The 365th day

The man at the bike shop was surprised to see me walk through the door. Te vas a animar? he asked, looking out at the rain. "You're really up for it?"

“It’s not raining too hard," I said.

I picked the bike with the basket, paid seven euros and left my library card as collateral.

It was raining harder when I arrived at El Retiro. The bike was a little big but I managed. Squinting through the rain, I pedaled over puddles and around joggers. My boots were soon covered in mud.

The park was nearly empty and I could occasionally hear the sound of wet gravel underneath Charlotte Gainsbourg's voice. The rain finally stopped and the sun appeared through the dark clouds.

An old man was walking past as I rode by. I smiled at him. I've developed a soft spot for old Spanish men. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, took off his hat and mouthed "Hola guapa."

....

Sitting at the bar at Hernani, with a café con leche and a damp copy of Anna Karenina, I glanced at the group of tourists sitting next to me, consulting a guide book. There was something really cute about the way they pronounced street names and places. "We have to get to SOUL," one of the men said.

I opted against taking the metro and walked the long way home, past Banco de España, Palacio de Comunicaciones and down Gran Via into Sol, where the festivities were already getting started. Walking is the best way to really get to know a city. Walking is also the best way to clear your head.

Sore and tired from the two-hour ride and walk, I curled up in bed, trying to sleep, trying to shut off my brain. Everyone is where they should be tonight. At home.

....

At 11 p.m., I put on my coat and boots and walked back out into the empty street. There was a blue moon that night.


I didn't want to be alone. I wanted noise, the company of strangers and fireworks. Lots and lots of fireworks. So I headed for Sol, and was startled by several firecrackers along the way.

Sol was chaos. There was confetti, broken glass, prostitutes, drunken singing and brawls.

I laughed (and half-screamed) as my body was crushed and knocked about in the crowd.

You're never alone in being alone.

Barcelona: It's not you, it's me

I loved Barcelona. I tried paella and cava for the first time, which is stronger than you would think or maybe I'm just a "very cheap date," like Sarah said.

The palm trees reminded me of LA.



I saw what I had to see. As expected, Gaudi blew me away.

I also had an awesome partner in crime tour guide who thought it would be a good idea to search for a movie theater in the middle of nowhere just so we could watch "New Moon" in English. After an hour of wandering around and asking for directions, we found it and laughed throughout the entire thing, earning the silent wrath of everyone around us. (Glittery vampires are funny. So is crap acting. End of story.)

The rooftop of Casa Batlló, my favorite Gaudi building.

Looking out to Passeig de Gràcia during the audio tour.

I haven't finished uploading all my pictures yet but here are a few.

I bet you if I had a Mini, I would never miss a flight.

I spent my last few hours in Barcelona at this place. It's in Barri Gòtic, the city's Gothic quarter (think dark, narrow and winding streets). Order the chai tea with Baileys. You'll thank me later.

We all need happy pills, every now and then.

I bought this Banksy tote bag in a store near Park Güell. CINCO EUROS, PEOPLE. I love me some cheap Banksy. I used it to carry all the stuff that didn't fit in my bag.

....

So Barcelona was great and I had a lot of fun BUT...

There's always a but.

I've spent the last couple of days formulating an opinion about Barcelona and I've come to the conclusion that it is a beautiful cosmopolitan city I could never live in.

Queeeeeee, you say? Estas loca! Maybe. But venturing up north was really eye-opening, in many ways. It made me realize just how traditional Madrid really is. I like traditional.

You know what else I like? I like it when waiters at restaurants reply to me in Spanish when I order in Spanish. (I'm looking at you, waiter at Les Quinze Nits who replied in English to my Spanish, repeatedly. SERIOUSLY? IS MY SPANISH NOT SPANISH ENOUGH FOR YOU? OR IS IT BECAUSE I DON'T SPEAK CATALAN? AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KITCHEN CLOSES IN FIVE MINUTES SO WE HAVE TO ORDER NOW?)

