Eating. No praying. No loving. Ok, some loving.

Here’s the thing about Italy: It is as amazing as everyone says. The food, the people, the landscape, everything. Although I was by myself (because I went after my academic program ended and after everyone else had run out of money), it didn’t matter so much because I had Italy to keep me company. I am so happy I saved this trip for last.

The first destination in my two-week Italy tour was Milan, strictly because flights there were cheap. A lot of people told me how ugly Milan is… and they were right. It seems like a city in black and white; every car is gray, black, silver or white. Even the major attraction, the Duomo (which, I will admit, is striking) is made of white marble. In general, it seems like a place where people actually do work, which so NOT Italy. 

The Duomo of Milan 

Despite the unpleasant city landscape, I had some amazing food in Milan. Almost every restaurant, trattoria or bakery I went to in Italy was based on recommendations through people I knew or online. I know, I know, so NOT spontaneous and in line with the Italian lifestyle. My mindset was (and is after the success of my research) I was in the culinary capital of the world, so I didn’t want to mess it up.

The Pizza I ate at Spontini was a delicious pan pizza style, cooked in a brick oven with perfectly browned mozzarella cheese and some lovely Italian men serving it. The gelato I had near the Duomo, complete with a pool of melted milk chocolate in the bottom of the cone and real pieces of pistachio in the gelato was incredible. The extra dark chocolate gelato at Grom, a family owned chain where everything is made by hand, was, frankly, pseudo-orgasmic. Both the spicy ham and parmesan and the ricotta and spinach panzerottis I had at Panzerotti Luini were worth much more than the 2 each euro they cost.

In addition to eating my face off, I also got to see the Last Supper by Leonardo Da Vinci. The process of viewing the painting, located in a church with nothing else of interest, was, well, a process. First, I had to make a reservation for a specific time three weeks in advance. When I got there, I had to wait in a room to be let into a waiting area, then wait there to be let into an airtight room, THEN led into the room where the Last Supper is held. Of course, the painting itself is very impressive and I was happy to have an audio-guide explain the process of its restoration and why it is such an important piece of art. Thanks Rick Steves free itunes audio-tours!

Obviously NOT a real picture of The Last Supper (even I couldn't break those photo rules)
but it looks exactly like this, down to the damaged part at J-dog's legs and feet.  

I was very happy to leave and Milan and go somewhere I KNEW was beautiful: the Cinque Terre. Cinque terre means five lands in Italian and it consists of five villages on the sides of cliffs facing the Mediterranean Sea.

Monterosso, Italy in the CInque Terre

While staying in Monterosso, I became friends with a gelateria owner and he invited me to help make gelato for his store the next morning (oddly asking literally nothing in return)! If you can call helping taste-testing every flavor as it came out of the gelato maker, I definitely assisted a whole lot. While fresh-made gelato doesn’t exactly sound like it would be anything more special than 5-hour old gelato, I can assure you it IS. Every flavor was the best gelato I had ever eaten.

Making Stracciatella gelato 

Caprese NOMMMMM

The hike between all the towns is 10KM and includes a lot of cliff-side and aerial views of these beautiful villages. Everything I read about the hike said it is physical and you have to be athletic to do it. No problem; I’m totally athletic! Well it turns out, a year in Europe had caused me to deteriorate into a much less athletic state than to which I was accustomed. Let’s just say the amount of sweat involved in this hike was… excessive.

Vernazza, Italy

Vernazza, Italy 

Pesto comes from the Cinque Terre originally. Score.

Although there were an unnatural amount of tourists (especially Americans) in the Cinque Terre, it still had a neighborhood feel. Even all the baseball caps, mom-cargo shorts, and chubby adolescents could not distract from Cinque Terre’s charm and beauty.

Riomaggiore, Italy. Favorite.

After Cinque Terre, it was off to Milan for one night, then in the morning to…. VENICE. I feel like every time I say VENICE there should be chimes and a little melody to go along with it. This place is just that magical. When you walk out of Santa Lucia train station, you see the grand canal immediately, it’s like a slap of beauty right to the face... and it hurts so good. Even though I think everyone knows Venice is a city built on water, it’s hard to believe to what extent it is really on/in the water. Let’s just say the homes, hotels, and restaurants on the grand-canal look like they are literally floating, the bottom a little green just like a dock in a river. It literally looks unreal.

