It's time for Africa!

One of the main reasons I chose to study abroad in Granada was because of its proximity to Africa. And this past weekend, I was able to make my dream of traveling to Africa a reality by visiting Morocco!

Tangier, Morocco, on the west coast of the Strait of Gibraltar.

But even though Morocco appears close to Granada, it took a heck of a lot of traveling to get there. We got on a bus in Granada at 1 p.m. and arrived at our hotel in Tétouan, Morocco, at 11 p.m. In between was a bus stop in Sevilla and a ferry ride across the Strait of Gibraltar.

But was it worth it? Oh my gosh, yes.

Morocco (Marruecos, en español) is a developing country — the first developing country I've traveled to (a developed country is characterized as one with continuous economic growth and high standards of living).

As we drove through the countryside and small towns of Morocco, we saw a lot of this underdevelopment. Apartment buildings were crumbling yet inhabited and trash was strewn all over the sides of roads. Men on the road were transporting items attached to the backs of donkeys, and men and young boys in cities were desperately trying to sell us "very cheap, handmade" jewelry (we heard that exact phrase frequently).

But we also saw development. In cities there was construction, which is usually a sign of growth. There were many hotels being built, as tourism brings money to the area.

One town we visited, called Chefchaouen, was absolutely beautiful and very clean. We went into the medina, which is an area with blue buildings surrounded by the Rif Mountains.

Our guide shows us through the blue buildings of Chefchaouen.

I wish you could all experience how it smelt there as well — there is no pollution in the city because there's really no industrialization. All we could smell was absolutely fresh air, which was crisp and smelled like the nearby mountains. Occasionally we got a whiff of sewage when walking past homes, but those smells didn't last long.

A view of the Rif Mountains.

After a delicious lunch at a restaurant called Aladin (which looked like something right out of the movie), we had some time to shop. There were tons of little shops with endless scarves, jewelry, purses, et cetera. And we got to test out our bartering skills.

At the first shop I stepped into, I spotted a gorgeous, orange scarf. I walked toward it and immediately I had the shopkeeper by my side. "How much?", I asked him in Spanish. 15€, he replied. Well, I wasn't having that. We were told to start bartering at about a fifth of what we were willing to pay. I didn't really know what I was doing, however, so I told the shopkeeper, "3€?", to which he laughed and shook his head. After a bit of bartering, I told him I was going to look at a shop across the street, which he didn't like. He then dropped the price by another euro, and we settled on 9€ for the scarf. That was more than I thought I'd end up paying, but at least I was able to reduce the price a bit! (I also love the scarf and have worn it every day since, which in my mind justifies the purchase.)

As we continued to walk through the town, we were accosted by little kids selling bracelets and men coming up to us and trying to pull us to their shops. Other men simply passed by, saying "guapas" and we even got a "Hannah Montana!" That was a little weird. But my favorite was this little, old man who we must have passed by three times and each time we said to us in a croaky, high-pitched voice, "Helllllooo blonde!" That cracked me up.

The plaza in the center of Chefchaouen.

Many of the older Moroccan women we saw were wearing headscarves, as Morocco is in the Arabic and Islamic world. But the headscarf is not required, and some of the younger women were showing their hair.

The next day, we traveled to Tangier and Asilah, where we rode camels and saw another medina, respectively. The camel ride was interesting, but I felt a little bad for the camels who had to cart around tons of tourists. Instead of shopping in Asilah, a small group of us spent some time on the nearby beach, where it was warm enough to take off our shoes and dip in the Strait of Gibraltar.

Walls in Asilah are painted each summer for a cultural festival.

By the end of the short trip, I was looking forward to heading back to Spain, where we would be able to drink tap water and the bathrooms would not be as dirty. But this trip definitely wet my appetite to see the rest of Africa. Africa changes drastically as you head south, and we saw only a tiny speck of it. However, the trip was so different than anything else I've ever experienced, and I can't wait to see more.

My Spanish family!

