Top 10 reasons I love Madrid

10) Centrally Located City- I can travel to any part of the Iberian peninsula very easily. Bus tickets are the cheapest (40 euro round trip to most places), and I can get to the coast in all cardinal directions in around 6 hours or less. Train and plane rides are slightly more expensive, but much faster. I’ve taken high speed trains to Toledo and Malaga, each place I’ve also driven. Each time the train ride was slightly under half the time. I even heard of people booking Rynair flights to Portugal for 10 euro round trip.

9) Architecture- I’ve almost become used to the stunning architecture around this city. Every window terrace of every single building has ornate iron rails with artsy swirls and intricate designs. Most buildings have beautiful statues and classical columns that seem to be standard. Fountains, gardens, pedestrian streets, it’s all lovely. I’m done explaining this- the pictures should do the talking.

8) Weather- It’s November. I’ve been here almost two months. By my count- it has rained here once (and it was a hell of a storm that I got caught in). The weather is always the same: High of 75- Low of 50. September was this same range, only warmer. This week has been colder, but it’s about time. Oh- and there’s blue skies everyday. And I mean no clouds.

7) El Metro- I haven’t ever used such a well designed public transportation system. I’ve been told the Metro in Madrid is similar to that of Paris and Washington DC. There are 12 lines that run in all directions underneath the metropolis. Each metro station is a stop for 1-3 train lines. After you enter the underground, you can transfer lines as many times as needed to arrive at your destination. There is no confusion as to which is the correct train to take on a given track (like in Pittsburgh and New York).The metro connects to the airport, the Renfe (high speed trains), suburban trains, and the bus stations. Public transportation is very easy and affordable in this city. I have a monthly pass that gives me all the metro rides I want. It is also interesting to note that the metro is open from 6am-1:30am, which further promotes the extremely late/early nights for partying. Once you choose to stay out past 1:30am, chances are, you’re going the distance until the metro reopens (or you walk/taxi home).

6) Museo del Jamon- In my first two weeks in Madrid I averaged about 1.5 visits to these restaurants each day. Spain is big on pig. Like really big. Museo del Jamon (The Ham Museum) is a chain only in Madrid that covers it’s walls with hanging legs of ham. They take their jamon very seriously. There’s Jamon Serrano, which is way better than anything I’ve had in the United States, but this is just peasant’s ham. The good stuff is Jamon Iberico Bellota. This is the equivalent of Kobe beef. These pigs are only from certain regions of Spain, fed only the finest acorns their whole lives, and after slaughter, the meat is cured for 1-3 years. The finished product melts in your mouth with the most delicious pig flavor imaginable. Wowzers. Believe me though, you pay for the quality. But have no fear, if you aren’t able to pay for the Jamon Iberico Bellota, Museo del Jamon has a 1 euro menu. McDonalds and Wendy’s don’t have shit on the Museo del Jamon dollar menu. Of all the wonderful things on this value menu, I only need combinations of two of them: Croissant Mixtos, and Cervezas. Cerveza: Beer. Big cup of Amstel (not Amstel light- which sucks. I‘m not sure they have Amstel lager in the US). Croissant Mixto: This is my new favorite food: jamon Serrano, manchego cheese, on a homemade buttery croissant made fresh daily. I’ve eaten over 50 of these (seriously, I was counting but got lost in the 40s). I slap a 5 euro note down, get 2 beers and 3 croissant mixtos, and I’m the happiest boy on earth.

5) La Comida- The Food. It’s delicious. Aside from ham- Spain’s food is wonderful. Paella is fantastic- especially with local shellfish. Tapas (little appetizers) make for the best snacks, ranging from fried seafood to plates of cured meats, olives, and cheeses. Spanish wines are extremely numerous, though I’ve stuck mostly to Riojas. I’ve done Sangria at least twice a week, and I’m starting to get picky about where to get the good stuff. Other food favorites: Rabo de Toro (Ox-tail stew)- most tender meat I’ve ever tasted, Confit de Pato (Confit Duck)- best prepared duck- served with baked apples, Local Langoustines, Bacalao (local fish similar to Cod).