Unfortunately, Venice is as expensive as it is beautiful, which kept this city from being one of my favorites. I feel like Italy, especially Venice, takes advantage of its destination status and over-charges visitors for museum-entrances, transportation and food. Apart from making me more broke, I started to resent the country’s tourism industry tactics. With that said, NOTHING could undermine the beauty of Italy’s cities.

In a traghetto gondola (which costs 0.50 euro cents per person instead of 80 euro per boat.
I guess this makes it a trag(ically poor and)ghetto?

I headed to Burano, via Murano, for a half day. Murano is an island off the main land famous for glass-blowing. I got to see a free glass-blowing display in a room that was about 110 degrees, and ran away before they tried to pressure me into buying anything (as if anyone could pressure me into buying something).

Murano Glass factories

Thankfully, the rain stopped just before I reached Burano, an old fisherman’s village with brightly colored houses. The special look of this island is so important, in fact, that anyone who wants to paint his or her home must have the color approved by the government. 

Burano, Italy

Appropriate outfit for the occasion

The next day, I explored the main island of Venice, ate gelato for lunch, peaked in the hundreds of stores with carnival masks and blown glass, and got lost amongst the canals.

Free entrance to a store with ugly souvenirs. Awesome! Thanks!

St. Marks's Square

PASTA

Carnival masks in Venice

There truly is no place like Venice and it is somewhere you MUST see before you die… or before it sinks.

I boarded yet another train for Florence and practically s soon as I arrived, I fell in love with the Duomo, engineered by Brunelleschi. It is the largest dome in the world made of a brick and even though some say the green, pink and white facade is excessive, I think it provides a stark and interesting contrast with the deep, warm brick. Basically… Florence Cathedral exterior= So. Amazing. We won’t talk about the interior or how long of a line I had to wait into see how disappointing it was.

As if this centerpiece to the city were not enough, Florence has a ludicrous collection of art, famous dead people and cheap food.

Pizza by weight. THATSWHATIMTALKINABOUT.

Gelateria dei Neri. Best gelato I had in Italy.

I visited the Uffizi Gallery first and was so happy I got a reservation online, since the wait in line was an estimated 2 hours (!!!!!).  This gallery has the biggest collection of renaissance art in the world, most notably (in my opinion), it holds The Birth of Venus by Boticelli and Medusa by Caravaggio. I took an art break to have a beef, parmesan and arugula panino with chianti wine at ‘Ino, an AMAZING sandwich place near the Ponte Vecchio.

Ponte Vecchio Bridge

Next, it was time to go to L’Accademia and meet The David. I had heard so much about him and while waiting in the reservation line, it was hard to contain my excitement. I hoped his butt was as beautiful in person as it was in pictures. 

I couldn’t have prepared myself for the sculpture I saw at the end of the hallway of “slaves” by Michaelangelo. DAVID IS BEAUTIFUL. The sculpture is so multifaceted and even though every angle, vein, curve seems so calculated, Michelangelo carved David free-hand (like all of his statues), as opposed to with a certain plan like most other sculptors. Michelangelo used to say “every block of stone has a statue inside it and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.”

Totally illegal picture. Totally worth the scolding I got. 

While in Florence, I took a day trip to Pisa, an easy hour train ride away. I have to admit, I was incredibly tired, and cultured-out, so I just saw the Leaning Tower of Pisa, took some pictures and ate lunch (albeit a FANTASTIC lunch at Antica Trattoria il Campano - homemade spaghetti with parmesan, tomatoes, garlic and olive oil) before going back to Florence.

It's the one leaning, not me. 

There is so much to see in Florence: Santa Croce Church (where Michelangelo is buried), Piazza Michelangelo (where the bronze David is displayed), Piazza della Signorina (where a ridiculous amount of sculptures stand) Pitti Palace (the unfinsihed Medici palace) and too many churches to name. The student vibe and walkability of the city reminded me so much of Boston, giving me just a tinge of home-sickness. It came just in time though, because I would be meeting my mom in the next city, ROME. 

Money MATTERS

1 Euro = 1.444 U.S. dollars

It fluctuated between this rate and $1.35 during my time in Europe. Needless to say, that sucked for me. I repeat: it sucked for ME, not my parents.

