Always buckle up children, one sudden turn and you could end up like Pooh...

I took this on Sunday when I was walking home from the market. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

In other news, the refrigerator in our apartment is broken. This means all my food spoiled and I've been living on PB&J and cereal for the past day and a half. Please note that I must eat the cereal sans milk, so it's been quite a crunchy experience to say the least. I would have bought some food yesterday but it was Sunday and, as you know, Spain shuts down every Sunday for the majority of the people. Though, I suppose if you're name is Moses or Pilar, you could get a store to open up for you. Unfortunately, my name's Jackie and I'm a peon. But that's okay, peons have more fun because they have less responsibility.

Anyway, every time I make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich one of my roommates looks at me like I'm crazy. "And what is that?" he asks me. I just tell him that it's an American delicacy and if he's lucky, maybe one day I'll make him one. Today after class I am going to buy some fruit and vegetables so I don't feel like such a carb.

And the last bit of news I have is that this weekend I'm going to Sevilla! I am going to try to visit Córdoba and Cádiz as well because they are only about 45 minutes away by train. Hooray for visiting the south of Spain! It's the Spain that Hemingway wrote so much about and I really can't wait to see it.

I always keep The Sun Also Rises close to my heart. I want to read it again, but in castellano. What a nerd.

In a Park near Plaza Lesseps

Mercat de San Antoni

Every Sunday local Barceloneses flock to the Mercat de San Antoni where they sell heaps of used books, music, DVDs, action figures, trading cards, post cards, old newspapers, comic books, etc. It's always an experience going there because there are so many people in the market that you get "violated" from every direction. Every where you go is a bottleneck, but you can find some really neat things if you have the patience for it.

I got two old photographs at the market today. On the back of each tells a little story about them. The girl in the dress was taken in Paris and the dress was designed for the model by Jacques Heim in 1967. The other photo is of a rehearsal for the Queen's arrival in Nigeria in 1956.

Can you see Federico Garcia Lorca's La Casa de Bernarda Alba? Yeah, I have to read that for class.

Happy Thanksgiving from Cataluña

Thanksgiving dinner tonight at a hotel on Passeig de Gracia.
Major SWANK factor.
Gratis.
AND, I don't have to cook.

I am thankful.

On being a loner...

Marc Johns, Serious Drawings

Yo no pinto lo que veo, pinto lo que pienso

Never take yourself too seriously. You spend too much money when you do.

Haircut at La Pelu: 31 euros
But really, it's because I have long hair. At least that's what I tell myself. I mean, if I had shorter hair it would have been a good 5 euros cheaper (the guy even told me so). And, I sprung for the wash because what fun is going to the hairdresser if they don't even wash your hair for you? Exactly. Get it washed. Would I like the hairdresser to blow dry my hair for 10 euros? No thanks. I'd rather leave the salon looking like a well-trimmed mop with 10 euros in my wallet to spend on jellybeans afterward.

Hairdressers here do what they want. That is, they cut however much off they want, give you bangs, layers, whatever they feel like. Is it odd that I have to pay more to ensure that they cut off less? I was going to go to this peluquería on my street that cuts hair for 8 euros, but when I looked inside all I saw were three old ladies with barely any hair left to cut off in the first place. Something told me that that place was a no-go, or maybe I just felt I was better than that. See what I mean about taking yourself too seriously? But in reality, I have more hair than the average 2o year old, not to mention old Señora Poblet down the street who only can eat jello and uses a magnifying glass to watch Law and Order dubbed in Catalán.

Anywho, long story short is I got a haircut and I survived. The salon was in a shady part of town, but I felt comfortable in it and the lady did a good job. Thirty-one euros later, I left.

Jelly Belly Jellybeans: value undisclosed because an embarassingly high amount of euros were spent on this fixation

I had such a good time standing in the candy store for 5 minutes sorting through all the flavors and picking out the ones I wanted. When I read the amount on the cash register my heart skipped a beat. This register has to be broken. Oh, I guess it did say four euros/ 100 grams. Shit. It's real. I am actually handing her the money. So this is what being addicted to drugs is like.