4) Night Life- La Madrugada- Ok- Spain kicks ass. Dinner doesn’t start til 8:30 at the earliest, usually closer to 10. People don’t start to go out until at least midnight. Bars stay open much later than in the US. Did I mention the drinking age is 18? I’ve done a good deal of bar exploring. Now about halfway through my trip, I’ve found my favorite bars in the area, and haunt them frequently. Many bars draw in patrons by hiring promoters out on the streets to offer free drinks. I’ve spent a few nights beating the system by taking my free beer or shot, then leaving for the free drink at the next bar. I’ve also been suckered into staying a few times. I have a soft spot in my heart for the 4 euro mojito.

But the discotecas (dance clubs) are where it’s at. Clubs can be small little dance floors in bars, or Faborik- a converted industrial factory with a capacity for 5000, or Teatro Kapital- a 7 story club with 7 dance floors, 7 DJs, 7 kinds of music playing. Clubs open at 11 or midnight, but don’t start to get busy until around 3. People stay out dancing til at least 6 am when the metro opens the next day. If that’s not enough clubbing for you, there’s even clubs that run from 5am to 5pm for the professional partiers. If you get the drunk munchies- better get some late night churros with hot chocolate sauce (story on this to come at another time).

3) Botellon- The botellon is perhaps the most ingenious idea ever. I previously spoke about the bars and clubs of Spain. Well- they kick ass. BUT, it can be very expensive. Without drink specials, places can charge up to 8 euro ($12) for one mixed drink (wtf?!?). Many clubs have cover charges that include a free drink or two, but still rough on the wallet. If only there were a cheap and fun way to get drunk before going to a club…hmmm…

Ok- for all you American college kids out there- picture this: A pregame. On steroids. With ninja swords and a jetpack. That’s how awesome the Spanish pregame is. A botellon means outdoor drinking- and in Spain there’s no open container violations. Young people buy bottles of liquor, chasers, and ice, and meet in parks, plazas, random streets, or anywhere they feel like starting a party. Oh, and there’s usually at least 1,000 people at a small botellon. In 2004, there was a botellon in Sevilla that had over 70,000 people. I have yet to witness anything nearly that large, but there’s been botellones where they block off long roads, park cars everywhere blasting music from the stereos, and fill it with people for a spontaneous block party- (probably around 2000 people if I had to guess). After such botellones, people disperse and hit the clubs. There are workers hired by the city who’s sole job it is to clean up after the botellones the morning after.

2) Mi Residencia Abay- My living situation couldn’t be any better. I live in the neighborhood of Callao. I’m smackdab in the middle of everything. Tons of great stores, restaurants, tapas bars, and clubs all within walking distance. I’ve already talked about the building, but what makes the “resi” special is the people. 7 guys 7 girls. 9 Spaniards 5 Americans. My roommate Manuel is my closest friend here in Spain. He’s fluent in Spanish (and English) which certainly helps my communication in the resi.

The Spaniards are all lovely people: everyone is super friendly and the nights that I follow them around are always the best times. That’s what I love about my Spaniards- they include the Americans when they go out. They know where the best/biggest botellones are, they get me on exclusive club vip lists, and are the best teachers of Spanish culture I could ask for. I was really upset that I missed what has been called “the best night in Spain thus far”: Chiki Parque. Fernando, one of the kids I live with, had a friend who’s dad owned Chiki Parque (an enormous Chucky Cheese.DZ Discovery Zone). Everyone in the resi (besides me, I was with my family), went to the Chiki Parque around midnight, botelloned and had a huge party in the huge playplen building, including a huge ball pit, a 2 story slide, and foosball. I was so jealous. Everyone got back around 8:30 am, wasted, wearing new scrapes and bruises, raving about how awesome it was.