While Mommy and Daddy Mollohan have not given me everything I ever wanted, they have always gotten me everything I ever needed. I would never claim to have struggled fiscally in my life, but I feel it necessary to mention that my parents did not give me any money to travel in Europe this academic year. I am not bashing students with a monetary umbilical cord (since I am a little jealous of them) but I want to be clear that all the experiences I have written about were planned and followed through based on what’s in my personal bank account and no one else’s.

So, how did I afford to do all the traveling I did this year?

The answer is pretty boring: working, saving and budgeting.

I started summer 2010 with about $2,000 and proceeded to work three jobs plus any odd jobs I could possibly find on the BU online job-board. While working an average of 65 hours a week for three months, I was able to make $7,000 additional dollars (and spent only $250 during the entire summer, since I had included housing with one of my jobs and also worked in a restaurant which got me a lot of free food).

Well, nobody knows how to spend $8,752 (6,095 Euros) in ten months like I do. I was able to go everywhere I wanted by conserving money in every way possible. I walked EVERYWHERE (avoiding paying for public transportation and never using taxis), utilized hostel kitchens, only went to clubs that I could get into for free, stayed in the cheapest hostels (even if they were “gross”), etc. OF COURSE I splurged on a couple things to keep my sanity. I bought the slightly over-priced leather bag in Morocco, I went to a nice dinner in Paris. I bought those expensive airline tickets and ferry tickets during spring break in Greece.

Also, sorry to be a bubble-burster, but get that “the best things in life are free” idea OUT of your head. This silly maxim is even less true in Europe. That being said, working from 9AM until midnight 5 days a week during the entire summer was ABSOLUTELY worth it for the year I experienced and I would do it again and again without a second thought. With the unbelievable year I had, it’s hard to care that I currently have $195.45 to my name.

On coming home

The Bolt bus from NYC to Boston is the perfect place for reflection.  Yes, folks. That’s right. I am officially in the USA.

People talk a lot about “reverse culture shock”, which I think is a little ridiculous in terms of study-abroad. I have lived in the United States for 20 years before I lived in Spain for less than one, so I have got the whole American thing down; I will be ok. Of course, there are plenty of differences between the United States and Spain, meaning I can think of a lot of little things I will miss while I am here in America.

• My host family
• Having Spanish all around me
• Being a novelty in class (as the only foreign person)
• My Spanish for foreigners class
• Jamón (ham), freshly baked bread, olive oil, sangria, mahou beer, manchego cheese
• Lateral Restaurante
• Public drinking/ botellones
• Having someone be excited to see me no matter what (host brother)
• Never eating dinner alone
• The wide streets and urban beauty of Madrid
• Amazing clubs
• Never having to do dishes/laundry
• The amazing Madrid metro
• Traveling every other weekend

…and of course, there are so many reasons why I am excited to be back home:

• Seeing my family and friends, meeting my niece
• AMERICAN BREAKFAST
• hummus, peanut butter, skim milk, dunkin donuts, spicy food, unsalted food, Ice
• Seeing people work out, having the ability to work out
• Having more clothes to wear than what fits in two suitcases
• Being enrolled at Boston University
• Picking what and when I eat
• Cooking
• Having an income
• Wearing shorts, flip-flops and/or sneakers in public
• Good ‘ol American ORDER, SPEED and SERVICE
• Boston

El verdadero final

It was a very weird two weeks following my last final at La Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. My internship had intended, I had no class, no responsibilities, no obligations. I have never been good at relaxing (I think that would take a 3 year dose of Spain, not a one-year one), so I almost went crazy. Thankfully, because BU will reimburse us up to seven euro for going on 'cultural excursions' in Spain, I decided to get all the money culture I possibly could out of my beloved university.

The Clothing Museum of Madrid 

Like most sad departures, Natalie leaving was a great way for me to reach out and spend more time with other people in my program. My intrepid museum partners immediately became Steph and Allie. During those two weeks, I went to 6 movies (all originally made in Castellano Spanish because those are the only ones BU will cover) and visited about 10 museums. Cultural reimbursement money: 54 euros, the equivalent of about $78. Oh, and I got a lot of culture blah, blah, blah.

"I am here, but nothing" art installation by Yayoi Kusama at La Reina Sofia Modern Art Museum.

Note: I am still not good at relaxing despite having two full weeks of practice. 