I’m lucky enough not to be spending the next four months as an orphan, since I have essentially been adopted by a family here in Granada. Because we are not studying in a Spanish university with Spanish students, some of our most important Spanish lessons come from living with a Spanish family.

My new family consists of a mom and her daughters, one of whom is studying law in Madrid and the other who is a model and fashion designer and travels back and forth from Sevilla.

The mom is very nice and has had American students before (one of whom is in the University of Michigan’s marching band, which I think is a funny coincidence!). But the fact that she has hosted students before is a good and bad thing. Good, because she knows what to explain to me. Bad, because she is comparing me to the others, all of whom appear to have spoken more Spanish than me. This is quite intimidating. But every day I’m able to speak more and understand her more.

Her oldest daughter, Claudina, is beautiful, extremely outgoing and friendly. It’s very easy to talk to her, and she knows a little English, which she is not afraid to use to help me out sometimes. Last week she took me to her friends’ apartment to do a P90X workout. So here I am, with a gorgeous girl who doesn’t sweat and her two handsome, buff and Spanish guy friends, and I’m sweating like a pig. But it was an intense and awesome workout (I needed to work off all this bread I’m eating!).

I was able to redeem my image the next night when Claudina and I went out for tapas with some of her other friends. Claudina is 26 years old, so her friends are all approximately five years older than me. Luckily, this doesn’t feel like too much of a difference. Her friends are very nice, and will slow down when I repeatedly plead, ¡más despacio, por favor! Before coming to Spain, I wondered if I would be able to meet and get to know actual Spaniards. I’m so glad that I live with Claudina, who is really showing me around!

Claudina and her mom (Purificación, or Puri for short) live in an apartment that is approximately a 30-minute walk from school. Most Spanish homes are built for the summers, which typically are very hot.  So, all the floors are made of tile and there is no central heating. We walk around in slippers, and in the main living area there is a circular table with a glass top, and a heavy, large blanket under the glass. Under the table is some sort of heating unit, which you put your feet on and lay the blanket over your lap. This is how Spaniards stay warm, and it’s known as a “brasero.” I have come to love the brasero, but once you leave it, the house is super cold! The worst time for me is right after I leave the shower.

The entrance to my host family's apartment building.

When we eat lunch and dinner, we sit around the brasero in the main living area and watch T.V. This was difficult to get used to, because at home in the United States, my mom rarely let us eat our dinners in front of the T.V. Exceptions included the Olympics and Downton Abbey. But now I enjoy watching T.V. here because it gives us something to talk about while we’re eating. It’s also interesting to see how Spanish television covers things happening in the United States. I see Obama a lot, and recently they’ve been talking about the cold and snowy weather. Sorry friends and family in Chicago! If it makes you feel any better, it rains a lot here.

My room! That little space heater saves my life every night.

The "study" part of study abroad

So even though I am studying in Spain, I am not studying at a Spanish university. The main university in Granada, the Universidad de Granada, was an additional option for students in my program, but not a popular one because that university requires more than a month of additional classes. But all of us have to take courses at a school for foreign students, which is called the Centro Granadi de Español.

The “campus” is this small building right in the center of Granada, with an open-air center with plants and a fountain, surrounded by two floors of classrooms. The instructors are Spanish, and we all take Spanish-based classes.

The open-air entrance area to CEGRI.

Currently, I’m signed up for five classes. My instructor for the sounds of Spanish is a woman named Nerea, who is the wife of our program director, Miguel Angel. Both are very down to earth and very funny. Miguel was the one who explained to me that yes, some of the older plumbing systems in Spain cannot handle a lot of toilet paper, so it is common to throw used toilet paper in the garbage can. (That question was spurred by my thinking I had misunderstood my host mom when she told me to do that in her home. But more on my host family later.)

For Spanish grammar, I have an instructor named Julia, who will and does call her students out on a lot of things. For this reason, the class size shrinks every time. But I really like her because she reminds me of a professor back at Illinois.