The kids in my Resi come from all over Spain, ranging everywhere from the Canary Islands to Ibiza, Andalucia to Pais Vasco. They speak fast and it’s tough to follow, but I learn the most from these people, especially their slang.

I’m still undecided on whether or not I will put up full character descriptions of everyone I live with- I love them all though I’m not sure if that would be taken the wrong way. Everyone I live with is my friend- something I was pleasantly surprised to discover.

1) Parque del Retiro- Aside from my resi, and the classroom, Retiro Park is where I spend the most of my time. It is the most beautifully designed public space I’ve ever visited. Every tree, shrub, and garden has been planned for optimal aesthetics- the park maintenance staff does a superb job. Retiro is closed at night- which keeps the graffiti artists and botellones out of the park- keeping it clean.

The park is enormous- over a square mile. Every time I go to Retiro (which is quite often- at least 3 times a week) I discover a new area filled with something incredible. This is where I go to work out. I have a special little nook of the park that no one comes near where I jump rope. Running through the park always rewards me with encountering a new location. Statues, fountains, Futbol fields, streams, lakes, ect. I must say that thus far, my favorite spot of the park is the Crystal Palace. I need to just let the pictures do the talking here. Check em out.

Sorry for the delays

I've spent too much time having fun in Spain, rather than writing about it.

API

My bus from Malaga arrived in Madrid two hours before my API orientation began. Just enough time to check into the hotel, put down my bags, relax, shower, and change.

There are seven of us in the Langauge and Culture program at Univdersidad Complutense de Madrid. 6 girls, and Julian. Oy.

The orientation is everything I’ve already read and been told. A fun two hours. It was worth it, however, for the free dinner afterwards, at Gino’s Italian restaurant (slightly classier than the Olive Garden). The group swapped personal tidbits and life stories over bowls of Italian/Spanish pasta.

Back at the hotel, I couldn’t sleep, so I spent a good portion of the night watching Spanish cable television. My comprehension is improving, but some TV shows still talk too fast for me to understand. For that reason, sports (futbol) work best.

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More meetings in the morning. Yawn. Snooze.

I was excited to meet the other kids in the Complutense program for the tour of the royal palace, considering they would be who I will live with.

I spoke with Manuel, my new roomate, for most of the walk to the royal palace. He is the only other American guy in API Complutense, making it very important we get along. So far we’ve gotten along great.

El Palacio Real is gorgeous, and a must see of Madrid. We began in the enormous stone courtyard overlooks the western countryside of the city. This was the only part of the royal palace we were permitted to take pictures.

Once inside on the guided tour, we were warned that pictures were not strictly prohibited. I scoffed at the signs and started taking covert pictures with the flash off.

What I didn’t know about my camera was that each time I turned my camera off the settings reset. When I went to take a picture of the ceiling on the grand staircase, I flashed the entire room- security guards at the bottom of the steps started moving. Shit.

Very conveniently, at this moment, an asian tourist right behind me decided to whip out his camera and take a picture of the wall. The security guard approached this tourist, and escorted him out of the room. Perhaps the guards went through this man’s camera and deleted all the pictures of the palace, perhaps they kicked his face in. I don’t know, I never saw that man again. I learned my lesson though; the guards don’t fuck around.

Our tour guide was unbelievably strict tiny old lady that was eerily similar to the old lady Mrs. Hogenson from the Incredibles. If any other tourist would get close to our group, she would stop midsentence, and glare at them until they would leave. Aparently her information wasn’t for outsiders.

The building itself is actually quite “new” for Spanish standards (mid 18th century), and lacks the beautiful Moorish architecture of other Spanish palaces such as El Alcazar or El Alhambra. I needn’t discuss how beautiful and ornate the royal palace was, because it was THE royal palace. Just go an see it.

I followed the other group, Manuel, Catalina, Lisa, and Danielle back to my new residencia, rather than go to my hotel. They gave me the low-down on how things work at the residencia.