Just before my period of relaxation, starting May 21, peaceful protests began in Madrid in La Puerta del Sol, primarily in the form of a large-scale camp-out. The protestors were mostly students voicing their dissatisfaction with... a lot of stuff. Supposedly, their message sought a change in policy and expressed their anger toward President Zapatero's handling of the economic crisis.

La acampada del Sol

As foreign students ourselves, we were only affected by the faint smell of urine emanating from the Sol metro stop. A lot of us decided to visit Sol to get a better smell and see the "camp" for ourselves. By the time I got there, the tents had been set up for almost two weeks and the mini-town that had been created had shrunk to about a fifth of its original size. By reading the protestors signs and seeing how they lived, it was clear that any original message they had was very convoluted. Of course, with weed, public drinking and excessive dreadlocks messages tend to be confused. Any demands the student protestors had (they didn't) would not and could not be met. 

After 3 weeks of dirtying and vandalizing the city's central square, creating an uncordial welcome for tourists and giving Spain a worse global image, (almost) all the hippies left. 

Totally respecting the hippies protestors "message"

At the beginning of the July, I was lucky enough to see some familiar faces, which is always a good thing. One of my friends who is Dutch and living in Amsterdam for the summer came to visit and I got to see some new bars and clubs in Madrid. El Pez Gordo for drinks was a major win, but Sala Heineken was a sort of mini everything-I-hate-about-Madrid-youth world, with a lot of mullet dread-lock haircuts. At any rate, it was a great night because I got to see Willa! 

Yay for visitors!

El Bar Imperfecto. Site of the best mojito in Madrid.

A few days later I got to see my friend Dana, who I have known since I was about 8 because he is good friends with my older sister. He was in Madrid for a month taking some courses at La Universidad Nebrija, which probably sucks as much as Autónoma. Ironically enough, Dana also taught Spanish at my old high school, but he was fortunately never my teacher (because that would be awkward). Visiting with Dana and catching up was a very welcome event in my two week nothing-period. 

So excited about visiting the Prado Museum with Dana 

The weekend before I left for my two week trip to Italy, I spent some quality time with my host family. We watched Despicable Me together in Spanish, made Paella, went swimming at their condo's pool, and did other adorable things. I got to meet a lot of my host parents' extended family as well, which reminded me how different my second host family was from my first, truly letting me into their lives and treating me like a family member.

I got EXACTLY what I wanted when I moved into their apartment. When my host-mom, Marta, scolded me for leaving a cup on he coffee table without a coaster, I couldn't help but smile because it made me feel like a part of the family- no special treatment, which is what I wanted. I never felt like Marta was getting paid, not once. Even when Pablo asked me OVER AND OVER AND OVER for a piece of gum or to play soccer with him, it never got annoying. Not once. I feel so lucky to have gotten what I wanted in the end. Mejor tarde que nunca. 

THE HOST FAM: Martin, Marta, Pablo, and I at Escorial

Morocco: The unabridged version

Warning: This post contains vulgar language and might make you feel uncomfortable.

Upon arrival at the Marrakesh airport, we did everything we were supposed to: asked the information desk for a map and how to get to the Medina (old town) and how much cab fare would be. When we arrived to the taxi-stand, the first driver gave us a quote 3 times what the ride was worth. Because Kira and I were two females with large bags, we were literally swarmed by taxi drivers that seemed to be competing with each other and with us at the same time. We eventually got the price down to a little less than twice the amount it should have been. I originally expected this experience to be something like my trip to Cairo or Istanbul. After leaving the airport, however, I quickly realized Morocco, specifically Marrakesh, would not be similar to any city I had been before.

Driving to our hostel, seeing the dirty, overcrowded, streets and sidewalks (that Kira reminded were not nearly as dirty as those of Kampala, Uganda, where she had just studied abroad) selling literally ANYTHING one could think of (bed frames, toasters, shoes, tissues, fresh-squeezed OJ)I started to feel like all the meticulous research I had done about how to act, what to wear, and how to get around in Morocco started to seem frivolous.

Most of the streets in Marrakesh are about 20 times more full than this one

Something to mention about all the taxi drivers in Moroccan is that they have no idea what they are doing or how to get anywhere. Before getting in any taxi, there is a fight about the price and a discussion about how to get to the destination. Oh, and don’t expect to get where you want to go in a cab without a map, because taking a taxi in Morocco is a team sport. 

