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Saturday, March 24, 2007
So Much For Spain, I'm Off To India!

How is it that no matter where I am in the world, I always manage to feel rushed? (Like now for example, it's past 5:30am and I have to be up and going at 7am. Ungh.) Believe me, there's little worse than to feel rushed in Spain - walking fast, eating fast, eating while you walk - all of this earns me sideways glances from nearly everyone I pass. You should see the looks I get when I run after the bus in the mornings when I'm late.

So it should come as no surprise that I leave my house in less than three hours to board a bus bound for the airport (because in about thirty six hours I will find myself in India!) and I'm sitting here, at the computer, trying to tie up the loose ends I so desperately want to leave behind. My last week here has been one of the craziest (see: Las Fallas in Valencia), and my last day (today? yesterday? what time is it?) was one of the best. I wrote an exam, a test, learned to conjugate more irregular Spanish verbs than I thought possible, ate sugar for lunch, took a bus to Elda, met some rad people, drove to Crevillente and WENT TO ARABIA, listened to Spanish rock from the 80s, and then had dinner with my yummy flatmate and her new Spanish novio. I was home by 11pm, finished showering and talking to the parentals by 12am, done packing by 2am, caught up with My Loved Ones and sent Hi & Bye emails at 4:30am, finished clearing my memory card and USB stick by 5am and here I am about to stop blogging at 5:30am so that I can get an hour and a half of sleep before waking to leave the country, yet again.

Oh right, by "WENT TO ARABIA", I meant that I went to my new favourite place to be in the whole world. A teteria that puts the ones I saw in Granada to shame. One that had the hugest casa I've ever seen built in the middle of lemon and orange tree groves (groves! so many! groves!) in the middle of a desert. The hallways kept winding, the staircases kept going, the terrace grew more and more, doors kept opening, carpeted nooks led to curtained crannies led to leather beanbag cushions and fur lined ceilings. The draperies were rich and the whole place tingled with sheesha and light frangrant flowers. There was a Secret Garden jardin that was reminiscent of a rainforest in the desert with Arabian fountains that was all lit up by candles and hanging lamps. There were birds flying in and out of windows, cats prancing around and! pea! cocks! flaunting their stuff.

PEA.COCKS. People, there were peacocks just waltzing around the grounds of this teteria. PEACOCKS! When was the last time you saw one roaming free, outside of a zoo? Anyway, it's my new favourite place and did I mention the delish tea and Arabian sweets?

As much as I've done (and I KNOW that you're missing so many of the little details - can someone give me three days to just sit and write everything down please?), sometimes I feel like I've hardly lived here yet and already I'm on my way out. It's crazy, I know. The thing I liked so much about the teteria tonight was that I felt I was transported to a whole other world. Something I'm sure I'll feel again in just a day. India, here I come.

This is part of an email I got from my dear friend Nikhil (which includes a letter written by one of his friends), both of whom I'll be spending my month with:

Now, here is a letter written by my friend, who will be travelling with us. If the tone surprises you, it's because you've never had a real Indian person write you a letter before. Here goes:

Hi Friend,

I am very happy that you are (finally) coming to India. You don't know me, but I know you. I know what's leading you towards this great country. Maybe you will get everything for your life here. I am also very hopeful.

Nikhil has told me about you, but that's not how I know you. I had this conviction that you will come because I have full faith in my prayer.

When you meet me, you will also feel the same way that this is not our first meeting. We know each other for ages.

Anyways, don't get scared. We are eagerly waiting for your landing here. You are most welcome. We will together go places and have fun.

Be happy. Take care.

Your loving friend,
Nalinikant.

Me again. He's not trying to be romantic or anything; this is how people write here. I was very startled when I received my first letter from a girl in Nepal. Anyways, this is just one of the things that will be new to you here! I won't spoil the surprises, though. You'll just have to come and see for yourself.

Om.
Nikhil.

Surprises. Gotta love 'em.

I don't have much else to say, other than: I'm leaving all loose ends in Spain (as much as I can... see: Why did I decide to volunteer and organize that class trip again?) and going there fresh and ready for a good time. I'm prepared to have an extremely fun, insightful, and enriching month. Nikhil says that he's going to show me the India which he himself had to wait such a long time to be able to see. I feel so lucky. It's going to be good. I'll see him Sunday night and You, dear Internet Peeps, in a month.