My instructor for Spanish law is named Sergio, who is a lawyer and self-describes himself as sexy, intelligent, wealthy, et cetera — all because he is a lawyer. He is joking, but I think he thinks of himself that way too, just a little.

I think I will really enjoy my Arab-Islamic cultural studies class because it will cover a lot of topics that are talked about in the news, but that we really don’t know about in depth.

I am taking art history so I can see and learn about the art of Granada. The class meets twice a week (Did I mention we don’t have any classes on Friday?!), with one being a lecture and the other out in the city. It’s one thing to see all the art that surrounds us, but it’s another thing to learn and understand it. I want to be able to appreciate what I’m looking at, and that is why I decided to take this class.

All of the instructors appear to be very intelligent and good teachers. Some don’t even speak English, which is something I have not yet encountered when taking Spanish classes.

And I actually really like going to school. It's not just because I like my classes so far, but I know I will see friends because the students at CEGRI are all from either the University of Illinois, the University of Wisconsin or the University of Michigan. Seeing familiar faces and being able to speak English is such a relief. Before coming to Spain, I wanted to speak as little English as possible. Now that I’m here, speaking English is very comforting. But don’t get me wrong, I do want to improve my Spanish and speak a lot of it. But being able to tell funny stories in English of mishaps or getting lost is a little escape from the big, Spanish-speaking country of Spain that we are very much submersed in.

My walk to school!

Through the dog-walking area. Beware of poop piles.

Becca, Melissa and my meeting stop!

Walking through part of the University of Granada campus.

You can see part of the Sierra Nevada mountains!

Guys staring at the tourist with the camera.

Passin' by a church.

The streets are super narrow.

And another church.

... and another.

So many herb stands here.

Almost at school!

And we made it! Outside the entrance to CEGRI.

My first discoteca experience

This past weekend in Granada brought a lot of us to our first disctoteca. We’d been told not to get to the discotecas before 2 a.m. because it doesn’t pick up till then. That sounded crazy to a lot of us, because, after all, the bars at the University of Illinois close at 2 a.m. The discotecas here, however, are open till 6 or 8 a.m.

We passed the first portion of the night at an Irish bar named Paddy’s, which was full of American students when we walked in. The owner offered up a “student special,” which comprised two mixed drinks for 5€. Obviously, that went over well.

When it neared 2 a.m., we headed to a kebab place across the street because hunger had set in. There, I had one of the best burgers of my life. And I actually don’t think I’m just saying that because it was 2 a.m. and I hadn’t had American food in a week.

But then, it was time to head to our discoteca of choice: Mae West.

I was worried about what I was wearing because I had heard stories of bouncers looking people up and down and deciding whether to let them in the discoteca based on their clothes. I hadn’t been able to pack many going-out clothes — I didn’t even bring any type of heels. So, I chose to wear a black dress, black tights, a jean jacket and cargo boots.

When we arrived at Mae West, my fears quickly subsided. The woman at the entrance simply let all of us in after we paid 10€ each.

The price to get in to the discoteca included one drink, so most of us ordered a rum and Coke, for lack of knowing what else to order. The area of the bar at the entrance was how I picture a typical pub — wooden floor, booths and cool pictures hanging on the walls. So, for all you Illinois people, a Brother’s or a Murphy’s. It wasn’t until we walked through a side door that we came across the real discoteca — the one that I had pictured in my mind.

My friend Becca later described it as walking into a “sea of men.” And I couldn’t have described it better. This portion of the disctoeca was huge, with different levels, a bar in the middle and a stage on one side where the D.J. sat. And there were guys everywhere. When we entered, many of their heads turned toward the newbs who were giggling with excitement. We were a group of about 10 girls, most of whom were obviously not native to Spain. In other words, we screamed American, and it didn’t help that we knew all the words to most of the songs that were playing (think Beyoncé, Ke$ha, Miley Cyrus and Macklemore). As we waded through the sea to find an open area to dance, it was obvious that we were attracting attention. When we eventually found a spot, we immediately started dancing, the euphoria of being at our first discoteca setting in. But other people really weren’t dancing.