A Moroccan boy could tell we were confused when we got out of our cab, so when we asked him how to get to Hostel Auberge Douzi, he walked us! I was so excited to experience some of the Moroccan hospitality I had heard about previously. When we arrived to the hostel, a 40 second walk away, our ad-hoc guide looked at Kira and I… expectantly. It was the unequivocal I-just-provided-a-service-now-where’s-my-compensation look. The money fight lasted about a minute, us telling him we were giving him enough, him telling us he doesn't have money and we finally gave him about a Euro. And so, a half hour after arriving, I realized Moroccan hospitality is bogus; it may even be a cover-up.

We realized this illusion of Moroccan hospitality was very common in the streets. One particular trick was tried on us about ten times. We would be walking somewhere (usually the square) and a man would tell us "no you can't walk that way; it's closed off. Here, let me help you". At first, we would try to walk a different way (we learned after the first couple times these were lies), and they would start following us and/or asking if we wanted a guide. We begged them to stop following us, that we didn't have money for a guide, and they insisted they didn't want a lot of money or that they were not guides, that they just wanted to help. Most men would follow us for a while; it was difficult to get rid of them. We eventually were told to ignore these men completely, which worked nicely. A select few men, however, got extra angry and decided to say some extra-vulgar things to us. Moroccan hospitality is not my thing. 

On the walk to the main square, while dodging hoards of residents, tourists, bikes, moped, and motorcycles, Kira and I received an impressive and varied repertoire of cat-calls. I guess it’s really hard to resist a girl fresh off a RYANAIR flight in blue jeans and a tent size long-sleeve, up-to-the-neck sweater. My ankles were slightly exposed, so maybe I deserved some of the comments that some men yelled and some creepily whispered:

“Nice ass”

“Big ass”

“Hey lady I like your big/nice ass”

“I want to f*ck you”

“f*ck your mother, f*ck blah blah f*ck your ass”

Oh, and I got a butt squeeze, followed by a “f*ck you” by one particular Moroccan man! Lucky me.

While I wasn’t exactly afraid due to recent events that took place at Djemma el-Fna Square, it was definitely something I couldn’t avoid thinking about.

In the square, on the of the more normal things we saw

Terrorism killing innocent people and seeping into our thoughts aside, Djemma el-Fna Square is generally a ridiculous and fun place. Full of snake charmers, henna-artists, beggars, and vendors, it is somewhere a tourist could easily spend the entire day. We spent part of the day walking around some of the most important mosques in the area (yes, around; non-Muslims are not allowed to enter the mosques in Morocco) including Koutobia Mosque, the oldest, largest and most important mosque in Marrakesh. Not being allowed to enter the mosque because we were not Muslim made it a very short visit, however.

The next day we went to Fes, Morocco and since we love getting up before the sun, we decided to take the 5AM train. We arrived a little at noon, napped  for a while, and had a delicious and cheap Moroccan feast with Moroccan soup, couscous, vegetables, mint tea and fresh oranges with cinnamon (which Kira and I are a little obsessed with now). Having roasted vegetables was SUCH a refreshing change from the vegetable-less life I am used to in Madrid. 

Because there are NO street signs in Morocco (not an exaggeration) we never really succeeded in finding the things we were searching for by ourselves, the Jewish quarter in Fes being no exception. After we failed in finding that area, we ran into some pretty crazy markets filled with a lot of scarves with gross stains on them.

The famous "Blue Gates" in Fes, the entrance to the old city 

We returned to our hostel for our guided tour lead by the hostel owner, which was definitely the highlight of the trip. We went to a Quranic school first, where the 4-year-olds sang “twinkle, twinkle little star”. Then we went to a rug-factory, to the famous tannery (where I bought my first leather bag ever!), to an underground oven where they bake Moroccan pita, and through some of the tiny (TINY: like 2 feet wide) side streets in Fes. Our guide pointed out all the supports built by UNESCO (because Fes is a world heritage site) used to keep everything in the city intact. 