Ahem, moving on.

There were moments when riding the metro that I felt like I had stepped into a dark, post-apocalyptic world. It didn't feel like I was in Spain.

As much as I loved it, I kept glancing at my watch on Sunday night. I was aching to get back to Madrid. When I was roused by the pilot who said we would be landing in 10 minutes, I was so happy. I was going home, to the non-scary metro!



The following day, I was waiting for the train home when a woman approached me. I took out my ear buds. She was lost and needed to get to Diego de Leon (Line 6). I told her how to get there from Line 1. As she walked away, I wondered why -- out of all the other people standing on the platform, not listening to music -- she asked me for directions.



I think it's starting to happen. I'm being mistaken for a Madrileña.

Roommates

(photo via songbirds)

I spent most of today wandering around IKEA with Eli. We seemed to forget that we were riding the metro home so we kept throwing things into the cart. Wine glasses! Salad utensils! Pillows! A brand new down comforter! A full-length mirror!

Oh yes we did.

We bought all of that (and MORE) and managed not to break/lose anything on the metro. But the walk from IKEA to the metro stop was a slow one, because Eli was sore from this morning's run.

Amateur.

On the metro, we sat across each other to protect our Swedish goods. We spent the entire ride complaining of hunger and catching yawns from one another.

....

I remember thinking during my flight to Madrid, what if we don't get along? What if she's weird? I was so tired and nervous when I arrived at Barajas that rainy afternoon, scanning the faces at the gate, looking for someone -- who exactly, I didn't know. I was wearing my blue coat and a scarf, just like I said I would. A girl stared at me long and hard. I thought it was her, until she looked away. Sorry, wrong stranger.

And then I saw a piece of paper with my name on it and the dark-haired girl holding it looked at me and I just knew. I waved and smiled. So did she.

As brain dead as I was, I noticed how surprised she looked. I asked her why a couple of nights later, when we'd stay up until 2 a.m. sharing our life stories with nothing but the light from a reading lamp to illuminate our faces.

She said she was expecting someone entirely different.

"What do you mean, different?"

"You know, like those girls from LA. Paris Hilton, dog-carrying types."

"Ah."

Momma told me there'd be days like this

(photo via Siebe)

This week was the week from hell, plain and simple. Everything that could've gone wrong, went wrong. To keep a long story short, it involved a field trip gone awry, my first blackout and real bout of insomnia (seriously insomniacs, HOW DO YOU LIVE?). I also worked really late, which led to missing buses and climbing hillsides in the dark to get to the main road. It was so dark I had to use my cellphone to see the bus schedule. I wanteth adventure, Spain giveth.

So when I finally came home today and I saw an Anthropologie package on my bed, I ripped that baby open and slipped into my new dress. That has pockets. And I pranced around the apartment. And then I twittered about it:



And then I opened Photo Booth and stood far enough to take a decent picture and emailed it to my sister.

Just in case you were wondering, this is what it's like to be a girl -- kind of (see: myometrial contractions).

....

I started working on a post earlier today about the hellish week, teaching and the kids, but as I'm typing this I'm eating Carrefour-bought chocolate in my pajamas and so relieved that tomorrow is Friday because do you know what that means? Sleeping in, waking up lazily around noon, throwing on some clothes and going out for brunch. Kids? What kids?

(p.s. I blogged for EuroCheapo again. I should mention I had swine flu at the time. I will never forget when I woke up that morning, still feverish, and thought, I have to write today. I'm proud of me too.)

Transit theory

(photo via Like Neely O'Hara)

I've been up for the past two hours because I couldn't sleep. My alarm just went off which was really surreal. I just stared at it and laughed.

Ever since I arrived in Madrid, I've been keeping a list of all the things I miss about LA. I never thought I'd miss it, but there's a rapidly growing list that proves otherwise.