But they are Jelly Belly! You know they're your favorite. Okay, so just throw the receipt in the trash when you get home so you don't have to remind myself how much you spent on candy that imitates the tastes foods you could eat in real life if you actually wanted them. Nevermind, jellybeans are amazing.

Moleskine: 10 euros

So I have a new friend. His name is Mr. Moleskine. You know, those little journals that come in all different kinds that Ernest Hemingway used? Yeah, I have one. I bought one because I wanted a pocket-sized journal without lines. I feel too restricted by lined paper. It's not like my thoughts are as organized as lined paper, emerging from one direction of my brain in a straight line until they reach the other side. So why should I have to cage them in even more by forcing them in between the lines on paper? Thoughts become diluted enough by the arbitrary words of language, so I'd rather not filter mine anymore than needed. Shoving them into the straight lines on paper (which was most likely printed in communist China where everything is "equal" anyway) would sand down their nuances until they became flat and bland, devaluing their overall validity. So really, I needed Mr. Moleskine.

But are my thoughts really that important? The easy answer is no. Apparently, I value them at 10 euros. If I didn't take myself so seriously I'd just write them on my hand so I could wash them away at night and reuse the surface the next day.

Okay so I found this great book and it inspired me to start drawing again. Nothing too serious. I don't draw that great, but I forgot how much I always enjoyed doing it. Also, remember my seashells that I collected from Ocata? I found a little bowl for them and they sit prettily on my desk in all their glory. On that pencil it reads, "Yo no pinto lo que veo, pinto lo que pienso." (I don't paint what I see, I paint what I think). I thought it was nifty.

Okay, that is all. For now.

These are two girls from our group when we were waiting outside the restaurant in Fuendetodos. They might freak out if they visit my blog and see a photo of themselves posted. Though, I couldn't not share it with you because rarely do you get a chance like this where everything is so perfect and you don't even have to work the frame to make it look good. It just is good, naturally.

Haunting Comfort

More of Aragón

That's Professor Cardona. He's a character.

I love the way the tree framed this church. We made a pit stop in this town when we were driving around in the bus.

Though in the middle of Aragón, this town had Sevilla style buildings. That tree is such an amazing color, it matches the building. Okay, I know I like trees.

This is Pablo. He saw me taking photos and then I asked him for his. He was happy to pose for me, though he looks very serious here. After I took the photo he made sure that I included the cane. Pablo, I hope I am as proud as you when I am your age.

That symbol on the building is a symbol of La Falange, the Fascist party of the day. It has since been requested to have that symbol removed from the building, but seeing as how there are still many fervent Fascists in Spain, they threatened to destroy the entire building if it was removed. Thus, the symbol stands. A black knick on a pristine surface.

Okay, this picture is just hilarious. It is Professor Cardona knocking nuts out of a tree with a big stick while his wife bends down to pick them up. Pilar later joined them, gathering the nuts from the ground. It was truly a sight, watching them all scamper like squirrels to gather these nuts...

Aragón

Welcome to Fuendetodos.

Population: 83

Autonomous Region: Aragón

Famous For: Goya birthplace and home

It was such a picturesque little town, Fuendetodos! Windmills, weathered walls, gorgeous skies and old stone buildings with little kids playing fútbol in the streets at night.

Had such good photos of the fútbol game, but they all got deleted. Sigh. But that's okay becaus the next day we visited Belchite, a little town near Fuendetodos. We walked through old civil war ruins.

Photos aren't as clear as I'd like. Didn't feel like lugging the big Rebel around with me. The desolate beauty of the ruins are, however, undeniable, no matter what camera you use.

The clouds were gorgeous for shooting that day. The greyish, periwinkle sky created a somber feeling. That feeling lingers still lingers in Spain, residual from four years of civil war and forty more of Franco.

I love the blue on the walls here...

More photos to come this evening, hopefully. Right now I have to go to class.

Adeu!