UNESCO supports in Fes

University of Al-Karaouine in Fes

Mint to deal with the smell of pigeon poop at the tannery in Fes

Men making doors by hand in Fes

If you go to Morocco, especially Fes, and you are not as poor/cheap as me (wtch you are not, I assure you) GET A GUIDE or go with a group. It is absolutely worth it. Although our guide described everything as "our hospitality in Morocco", at the end of the tour, he made it very clear that we should give him money. I guess Moroccan hospitality isn't free. We never knew we had to give him money, so we each gave the equivalent of 5 Euros each and he basically angrily stormed out of the hostel. We added it to the list of our failures in Morocco.

AMAZING hostel lobby in Fes

Adorable breakfast at our hostel in Fes

And then there was the Moroccan Hammam (bath). Before it, we bought special scrubbers and soap, then our hostel owner’s mother (grandmother? Old lady friend?) brought us through a series of streets to the hammam. Of course, we were charged twice as much as we thought we would be for a bath and massage. We walked in, and, because of the many women and children walking around with only underwear on, we decided we should go all out and strip down to our underwear bottoms. I was very grateful to be with someone I knew so well, since we saw quite a lot of each other boobs. We walked into the bath, which was unsurprisingly very hot and steamy. In all honesty, it looked disgusting and dirty, but I figured it was as clean as Water Country, since the water was consistently being drained and new water being introduced.

            We were assigned a woman that would give us our massages and we were told to sit down next to a balding and VERY disgusting woman with possibly the most amorphous body I have ever seen (to be fair, I haven’t seen THAT many topless women in my life). It became clear very quickly that this was not a tourist Hammam. More than half of the women in the hammam stared at Kira and I and our bathing suit bottoms. I don’t think the fact that mine had multi-colored polka dots helped in our attempt to blend in.

            It was somehow decided that I would go first, so our “masseuse” gave me a tap directing me to lie down on my back, took my hand scrubber and starting scrubbing my body harder than I have ever been scrubbed in my life. My mind reverted immediately to being jostled and shaken on the beach while my mom applied a thick layer of sunscreen to my body. The only difference was this rub-down HURT. It hurt a lot. I started laughing hysterically as she scrubbed my stomach and… ahem… the area above stomach and under my neck, in order to keep from crying. She slapped (literally slapped) me so I would turn over and as I spread my arms out, I got a very unwelcome handful of old-lady boob. I never thought I would get to second base with a 40 year-old Moroccan woman, but I guess there is a first time for everything? After the scrub, I received a brief massage (too brief in my opinion) and my new girlfriend washed and conditioned my hair, something that I had not experienced since I was 5 years old.

            When it all ended ended, I was relieved and felt a little more dirty than I did when I entered. The Moroccan bath was undoubtedly the most uncomfortably  “real” experience I had during my year abroad.

            That night, Kira and I walked around Fes, tried to ignore men yelling that we had “nice, big asses” and went to a very classy rooftop bar called Mezzanine where we enjoyed some over-priced drinks on their roof-top terrace.

            We took an early train to return to Marrakesh the next day, met some horrible cab drivers, I freaked out and yelled them, and we arrived again at our hostel. Our last day, we went to the Bahia Palace, the Badi Palace, the spice market, and to the square again (we couldn’t resist getting a huge meal for the equivalent of 5 euros).

Badi Palace

Delicious healthy Moroccan food. My favorite part of the country

Although both Marrakesh and Fes are fascinating, colorful and bustling places, the men in Morocco overshadowed the many happy memories I will have in the future about this trip. I have always been able to separate my personal travel experience from my opinions about a country, but after dealing with the useless cab drivers and disrespectful men in Morocco, I have failed in my attempt to separate the two. That being said, if you are a woman and you want to go to Morocco to have a vacation (meaning a relaxing/easy/comfortable experience), think twice, because you probably won't get it.  

Africa-Madrid: a round-trip flight

I guess my friend Kira is a little more adventurous than your average BU student and decided to spend her semester abroad in Kampala, Uganda. She planned to do some euro-tripping after her semester, so we tried to plan for when she would visit me and how we could travel somewhere after, hopefully Morocco. The visit was fairly essential, being that we had not seen her eachother for an entire school year, after seeing each other almost every single day the previous summer; it was quite a blow to our daily friendship routine. After e-mailing and scolding Kira for not buying her tickets for several months, then weeks, I finally accepted that she wouldn’t be able to come and I would have to wait until the summer to see one of my best friends.