Residencia Abay was only a short walk from the palace, located on Calle Chinchilla (chinchilla street) in Callao. Callao is the best possible neighborhood I could have been put in. I am 2-3 blocks from Puerta del Sol (where I previous stayed, in the center of Madrid and the Iberian peninsula), and about a quarter block off of Gran Via, one of the largest and busiest streets in the city. Everyone else is jealous of my location.

The residencia houses 14 students: 9 Spaniards, 4 Californians, 1 Julian. It was instantly clear that my Spanish was the weakest in the residencia. At least in this situation I will be forced to learn.

The residencia itself is quite lovely. It’s very clean, quiet, and aesthetically pleasing. All wood floors, extremely high ceilings (I love high ceilings), three bathrooms, big plasma TV in the dining room (el comedor).

I met Dolly (pronounced doy-jee), the “house mom” that does the cooking. She’s lovely. Speaking of which, my meals are prepared for me. My room is cleaned for me. My laundry is done for me. I’m going to live like a king.

Awesome.

Later that night I went out for sangria with some of the girls in my program, Azza, Gaby, Ally, and Morgan. We hit 2 or 3 bars for sangria, then called it an early night. I slept at the hotel for one last night.

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Next morning: more boring orientation stuff.

Afterwards, we went to the Prado museam for a tour. The Prado is the 2nd most famous art museum in Europe, after the Louvre. The group hung around outside while I spent roughly 20 minutes on the phone helping a very lost and panicky Ally find the correct Prado museum (apparently there are multiple). I’m such a nice guy.

The Prado was absolutely stunning, and I could really appreciate some of the art, but to honest, I found our tour incredibly boring. The tour guide didn’t realize our group’s level of Spanish comprehension, and spoke to us like children, which I wouldn’t have had a problem with, if it didn’t slow down the tour so much. It seemed as though we would stand in front of the same painting for 20 minutes before moving, and my legs got restless. The tour guide taught us how to recognize the works of El Greco, which I found interesting and useful, but after that, I was soooo done with the guided tour. I intentionally got lost and separated from the group so I could wander the Prado by myself.

After the museam, I moved my bags into the residencia. I was finally settled in to my home in Spain.

Málaga

I missed my 7:30 am bus to Málaga thanks to the work of a Czech and his bottle of slivovitz.

I woke up around 8:45, quickly packed my bags, and got out to the door. At the bus station, I got another ticket (it was only 20 euro) and was riding out of Madrid by 11.

The 6 hour bus ride directly south to the Mediterranean took me through some of the most lovely land I’ve ever seen. Sorry, I packed my camera underneath the bus, so no pictures.

I slept through the first few hours of the ride, though I wasn’t missing much, because the plains to the south of Madrid make for boring landscapes. However, when I woke up a few hours later in the countryside of Andalucía, things were very different.

Rocky mountains tore up through the plains sporadically, yet formed no chains. The low lands were completely cultivated with olive trees planted neatly in rows that stretched as far as the eye could see. In some places, Spanish farmers boldly cultivate the steep mountainsides with olives trees at severe angles.

Nothing but blue skies.

The further we drove, the more palm trees I saw, building my anticipation for La Costa del Sol. The bus driver put on the movie “Eight Below” (with Paul Walker) in Spanish, which I really enjoyed. After seeing the inspiring movie about sled dogs in Antarctica, I’ve decided I want to own a husky or malamute one day.

This whole trip was planned because I had a friend from Mt.Lebanon, Alex Bloom, studying at the University of Málaga. After getting settled in at the hostel, I met up with Alex at Plaza de Merced. According to the plaque in the plaza, Merced commemorates the massacre of 49 people in 1831, who “died for their love of liberty for their homeland”. Nowadays, Plaza de Merced is a happy place were parents bring their children to play, and locals come to meet.

Alex and I walked to a mall on the other side of the city to purchase tickets for the futbol game the following day: Málaga C.F. vs. F.C. Barcelona.