No, I'm not taking my lappy and yes, I'll probably have internet access. Once a week.

1:38 pm


Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Spare Me The Change

I've always been able to say that I'm the kind of the person that deals fairly well with change; I'm adaptable to new surroundings, new people and even different languages. Moving to Spain has definitely strengthened my belief that I can learn to like almost anything. I'm learning Spanish, I've adapted to a new education system, I will try morcilla (blood sausage), I will try arroz negro (rice made with baby squid and its ink) - heck, I'm living in a different country with a completely different culture. I can learn to eat lunch at 3pm and dinner at 10pm. I can figure out gas heaters and how to find peanut butter in Europe. But I cannot, for the life of me, EVER imagine liking the new version of Blogger. I think the only reason I made the switch was because I was confused. I miss signing in with my old username, I hate having to remember which Google account to use, I miss accessing my archives like I used to because they're not where they used to be (thanks for telling me, Blogger). So yeah, change? Not really a fan. At least, not in certain contexts. (I'm a picky little one, what can I say?)

Take, for example, my rapidly changing financial status. See: last semester when I was in school full-time and held down two part-time jobs (that was fun). When I left home for Europea? Totally worry free. After a month? Comfortable. Now? I'm desperate (or, as I like to call it, Financially Fucked). I'm asking the school to refund two of my courses because, in addition to thinking they're not worth my money anyway, I could do with the extra couple hundred Euros. Damn, living here is muy bien, but the cost is most certainly not. The next thing I know, I'll be selling my English on the streets for 5 Euro an hour.

7:39 pm


Saturday, March 10, 2007
The Travel Bug

I can't pinpoint exactly when it happened, but I presume that I got bitten by the travel bug sometime in elementary school, as a result of all those field trips I got to go on (bless you, Mr. Albery). Or perhaps when I was a little girl and my parents had enough disposable income at the time to take us to almost all the 'major' cities in the USA. Either way, a few little bites by this bug and I grew an infection so great that it led me to start travelling alone at the tender age of seventeen (to supervised geeky conferences at US colleges/universities - don't worry) and now it's landed me in Spain.

I've since discovered that this travel-bug infection can either be the greatest blessing in the world, or the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Either way, you get a lesson, an experience or, at the very least, a story out of it. In my case, the TBI has led me to attempt (and fail miserably all three times) a journey to Antarctica, spend two separate month-long sojourns in South-East Asia, live in Spain for a third of a year and now, it's got me flying to India in about two weeks. Typically, I'm excited beyond words, but now, after a full day of all the bad things that can possibly come out of a love for travel, I'm simply exhausted.

The point of this entry is not to tell you about my upcoming three and a half week trip to India; the point of this entry is to allow me to bitch about my horrible day in Madrid when all I want to do is GO TO INDIA.

Backstory/necessary info: I need a visa to enter India and there is no embassy for non-Spanish nationals in my city, so I needed to go to Madrid, an almost four hour train ride (one-way) that cost me 63.50 Euros (oh, did I forget to tell you about my heart attack as I purchased my ticket?). Whatever, I sucked it up and paid for it. The next day, I woke up at 5:30am in order to walk to the train station because the city buses don't run before 6:30am. Fine.* The ass-crack of dawn isn't a bad time of day, really. The air has a nice crispness to it.

I slept through most of the train ride and in between falling asleep and waking up to rustle around, I caught glimpses of the green, green countryside. The train arrived fifteen minutes late, at 11:00am. The embassy closes at 12:30pm I thought, so I figured I had lots of time. I got myself a map and realized that, though I looked up directions to the embassy from the train station at home, I was almost completely lost. I asked the tourist office for directions so I could get out of the station. I had to ask a gas attendant for directions to get out of the parkng lot. Then I asked the security guard at the gate. I had to ask for help from SIX different people before I had any idea where I was so I could make it to the embassy. Just so you know, maps don't help you in Spain, okay? I arrived mildly sweaty at some time after 11:30am, when really, it was supposed to be about a ten to fifteen minute walk.

