, I did not assume it was a café/convenience store that, get ready, carries Reese's Peanut Butter Cups! Madrid does not generally stock them in regular stores, so I was thrilled to see the reddish orange package resting on the candy rack by the cash register. As I was leaving with my newly found treasure, I caught a glimpse of President's Choice cheeses in the refrigerator. I'll be coming back.

*pastry shop

**fuck itself

***complaints

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

You know how after taking a fixed route at a certain hour everyday for a long period of time, you start seeing many of the same people? Or if you always take the 8am train, you notice the same people and, eventually, their behavior as well? It is not much different when you live in an apartment. Even if you never actually meet your neighbors, you get to know their habits and ways pretty darn well due to thin walls and open windows (and the fact that Spaniards are generally loud). Think of Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window. His neighbors across the garden included the dancer, the lonely women, the woman who lowered her dog into the garden several times a day, and the murderer, of course. He probably had those nicknames for them, too.

After having lived in my apartment in Madrid for two months, I feel like I have gotten to know my neighbors well enough to tell you all about them and their colorful lives. I even have nicknames for all of them--just like Jimmy Stewart.

Gospel Girl-Gospel Girl is an American singer. I often hear her rehearse the same verse over and over. And over. She also blasts Whitney Houston whenever I am trying to nap. Once in a while, I can hear her speaking loudly on the phone in Ebonics. Sometimes I have to assure myself that I did, in fact, leave Chicago.

Pitingo aka Flamenco Singer-Pitingo is his actual stage name, but I usually refer to him by his nickname when complaining to my friends. At 11pm, I do not want to hear hoarse vocal undulations and dramatic, strumming guitar. I know Spain runs on a late schedule, but you're not the only tenant in the building, Señor* Perfectly Coifed Hair and Carved Biceps (I've seen YouTube videos). Also, it isn't in good taste to blast your own CDs for the entire courtyard to hear.

The Mother-Almost every night around midnight, the smell of tortilla española,** or some other fragrant delicacy, wafts through my open window. I hear the clanking of silverware and the family's docile speech, The Mother always insisting, "¡Cómelo! ¡Cómelo!"*** Typical.

Mysterious Trumpeter-Once in a while, I hear brief bursts of trumpet playing. It sounds like it is coming from the apartment next door, but sometimes it sounds like Pitingo's singing is coming from next door and he lives below me, so I don't actually know if Mysterious Trumpeter lives next door or if he is Pitingo. Pitingo, if it is you, 12am is not an ideal time for playing the trumpet! Jolines!****

The Buzzers-Every morning, and several times in the evening, the doorbell next door rings. Except it isn't a ring as much as a buzz, and every single time I jump, startled. I don't mind it much, except at 8am, when the stupid buzzer wakes me up, along with the elderly shouts of vengo***** that accompany it. Who is visiting you people everyday at 8am?!

*sir

**thick omelet with potatoes

***eat it

****jeez

*****I'm coming

Burrrrrrgos

As the bus sped down the highway, I looked nervously out the window at the brown Spanish landscape. Sparse shacks sprinkled the land. For a few seconds, I panicked. Was I going to spend the next six months on top of an unpopulated mountain?

Fortunately, as the clock neared 10:45am, a town appeared, its little buildings swallowing the bus in its Castilian stomach. I craned my neck to see as much as I could through the bus window. I saw European houses, all different colors, all old and cartoon-like. I was reminded of the Benelux region. A mixture of cobblestone and gray cement reflected the morning sun in the puddles left over from the earlier rainfall. People were just appearing on the streets. It was small, but definitely not as sparse and forlorn as I had expected.

Walking out of the bus station, I was greeted by a stately arc, decorated with statues and turrets. Typical Castilla León. It was as though the arc was saying to me, "Bienvenida a Burgos*" and ushering me into the heart of the city. Behind the arc, the Burgos cathedral towered majestically, its gothic splendor bathing in the November sun. The Burgos cathedral, La Catedral de Santa María, is the third largest cathedral in Spain. As the Spaniards like to say, it's muy impresionante.** I have seen many gothic cathedrals in my 20 years, but I never cease to be amazed by these ornate, colossal structures, built by human hands over centuries.

Burgos is an interesting and comfortable mix of the old and the new (where else are you going to see an antique, castle-like structure next to a Vodafone? Or bank headquarters in what looks like a medieval fort?), but the word that I think describes it best is charming. It's charming. The center boasts little streets and plazas lined with colorful homes--mauve, yellow, cyan, ivory--and various restaurants and cafés whose warm yellow lights are welcoming after the sun sets. Modern businesses rupture the antique homeliness, but it is 2009.

El Paseo de Espolón, one of Burgos' most beautiful and walkable streets, looks like a modern art exhibit. Chunky trees resembling ginger roots line either side of the street, their callused fingers reaching up to the sky. While some of the trees still sport some leaves, the majority is bald and exposed to the changing season. Leaves cover the ground, coloring it gold and rosy red. At night, the blue and purple lights illuminate the street, making it look like wonderland.

It's a far cry from Madrid, but Burgos, here I come!

*welcome to Burgos

**very impressive

P.S.-According to my friends, my pronunciation of Burgos is highly entertaining and Russian-sounding, hence the title of this post.

Things I Want in Life Besides Love, Happiness, and a Job in the Journalism Field

1. gold metallic Converse low tops

2. tan Burberry trench coat

3. new digital camera, because mine guzzles batteries by the dozen and the lense won't open without the help of my fingers

4. new iPod, because Biggles II seems to be reaching the end of his battery life

5. a Mac, because I no longer have the patience to deal with Windows and Elton is getting old

6. the ability to open my mouth and speak fluent French

P.S.-These are in no particular order.