Holy shit those tickets were expensive! I doubted that the game would be worth it, but I told myself, “you’re in Spain!” A soccer match, especially one involving the best team in the world, Barca, was a must-see on my list.

We met up with one of Alex’s friends Matt, to grab some dinner after buying the tickets. We got lost in the main section of town, but eventually arrived at the popular local restaurante, “El Pimpi”. I couldn’t tell what was better, the food or the atmosphere. We enjoyed some staples of Spanish cuisine such as manchego chesse, Serrano ham, and Spanish tortillas (potato omelet). The food in Spain has been so good, I will have to reserve more talk about it for it’s own blog post.

Next up was another typical activity of Malagueños, drinking on the beach!

It was already past midnight, and tiendas de alimentacion (convienience stores often called “los chinos” because they are primarily owned by asian families) are forbidden to sell alcohol past 11pm due to national law. The chino store we went to, however, had no scrupples about selling us the booze, they only made sure that we walked out of the store with all the bottles in plastic bags, and told us not to take them out until we were far away from the store.

I met more of Alex’s friends from Dickenson, and we walked down to La Malagueta, a popular beach in the area. This was the first time I had seen the Mediterranean. It was quite dark, so my impression of it was altogether unaffected. We didn’t stay long at the beach because Alex’s friends were craving pizza. We joined them, though Alex and I didn’t order anything. Out of principle, I didn’t want to order a pizza because I knew it wouldn’t be as good as pizza back in the U.S. (and I was still full from El Pimpi). Within the hour, I was on my way back to the hostel to get some sleep.

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I woke up early the next day to go on a run (College Nationals is under 8 months away). I ran through the streets towards a nearby mountain, which I ascended through back trails in the woods. At the top of this hill was Castillo Gibralfaro, a mountain fortress overlooking the Mediterranean built in the 1300s. And what a view! I took a rest to take in the scenery, then continued back down the other side of the hill on a paved cut-back path. Once I had descended, I returned to the hostel through a modern car tunnel that was burrowed directly under the mountain and castle.

I had grand plans to spend the day basking in the warm sun on the beach, but a storm dashed those hopes. Instead, I met Alex and his classmates at el Café Madrid for coffee and churros (with hot chocolate sauce, not cinnamon sugar). We hung out at the Café for a few hours hoping the storm would pass. The rain made Alex and I very nervous about the futbol game planned for later that night.

While we walked to La Rosaleda (Málaga Stadium) in light rain, we talked futbol, or should I say, Alex talked futbol, and I listened. This would be the first European soccer match either of us had seen, and we were excited to see Barca play. I must admit, I was very nervous to cheer at an away match, surrounded by Malagueño futbol hooligans. I was determined to act neutral in the presence of other fans, so I wouldn’t get my ass kicked.

La Rosaleda was packed with light blue jerseys for Málaga, and the fans were fun to watch. When Barca came out, the hooligans didn’t boo the players like I had expected, but rather, whistled. They kept this up for most of the game. Any time a Barca player was in control of the ball, the stadium erupted in shrieking whistles. I must admit, as a player, I would find that a lot more distracted that a long continuous boo. Of course, the hooligans were shouting out Spanish swears all over the place (puta was a crowd favorite).

The only time I broke my neutral character was when Ibrahimovich scored the first goal of the game for Barcelona. I stood and shouted, and I certainly got some looks my directions, not only because I was cheering for Barca, but also because I yelled out, “YEAH!” in English. Whoops…

I was very impressed by Barca’s offensive, they were so patient and their passing was nearly flawless. Their time of posession with the ball had to have been at least twice as long as Málaga. The score showed how the game went; 2-0 Barcelona.

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Rain the next day…discouraged my trip to the beach. I spent the morning walking around Málaga. Wandering the city myself, I found my way to the Cathedral de Málaga. There was a plaza in front of the main entrance, with a few outdoor cafes sitting in the shadow of the enormous church. A perfect place to eat lunch.