My first piece of bad news: I found out from the lady behind the window that it'll take not one day to process my visa, but seven (despite what the website said) because I'm not a Spanish national. She tells me that I have to return in one week to pick up my visa when I was expecting to pick it up later that afternoon, and the mere thought of having to pay another 63.5 Euros for a train ticket made me burst into tears. Yes, I was that tired after having a rough time trying to even get to the embassy and I've been a bit stressed out about money lately too. Not that my tears did any good because it's not like she could just get me my visa in a few hours on her own. The wheels in my head were still turning - I asked her to mail it to me, yes, that'll work! Fine, but I have to go to the post office to buy an express envelope and come back to the embassy and give it to her. Fine. Fine fine fine. Just give me my damn visa.

Before I left for the post office, I had to pay the visa fees. The website said that it'll cost 50 Euros. I brought 70 in cash so I could buy some things to eat in the city or something. But oh look! More bad news! The visa is going to cost me 72 Euros because I'M NOT A SPANISH NATIONAL! Thank goodness I had change on me. When I signed the receipt my eyes were so blurry from tears that I couldn't even tell if I was signing my life away or not. She gave me directions to the post office and told me what to buy and to come back before 12:30pm. She said it would take five minutes to walk there. It took ten.

The post office didn't accept payment by credit card and I just spent all my cash (I had about fifty cents to my name at that point) so I had to find a bank machine. After the first couple times trying and failing to get money out, I nearly freaked at the thought of not getting cash because it meant no express envelope which meant no mailing my visa which meant coming back to Madrid next week to pick it up which meant 63.5 Euros. It took me three tries before the machine gave me any money - third time's a frickin' charm. I get the cash and I get in line. I'm number 150 and they're sitting at 139. I had twenty minutes until 12:30. I asked a man behind the counter to sell me an envelope, for a huge favour, for some help, for a near miracle. Nada. I cry some more. I sat dejectedly in a chair, discreetly wiping my tears away and tried to think about what to do if I couldn't make it back to the embassy in time. Would I bang on the door? Yell for someone to please have some mercy on me? Go back in the afternoon and beg?

By some miracle, they skipped some numbers and I was able to make buy the envelope for TEN Euros before running my ass back to the embassy office. I arrived all breathless and sweaty, five minutes before they closed, shoved the envelope around and got myself the hell out of there because all I wanted was to go home. I didn't want to waste the day, so I did walk around quite a bit to see the city. I mean, I didn't come to Madrid for nothing and even if I had a bad morning, there was still a whole afternoon left. It wasn't a horrible day; I had a nice bus ride into the city, had some chocolate con churros, an empanada and a Madrilena(!) and I did get to see some important stuff (Puerta del Sol, Plaza Mayor, Palacio Real, etc.), but there was construction everywhere. It's a nice city, and if I was with someone it would have been a lot of fun, but given the circumstances and my bad mood, it wasn't all that great. T'was unfortunate.

I decided to take an earlier train home at 6:00pm, and took the metro back to the station, but the train was full and the only seats available were in first class, which would cost an extra 20 Euros. I fully realized that it would have been so 'movie' if I pouted a bit and the men let me on for free, but that didn't happen. I didn't even have the energy to cry in public anymore. What to do? Nothing. Not pay the dinero and wait in the station for two hours until my scheduled time came. We have a saying for this in Spanish and it goes like this: You're shit outta luck. So I walked around the station about three times, sat and listened to some Arabic music, and sat and sat until my train came and there I sat more, for another three and a half hours until it pulled into my city and got off that train and out of the station like a bat out of hell.

As yesterday and previous experiences show, I'm no good with embassies and consulates and visas. My Indian visa is supposed to get here about four days before I fly and I hope that my bad luck doesn't jinx it. Yesterday was a really stupid day. All in the name of going to India. All for the love of travel. All beacause of that tiny little bug with the greatest infection in the world.


* On the way to the station at about 6:25am, I ran into my flat-mate who was going home after a night out in el barrio, probably the only fun bit of the whole day.

8:00 am