I miss the clicking of my sister's heels in the hallway, usually followed by a knock at my door. My mother's laugh. My father's furrowed brow that appears only when he's wearing his glasses. Burgers from In 'N' Out. The Sunday LAT. Monday night television. My bed, the same one I've slept in since I was six years old. Wearing only one layer of clothing. DVR-ing "Say Yes to the Dress" and "What Not to Wear." Eating Chinese take-out with Jen on the couch, while watching said shows. Being behind the wheel of my car and driving down the 5 with the windows down, zooming past LA's landscape of palm trees and power lines. KCRW's Morning Becomes Eclectic. I miss that California light, the best light there is. My yellow room filled with books and the creaking of floorboards under my bare feet. I really miss waking up in that room.



Lucas told me the other day his theory about foreigners and traveling. He said that once you live somewhere else, you'll never quite be home again. I asked him to explain this rather grim theory of his. He used me as an example. "When you're here, you're constantly talking about how it is back home. But when you go back home, you'll talk about how life is in Spain. You'll always be in transit."

I wonder if Lucas has seen "Garden State."

Table for one

I've been feeling odd lately. There is a distinct difference between pre-Swine flu me and post-Swine flu me. Maybe it was being so far away from home that brought on the homesickness and living abroad blues. Or the sudden decrease in temperature. I'm trying my best to shake it off but it's really hard when it's 12 degrees Celsius in Madrid and 70 degrees Fahrenheit in LA.

So after picking up my NIE yesterday (My friend Erin says I look very Tina Fey-ish in my picture. I hope airport guards won't be disappointed when they see me in the flesh. Y TUS LENTES?!) I headed over to Living in London for some quiet alone time.

Living in London is a small tea house that is a couple of blocks away from my apartment. Yes, it's the kind of darling place your grandmother would like but the wallpaper, cushions and peonies in the window truly make it a cheery and cozy place. The only thing missing is a working fireplace. Maybe even a Colin Firth doppelganger waiter, but I'll leave that for management to decide.

I was unaware of it existence until Debbie made the terrible decision to take me there last week. I say terrible because among the many amazing things on the menu, they have scones with clotted cream and jam and... CADBURY HOT CHOCOLATE. IN A GIANT MUG AS BIG AS YOUR FACE. TOPPED WITH WHIPPED CREAM AND SPRINKLES.



I KNOW. TERRIBLE.

I was the only person sitting there alone. I read my book, did some writing, stuffed my face with finger sandwiches, scones and a side of quality eavesdropping (the pregnant Spanish businesswoman next to me jumped from petrol to fashion and then back to petrol).

It was just what I needed. I also cooked a three-course meal yesterday and nearly burned down the apartment, but that's a whole other post.

UPDATES:
- I'm going to Barcelona in two weeks and I'll be in Paris the first weekend in December. Any suggestions are welcome!

- The Sartorialist is coming to Madrid! I'm definitely going but I don't know what to wear...

- I had my first Guinness in Las Ventas during Oktoberfest last week. It was really frothy and just as filling as a proper meal.



In fact, when this picture was taken, I think I was suppressing a burp.


(photos courtesy of my favorite Finnish person, Johanna)

Oh Lolina, Lolina

During the time I was sick I kept thinking about where I'd go as soon as I felt better. Only one place came to mind: Lolina!*

I decided to take one more day off (I'll go back to work tomorrow, I swear) and just the thought of coming here today made me so happy. Yeah, they didn't have the quiche I love but I'll take what I can get.

What I like the most about this place is that it doesn't feel like I'm in Madrid. Lolina is in an artsy, edgy neighborhood that must be like Madrid's Silver Lake. The cafe is filled with mismatching vintage furniture of different colors and sizes. I'm sitting in a mustard yellow chair that was last upholstered in the 70s and the table is a small, round bedside table with a paper doll design.

There's a green tasseled lamp in the corner that looks like it was snatched from the set of "Amelie." I'm beginning to wonder if there's a rule that in order to work here, you need to have an awesome pixie cut or bob.

I tend to order the sobresasada with brie and honey, which is just as amazing as it sounds. Oh and the sweet ginger peach tea! Heaven in a teacup.