The Cheers Café: Málaga. Where Everybody Knows Your Name. Well, perhaps not literally, but at least a lovely place to enjoy a meal outside. I asked the bartender if they sold T-Shirts, he told me they didn’t. Bummer. That would have been a great gift to get my dad, who owns a Cheers Boston shirt, and was once offered a few hundred dollars for the shirt off his back.

With a full stomach, I began touring the city on foot. I took lots of pictures.

That night I went out with friends from the hostel. I was the youngest of the group by at least 6 years, and probably the only one that didn’t speak German. Everyone could speak English as well, as for my sake, that was the language of the night. We took a stroll through the center shopping district, and found a tapas bar with outdoor seating. Cheap beer and plenty of fried seafood; it was a gastronomic dream.

We continued to drink once back at the hostel. I performed card tricks and taught everyone the popular American card game, “asshole” (or president). The night ended with an inebriated discussion of world politics, the history of Macedonia, and places I need to visit.

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Alas, a beautiful sunny day at the southern tip of Spain. Not much to report on the blog- spent most of the day on the beach. The Mediterranean is so lovely. So was all of Málaga. Just check out the pictures.

Next morning- return to Madrid!

Nights at Hostel One Puerta del Sol

(Sorry, this post is about a week behind where I am now, I'll try and catch up soon)

My new youth hostel was a much friendlier and exciting place. Travelers from all over the world come in and out daily.

The first night I met a fellow traveler, Helio, and his group of friends from Portugal.

And boy, did they know how to have a good time.

It was a Monday, and on the weekdays, bar and club promoters walk the streets and entice tourists to visit their establishment with free drinks, or discounts. As cheap travelers, we graciously took the cerveza o chupita gratis (free beer or shot), then left to find the next free drink.

At the last bar we visited, I was very happy to find a foosball table in the corner.

I played foosball almost everyday of senior year at Lebo, betting $5 on each 2v2 game. I was quite tipsy at this point, so needless to say, I was very confident in my game.

Helio was talking trash, claiming that the Portuguese invented the sport of foosball. Chirp Chirp.

In our first game, I represented America, and won 5-3. The girls we were with wanted to play as well, and thus began the foos-a-thon. Very quickly, other patrons of the bar wanted their shot at the current champions, Helio and I.

Team Julio/Helio continued to win, though I must admit, a few of the Spaniards were really damn good.

After5-6 games we were finally dethroned, which was fine by me, because it was around 5 am.

Stumbling back to the hostel with Helio, we had a drunken conversation about life. It was the Helio’s last night in Madrid, so I made a promise to come visit him in Portugal, and he promised to show me a good time in Lisbon.

I was very careful not to wake anyone up when I got into my 8 person bedroom, a task I succeeded in despite my extreme inebriation.

The following morning, my 5 very loud Italian roommates were not so courteous. They did not know how to whisper, only shout from their beds at each other. When someone else in the room would ask them too keep it down, they would act very apologetic, “Scuzi, scuzi,” then continue the same irritating chatter. Those guys just didn’t know how to whisper.

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After sleeping for most of the day (or rather, after a long siesta) because of my noisy roomates, I went out again the next night with a group from my youth hostel. We checked out an Irish pub to watch the futbol match: Liverpool vs. Leeds. After the game, we went out for drinks (though we certainly had some at the pub).

This was the most interesting group of people I had been out with thus far. We all spoke English in our native countries, yet we were from all around the world. There were Americans, Dubliners, North Irish, Brits, Aussies, and even a Kiwi all represented at our diverse English table. It was tons of fun making fun of how each other spoke.

After the first tapas bar, about half of the group left because they had to wake up early for work the next morning. Surprisingly, they all had the same job in Spain… being ENGLISH TEACHERS!!!

There were five of us left, myself, Armando (from Fresno, California), Kevin (from North Ireland), Emily, and Natalie (both from Australia). The Aussies really wanted to go out dancing, so after hitting a few bars to get into the dancing mood, we found a club called Cierles. It was a weekday night around 2 am, and although there were certainly people at the bar, the dance floor was completely deserted.