Immediately after this realization, I received an email from Kira saying she would be arriving to Madrid in five days. I immediately planned a very full (re: awesome) itinerary for us and started studying like a mad-woman for what was sure to be a brutal final at La Universidad Autónoma de Madrid (to avoid having to do so when I had a visitor).

Calle Huertas, my favorite street in Madrid

I unfortunately had class and my internship during the days she was here, so I had to send poor Kira out on her own in the city before meeting back up at met back up at night. I showed her some of my favorite places like El Tigre, Lateral, Cherokee, Pacha, Casa Granada, Chocolateria San Gines, 100 montaditos, Parque Retiro, and she got to see Museo Thyssen, el Museo de la Reina Sofia, and the Royal Palace during the day. 

A rare, but lovely site: good-looking, manly men in Madrid 

Awesome hidden restaurant in Madrid. You probably think you're really cool if you recognize this... and you ARE. 

Reunited and it feels so good (I hope you sang that, not read it. Go back and sing it)

Together, we planned to go to Morocco the coming Thursday to Monday. Kira's visit also lead me to do some things I had never done in Madrid, like go to a Flamenco show and visit the Royal Botanical Gardens, which didn´t meet my high expectations (possibly because I'm jaded), but were still pretty impressive.

 

Royal Botanical Gardens of Madrid

No surprise, I had an amazing time being a tour-guide and hanging out with one of my best friends in my city-away-from-city. 

El Principio del Fin

The day after my Dad left, I got to see another one of my favorite people, Liz! She was finishing her time in Europe by visiting Natalie and I in Madrid! I had visited her in London in January, but I was happy to see her in my city this time. We went to (where else?) Lateral for dinner and got to catch up on our travels and ridiculous euro-tripping lives. Unfortunately, she was only staying in Madrid for one night and we had to say good-bye after a very short reunion.

BU besties minus Kira = /

The next week was full of horribleness in the form of writing two 10-page papers in Spanish but Friday made it all better when I got to see Roger Federer vs. Robin Soderling and Novak Djokovic vs. David Ferrer in the MadridMutua Open with (obviously) Natalie. While I would have loved to see Nadal play, it was pretty hard to be upset watching Ferrer and Djokovic warming up 10 feet away from me before their respective matches. A major downfall to the matches was they were SO amazing that now I have taste for very expensive and elitist live sports. Woops.

Novak Djokovic!

A thing of beauty

David Ferrer warming up!

Being cool

OH MY ROGER FEDERER.

Federer vs. Soderling match.

One reason Natalie and I originally decided to shell out the Euros for the match was because we thought we had missed our last opportunity to see a Real Madrid soccer game. We found we were very wrong the following Tuesday when Natalie found out our friends had gotten tickets to a game against Getafe (who you, nor I have ever heard of) for 20 euro. DONE. I was able to go to my first and last soccer match immediately after my first (of many) Tennis Opens. While I am sure a game vs. Manchester United or Barca would have been a blast if we were in a non-nose-bleed section, it wasn’t and we were, so the game was only mildly exciting in comparison to the Madrid Open. Sorry, all-of-Europe, please don’t hate me.

Real Madrid vs. Getafe Game

Squint...and you will see... number 7.  CRISTIANO RONALDO

We really look we belong at a soccer game

Wednesday and Thursday of that week were the last nights for everyone in the level 1 and 2 programs (so about 3/4 of the people), and we said our good-byes in the classiest way we could think of: with euromania at 100 Montaditos, euro shots at Cherokee and Pacha on Wednesday and with a bottle of wine, and a free mojito at club Kapital on Thursday. Of course, I was most upset to say good-bye to Natalie. Having this experience with my best friend at my side was better than I could have hoped for.

We DID make friends! YAY!

When Natalie originally told me she was going to study abroad spring of Junior year in Madrid, I was a little apprehensive about us being together. After I decided to study abroad for a year and she started to consider the same, I was a little angry with her. I wanted to go into the experience alone and be forced to meet new people; I didn’t want to be one of those people who goes abroad with her best friend(s). I wanted to be completely away from everything that felt comfortable. After having had a very real experience here, realizing it was absolutely NOT a 24/7 party, it was nice to have my best friend around. At this point, I cannot and would not want to imagine having had this experience without her.

So much bestie love

"I have found out that there ain't no surer way to find out whether you like people or hate them than to travel with them."
Mark Twain