There's also a flower shop next door. And free wi-fi.

So yeah, on the cuteness scale, Lolina is somewhere in between Zooey Deschanel and kittens.

To get here: Exit Metro Noviciado and walk up Calle Espiritu Santo.

*special thanks to Erin from Kansas, who introduced me to this place!

(photos courtesy of Lolina)

Adios, Los Angeles

If you're reading this, I'm probably thousands of feet above LA, en route to Madrid via Toronto. I'll let you know if there is any hand-holding.

See you on the other side of the Atlantic!

p.s. I really hope nothing happens to my luggage because my carry-on suitcase is filled entirely with shoes.


(photo via Like Neely O'Hara)

T-Minus 33 Days

Chamberi, Madrid

I'm so glad it's Friday. I've been staying up most nights to Skype a potential roommate. She lives in Chamberi, a neighborhood in Madrid that is about 10 minutes away from the hustle and bustle of the center. She has an extra room in her flat, which is completely furnished. She's Columbian and doesn't speak any English... so I will be practicing my Spanish A LOT. And she wants me to make a decision by Monday!

It's really hard choosing a place to live in when you're not there to see for yourself. Not that I'm picky, but I AM claustrophobic and a little natural lighting never hurt anybody. And I really like trees. So I've been doing the next best thing: Google maps street view.

If it's the building I keep staring at, she lives across the street from a small restaurant. Perfect for some midnight snax. As soon as I get to see some pictures, I will seal the deal via Skype.

....

Never mind the fact that I haven't even started packing, but I need to get out.

Tonight, I'm meeting friends at someone's home (thanks friend of a friend for entrusting us with your fancy digs!) in the Hollywood Hills for an expat dinner. It's going to be really hard to say goodbye.

Ernie Loved Madrid

Madrid 2008 from timelapses.tv on Vimeo.

"When you get to know Madrid it is the most Spanish of all cities, the best to live in, the finest people, month in and month out the finest climate and while the other big cities are all very representative of the province they are in, they are either Andalucian, Catalan, Basque, Aragonese, or otherwise provincial. It is in Madrid only that you get the essence. The essence, when it is the essence, can be in a plain glass bottle and you need no fancy labels, nor in Madrid do you need any national costumes; no matter what sort of building they put up, though the building itself may look like Buenos Aires, when you see it against the sky you know it is Madrid. If it had nothing else but the Prado it would be worth spending a month in every spring, if you have money to spend in any European capital. But when you can have the Prado and the bullfight season at the same time with El Escorial not two hours to the north and Toledo to the south, a fine road to Avila and a fine road to Segovia, which is no distance from La Granja, it makes you feel very badly, all question of immortality aside, to know that you will have to die and never see it again."

---Ernest Hemingway
From "Death In The Afternoon"

Profesora Stephanie

As I fret about Visas and packing and what adaptor I need to buy for my laptop, it's easy to forget that once I get there I HAVE TO WORK. Wait, what? I thought this was a vacation!

There's always a catch. For 16 hours a week, I will be teaching English at this fine institution.



When I applied, I thought, how hard can it be? I speak English and Spanish. I just have to stand in front of a classroom and say things like "Repeat after me class, 'The monkey is in the tree.'"

But I've never taught in my life. I've never been a tutor. And I hate public speaking. This explains why I lay awake at night dreading the first day of school when, instead of being the bored, glassy-eyed student doodling in the margins, I will be the source of the boredom.

The good thing is that I will be teaching elementary school students who, I hope, are not old enough to have a 'tude.

I'm also hoping my students are impressed with the fact that I'm from LA, which means that I hang out with movie stars and that I'm awesome, obviously.

So if my capabilities are ever questioned I shall say, "Say kids, did I tell you about the time I broke bread with Shrek and went shopping with Hannah Montana? No?"

Teaching will be a piece of cake.