But not for long. Team English stormed the floor and it was only us dancing for the whole night. Armando was one of the most impressive dancers I have ever seen (he goes to clubs in Cali often), which made me really self conscious of my moves at the start. The alcohol quickly got me over my inhibitions, and I soon began to just try and emulate Armando, as well as do whatever the hell I felt like with my body.

At one point, some salsa music came on, and I just grabbed Natalie’s arms and started to salsa. I have no damn clue how to salsa dance, but the Aussies seemed to think I did. It was a load of fun until this Spanish couple stepped out onto the floor for one song. I stood corrected. THEY knew how to salsa dance, and they were amazing. We quickly cleared the floor to watch the professionals go at it. Their footwork was incredibly advanced and it was clear that they had practiced this many times before.

We didn’t get out of that club til around 5 am, my second night in a row staying out that late. Wowzers it was tiring. We were dancing for nearly 3 hours! I would have never done anything like that at home, but this is Spain!

The Italian debate team woke me up at 9am the next morning again…

And the next morning around the same time…

I love hostels for meeting people, but the sure do suck for sleeping.

La Noche en Blanco

Saturday night was a special evening in Madrid. La Noche en Blanco- a city-wide art festival celebrating the expression of Spanish culture. The festival consisted of over 150 exhibitions, activities, and performances. In addition to the scheduled events, it seemed as though any Spaniard with a unique talent was out on the streets performing for euros.

Musicians, magicians, and every other costumed gimmick (like painted statues, Shrek, and a Billy-the-big-mouthed-bass-Man) lined the streets.

Never before have I been among so many people in the streets of a city (yes indeed, this was larger than the Super Bowl Riots…and much tamer).

On Calle Gran Via, one the largest streets in Madrid, projection light towers spiked out of the center like vertebrae on an overgrown beast. Gran Via’s usually white stone buildings were painted with fluorescent blues, greens, and pinks from the large studio lights.

La Noche en Blanco was truly an event for all ages. For the cultured and mature folks, museums and plazas showcased classical Spanish arts; dance, film, theater, ect. Elderly Spaniards brought their grandchildren around to these classic events, stopping sporadically to take pictures with Winnie the Pooh and Minnie Mouse. Many restaurants offered specials to correspond with La Noche en Blanco as well.

As always, the clubs and discos were raging and open until 6 am. But another event added extra excitement for Madrid’s youths.

At one end of Gran Via, in Plaza de Espana, was one of the coolest outdoor concerts I have ever seen. Red Bull presents: La Batalla de los Gallos, which literally translates to The battle of the roosters (COCK-FIGHT!!!).

And indeed, it was a cock fight. In the middle of the largest plaza in Madrid, was the Spanish National RAP BATTLE championships. Yes, freestyle rap battling, like the movie 8-mile, only on a much bigger scale.

I was so upset that my Spanish comprehension wasn’t strong enough to understand the quick Spanish lashings of the 60 second rap battle each Gallo had in the 1 on 1 competition where the crowd choose the winner. I could certainly understand bits and pieces of the rap, but aside from the smooth rhyming to American instrumental hiphop beats, I felt like I was really missing out on the soul of this show.

What made the event was that after any particularly good freestyle line, the crowd would go nuts, turning to their friends, shouting “OOOOOOHHHHH!!!” It was so exciting, yet made me feel so left out at the same time.

I wish I would have filmed more footage of la Batalla, but after walking many miles trying to find La Almudena earlier in the day, I was just too exhausted, and had to go to sleep around 2:30am. However, La Noche en Blanco continued to rage outside of my hostel window until well past 6am.

La Almudena

My ability to speak Spanish hasn’t really improved that much without anyone to consistently converse with, but I’m able to understand others more and more each day. For the most part, Spaniards speak too fast for me. I can’t translate a phrase in my head fast enough to hear the next sentence. I find that I still have to just nod and say “Si,” or hope to pick out a word I know.