Sick, Studying and Peacocks

Wow, I have wanted to update this forever. Then I went to Zaragoza with the program. I ate the food there, and came back sick. I slept all day, and still was able to sleep the entire next night. Monday (yesterday), I went to class where I started to freak out about my pending midterms this week. Last night, still no appetite. Queue the yogurt!

I have no groceries. If I don't go buy something now I will have to live off raisins and peanut butter. It's a nice snack but it hardly qualifies as true sustenance. After some quick groceries (I don't feel like buying them all right now, only the basic of the basic), I must study linguistics. English linguistics can be tough, [i la lin'ɣwistika espa'ɲola 'pweɗe 'ser a'un 'mas di'fiӨil]. Not to mention that I have to prepare my essay for my history midterm, which is tomorrow as well. I wish I had time for a real update, I have some neat pictures to share with you all.

In the meantime, enjoy this photo of Carlos the peacock. We met him in Madrid in the Park de Buen Retiro. I decided he should be called Carlos.

Clubbing

The first week we arrived in Barcelona we went clubbing at Porto Olímpico. It was the first and only time I'd ever been clubbing in my life.

... hated it.

Thanks, Adam, for capturing my essence in this photo.

Excursions

On Friday we had a group excursion to Freixenet, this beautiful winery up in the mountains. Freixenet makes wine and Cava, the Catalunya version of Champagne. Of course it's called Cava because you know the French, nobody can use the word Champagne but them. Normally at this point in the post I would insert a nice phrase or two bashing the French, as to provide some comic relief. However, this one time I shall abstain from doing so, as my dear friend Sophie is from France and has informed me that she reads my blog. Thus, I'll abstain from bashing her countrymen just this one time. I can't wait to spend Christmas in Paris!

Anyway, back to discussing the photo. We had a tour of the winery and the guide took us a few stories underground where they age the wine and cava. It smelled glorious and I made a mental note that I wouldn't mind being buried there.

When we left Freixenet it was only about 11:30am and I was one of about 35 American students, tipsy from having one glass of Cava so early in the day. That's just what happens when your Blackberry wakes you up late from a dead man's sleep and you decide that descaling your new cafetera and straightening your hair is more important than eating breakfast. It doesn't matter because you'll be going to the winery later in the afternoon, you figure, and by then you'll have already eaten something anyway. Yes, you have it all figured out and then a cup of coffee and one glass of Cava later disequilibrium asserts its existence, declaring that you were indeed wrong. Nonetheless, we continued onward to Monserrat, a huge mountain in Barcelona that a lot of people hike. For lack of a better description, it was gorgeous.

Pilar suggested that we visit the church at Monserrat at 1pm to see the children's choir sing. So we did. I took a picture in the church because it was neat in all its Catholic gaudiness. I'm probably going to go to hell for taking that photo, and if not for that, for using gaudy and Catholic in the same sentence, but really that's a small price to pay for The Inferno. I'm not so sure that it's that easy to acquire invitations to the eternal night club anyway. I might have to be a Jew residing in Spain too...

We kept climbing. The sky was unbelievably blue and there was a nice breeze. Fresh air. No smoke. No noise. Just us and this old church.

I was on top of the world, or at least Barcelona.

Life is Good

I'm so happy at my new piso! The owner of the apartment is a lawyer from Peru, Marlene, who now has her Spanish citizenship. She is such a cool person. Marlene rents her apartment out to students so I live with Jorge, a master student and Chavi (can't spell his full name) who is working toward his bachelor's like me. There is a good environment in the apartment. We talk to each other, and I actually look forward to coming home at night. I don't feel like I have to lock myself in my room and I leave my door open. We all coexist and it's nice. Just thought I'd tell you all that. You know life is good when the main things you're worried about is getting a cafetera so you can satisfy your pangs for coffee and cancelling your old portable internet service because now you have WIFI. Nothing much is going on. I'm going to Parliament tomorrow to see things.

Also, I found this photo I made when I was packing for Barcelona. I never posted it, but it's worth sharing I think...