Spanish women walked around in stilettos and super short shorts, with piles of makeup on their faces. Spanish men scoured the crowd with clean-shaven faces and drinks in hand. Meanwhile, we were mostly doing our own thing, partly because we were nervous to speak in Spanish to the guys surrounding and staring at us, and partly because we were simply having fun dancing and singing with each other.

But eventually some of us gained the courage to strike up a conversation with nearby Spaniards, or they ended up tapping us on the shoulder and starting a conversation themselves. They all wanted to know where we were from, and once hearing our response, sometimes replied in English. Many times, to this I replied, “¡Hablo español!” (I speak Spanish).

This sort of thing has happened a lot in Spain so far. With red hair and blue eyes, I know I don’t looking anything close to Spanish, but I do know how to speak Spanish decently well. And maybe people are trying to be helpful when they switch to English with me (at restaurants, bars, on the street, et cetera), but sometimes I wish I were given more of a chance to struggle with Spanish words, rather than be given an easy way out.

But anyway, back to the discoteca. Around 4 a.m. (that is very much a guesstimate), a woman in heels and tight jeans and shirt started singing on the stage. At some point she was joined by a scruffy-looking man not wearing pants. I have no idea where he came from or where his pants went, but he climbed into this cage that looked like it was made for an exotic bird. The cage was hanging from the ceiling, and he was raised up in it and he kind of just swung around in his boxers. Not sure what that was about.

At 5:30 a.m., a couple of friends decided it was time to leave. Somehow, I wasn’t at all tired, but I conceded and we slowly made our exit.

I fell into bed around 6 a.m., and then for some reason woke up at 11:30 a.m. and decided to go for a run. I’ve never been a big sleeper, but I think it’s great that here, unlike a lot of places in the United States, it’s possible to have a great night out and still function the next day. Here, people drink more to be social, where in the United States, especially on college campuses, it’s all binge drinking on the weekends. Perhaps the culture here is a result that people are allowed to drink at 18, so alcohol is not as much of a forbidden fruit.

Since it’s a little pricey to get in to the discotecas, we may not go all that often, but I do know that I want to go back!

Eating in Spain

Before coming to Spain, I read in a guidebook that Spaniards eat a light breakfast, a big lunch (as it is the largest meal of the day) at approximately 2 p.m. and dinner at 10 p.m.

I didn't believe it when I read it. In my stubborn mind, I assumed the author of "Spain for Dummies" was slightly slow himself. After all, I'm typically ravishing for lunch at 11 a.m. and finished with dinner by 6:30 p.m. Any behavior other than that must be an exception.

But, alas, the guidebook ended up being very correct. Here I sit, at 11:30 a.m., and my stomach is rumbling. I could go buy a lovely pastry at one of the many pastelerías around here, but I can't spend all my precious euros on food. So, I will pass the time by writing.

The food here is not as healthy as one would think, when comparing the United States with any other country in the world. The emphasis seems to be on carbs, but I am not complaining about the wonderful bread I have had so far. Unlike in the United States, fresh bread here is more common and less expensive than packaged, white bread. On Saturday, which was the first day I was introduced to my host family, I accompanied my host mom to the supermarket, where she bought three loaves of fresh bread for less than 1 euro. Qué fantástico.

And tapas. Oh my goodness. You can order a beer (or any drink, really) for less than 2 euro and with it comes other small plates of food. I tried shark for the first time the other day (which really just tastes like whitefish) along with a sunny side-up egg covering sautéed vegetables. 

The churros are also fantastic. They are very popular here, and it is common to order a cup of chocolate that you can dip your churros into. I really wanted to drink the leftover chocolate, but I decided against it. Maybe next time I will when no one is looking.

And lastly, the coffee. At coffee shops, I order a "café con leche" and essentially get a very strong latte.   The quality is fantastic. In the United States (and here as it is turning out), I drink a ton of coffee, so this is wonderful for me.

Entonces, ¡hasta luego!