UPDATE: I found a video of my school. As it turns out, it's one of the best public schools in Madrid and the kids are so cute in their uniforms I COULD JUST DIE. Also, I think the women in the video will be my superiors... I think I should start working on a lesson plan.

Gratuitous Garden

Except for the Huntington Library, there aren't many well-kept green spaces in LA. But even Pasadena's crown jewel can't compare to the 250-year-old Real Jardín Botánico in Madrid.



Located next to the Prado Museum, it's filled with trees, roses, daffodils, orchids, tulips and bonsais.


In other words, it's heaven.




Why do I get the feeling the falls in Madrid are colorfully spectacular? I'm bringing all my coats and scarves and hats, even if it means I have to wear them all on the plane.

It can be done, my friends. It can be done.

(photos via Real Jardin Botanico de Madrid)

Shut up, Stephanie

Moving to Madrid will probably be the most awesome thing to happen to me and yet, I've started to freak out. I'm fine and completely excited one minute, even watching "On The Road Again" and the next, I'm making lists, crunching numbers and contemplating the magnitude of what it means to move to another country.

And that's when I consider calling it off.

But then a voice inside my head says, "YOU'D BE INSANE IF YOU DID, MISSY." Sometimes, this voice has a southern twang to it. Other times, it sounds like Anthony Bourdain, with slightly more colorful language (Yes, there are voices implicated. You should be just as concerned as I am). So I've started reminding myself of all the great things that await in Spain, because there are many.

Here are a few:

1. Siestas. OF COURSE THIS IS AT THE TOP OF THE LIST. It's no secret that I love to sleep. But college (not to mention working two jobs and juggling a few internships in between) turned sleep into a rare luxury. Sometimes, I power napped in my car before class. Sad, isn't it? (I should add here that I graduated with honors, so the eye bags were worth it). But you see, in Spain, everything comes to a screeching halt for nap time. It's kind of a big deal. Businesses close because they WANT you to catch up on your beauty sleep. I don't want to let Spain down, so nap I will!

2. I can has paella? I'm really curious to try it. All I know is that it's a mixed rice dish that may or may not contain snails. I'll give the snails a try just as long as there aren't any traces of the Devil's food ONIONS.

3. Sangria. This needs no explanation.

4. Personal growth. Yeah, I know it sounds very self-helpish, but I need to be more self-reliant and independent. To me this means paying my own rent, catching trains, getting lost, homesickness, buying toothpaste, leaving the nest for one of my own and falling flat on my face. A good kick in the pants, just what every recent college graduate needs. It's all good.

5. Museums. Spain has quite a few of them, the most famous being The Prado, which has some Velázquezes, Goyas and Bosches. Also, admission is free if you're a student under the age of 25. And not too far from The Prado is the Museo Nacional de Arte Reina Sofia, which has Picasso's "Guernica." The art history geek in me will be very happy, methinks.

6. New amigos! When I land in Spain, I won't know a single person there. There will be no past history looming over my head, I won't be so and so's daughter, sister or friend. It will be just me and my suitcases. Nice to meet you too.

7. Barcelona. Besides the beaches, I'm really excited to learn more about Gaudi.

Casa Milà

8. Real Madrid games. Spanish soccer hooligans! Ronaldo! GOAAAAAAAL!

9. Visiting Malaga, where my great-grandfather was born. I probably have family still living there. But if I sought them out, it would be weird to show up on their doorstep, right? ("HOLA! I COME FROM AMERICA!") I just like the idea of coming full circle somehow.

But what am I looking forward to the most?

10. Parque del Buen Retiro ("The Good Retreat")

If I'm not working, I will surely be found here, taking a nap, reading, kite-flying, people-watching, painting, writing, daydreaming and exploring the less frequented parts of the park.

This will be my happy place.



The Spanish royals used to go to the park for Christmas and Easter during the 16th century. Later, King Philip III decided to build the Royal Gardens there.

And as if the park wasn't beautiful enough, there's also a Crystal Palace.


I half expect to bump into a unicorn.