But I found a nerdy way to improve my Spanish. I went into El Corte Ingles (equivalent to Macy’s, but larger) and picked up a copy of Harry Potter and Sorcerer’s Stone in Spanish. I’ve been reading about a chapter each day, and it has really improved my vocabulary. Me encanta Harry Potter.

I still haven’t really made friends yet (besides Harry, Ron, and Hermione…), so Ultimate Frisbee seemed like the natural choice to connect with people.

I heard about an open practice for the Ultimate team here in Madrid, Los Quixotes. Finally, a way to connect to some Spaniards that I can excel at. The practice field, La Almudena, was quite far from my hostel, about 5 km away, but with nothing else to do but explore, I decided to hoof it. I left about 4 hours before the practice was supposed to start, expecting that I would want to stop for lunch, or that I would get lost. And boy, was I right. Wandering around northwest Madrid, I discovered many beautiful parks, statues, and buildings. Good thing I brought my camera!

At one point, I walked over a mile the wrong direction, and had to turn around and find my way back to a familiar metro stop.

Already exhausted from my trek to La Almudena (a beautiful name for a field, in my opinion), I arrived at the site 15 minutes before the practice was scheduled to start. La Almudena is anything but beautiful. There is no entrance, only a section of fence that was pulled back by the youthful scoundrels that littered the area with shattered booze bottles, cigarette cartons, and empty spray-paint canisters. The walls surrounding the field were covered in colorful graffiti.

I was alone. Perhaps everyone would arrive late, like any Frisbee player would in the U.S. Without anyone to throw with, I did what any ultimate player would do; practice my pulls.

Nope. 30 minutes after the scheduled time and still no one showed up. I was kind of relieved, to be honest, because the field itself was in awful condition. Shattered glass shards were scattered across the field, which consisted of dirt and the occasional weed. No grass anywhere. I quickly realized that it wasn’t a field at all, but a flat ANT HILL! Black and red ants were everywhere, crawling out of large sinkholes that covered the field like pores on some infected creature.

Even though I didn’t get to play Ultimate, I was still exhausted by the time I got back to my hostel. After napping for a few hours, I was ready for La Noche en Blanco.

Estoy en Madrid! (Day 1)

Leaving Pittsburgh was really hard. Driving into the Fort Pitt tunnel, sealing off that final skyline from view, I must admit, I shed some tears. Aside from my duffel and backpack, everything I have is in da ‘burgh. My friends, family, and girl are all there. Now I’m not. It’s odd to wake up from my dreams each morning and realize all those fading faces of my friends are far across the Ocean.

Flight delays at the Pittsburgh and Philadelphia airports added lots of stress to make my connecting flight. My hostel reservation was cancelled, forcing me to stay in a much less friendly, and more expensive hostel. I still haven’t been able to connect to the Internet here (this has obviously changed since). I’ve barely spoken to anyone, unless I’ve been ordering food or needing help getting on the Internet.

Spain is still a very strange place to me. After eight years of suburban American Spanish classes, I know some vocabulary words, but that’s about it. It’s day 1 and I can communicate the basics, but not converse. I’m much worse than Borat.

But it hasn’t all been bad. Insecurities aside, it was a fascinating day.

The architecture here is lovely and simply from another time. I began to take pictures of all the neat buildings, but quickly gave up after realizing everything is worthy of a photo. You just have to be here to get it.

Puerta del Sol is lovely. I spent all day in this section of town exploring the streets, shops, and restaurants. The pedestrian streets of the plaza are lined with musicians, magicians, and other miscellaneous performers. I’ve never seen so many accordions. I’ve also been surprised by the large amounts of graffiti tagged throughout the city. It’s much more prevalent in Spain than in the U.S. I was also expecting temperatures over 100, but I don’t think it’s been over 70 since I’ve arrived.

If this is the worst culture shock that Spain can throw at me, then it’s going to be an epic trip.