Skiing in the Sierra Nevadas

I thanked my parents on Facebook yesterday for insisting that I take ski school at Steamboat, Colo., "when I was in middle school and in level 2 with all the 5 year olds."

Why? Because ski school started my love of skiing, it taught me how to ski properly and it made my experience skiing in the Sierra Nevadas yesterday amazing.

The ski base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains is an hour bus ride away from Granada. I went with a group of about 10 students from Cegri. Promotional materials for the mountain boasted a season in which 80 percent of the days are sunny, which is why I was skeptical when we loaded the bus and started to ascend into the mountains while rain fell and the sky was completely overcast.

When we reached the base at 9 a.m., we bee lined to the lift pass line and ended up paying 16€ more than we thought for the pass. (This tends to happen a lot when trying to navigate Spanish websites.) But this didn’t faze us because, after all, we were about to go skiing — in Europe!

Then we set out to find Ski Sol, a shop where we could rent our skis and boots and get a student discount. But every worker we questioned had no idea what Ski Sol was. We decided that maybe it was farther up the mountain, so four of us loaded onto the gondola. A ski school instructor got on the gondola with us, so we asked him where Ski Sol was. And of course, he said it was indeed at the base. But we didn’t turn back, since we were all itching to get on a run as soon as possible.

After we rented our skis at a shop that wasn’t too much more expensive than Ski Sol, we were greeted by a blizzard outside. We made our way up one lift, at the top of which were even more white-out conditions. I had packed goggles and snow pants with me to Spain, but the three other girls hadn’t. Elizabeth had sunglasses, which shielded her eyes a little bit, but Tori and Lizzy had to squint their way down the run. But even with goggles, I could not see where I was going. Literally, everything was white. I’d be moving, but I had no idea if the run was getting steeper, if it was a catwalk or if I was going up a hill. The only other time I'd skied in white-out conditions was in Jackson Hole, Wyo., but even that wasn't as bad. As we slowly made our way down, we eventually heard music, which meant that we must be near the end of the run! Elizabeth, Tori and Lizzy decided that they needed to rent goggles, which were at the base, so I went on another run by myself and then bought ski mittens because my thin liners were not sufficing. We were winter skiing, after all!

Morning white-out conditions.

 But eventually, maybe it was around noon, everything cleared up. The sun came out, the sky was blue and we could actually see the mountain. We had said before that if it didn’t clear up, we would have no idea if the mountain or if the view from the mountain was beautiful. But alas, it was gorgeous. And we could see where we were skiing! It’s amazing how that makes skiing so much more enjoyable.

However, there were a lot more people on the runs then. Perhaps the locals know not to get to the mountain too early, or else risk their lives. Even so, it seemed like most everyone didn’t know how to ski properly. People were zooming by, out of control, falling all the time, while others looked very insecure in their skiing abilities. For once, we felt like the big (wo)men on the mountain.

There were hardly any trees on the mountain, so we could clearly see all the ski runs.

Soon we decided it was too crowded where we were, so we ventured farther to the right on the mountain, where we found more difficult runs. We approached one run that had a net that warned the run was only for experts. But the run was only a black and didn't look like the blacks in the United States, so we took it, and it ended up being our favorite run! I'd say it was the equivalent of a difficult blue out west in the United States, and the powder was great. If you're not familiar with skiing, the type of snow can really make or break a run. If you can hear ice scraping under your skis when you turn, that's bad snow. But when you can see snow fly out behind you when you turn, that's amazing snow.

Tori and I — so happy that we can see!

After lunch (in which we ate the bocadillos our señoras had made us outside in the lovely sun), we came across a red run. I've never seen a red run before, but in the Sierra Nevadas, the difficulty level is between a blue and a black. I decided to take it, even though it wasn't really clear where the run was. In the United States, runs and very clearly labeled, but here, everything was ambiguous. Sometimes there were colorful poles stuck in the ground that denoted the difficulty level of the run you were on, so we followed the red poles. But soon we found ourselves on almost a vertical drop, with rocks jutting out everywhere. Great idea, Kirsten. There was a narrow area of snow with rocks on either side. I debated trying it, but decided that I wouldn't be able to make turns quick enough to control my speed and at the same time not hit the rocks.  Tori decided to traverse across the run (though I don't think we were on an actual run anymore). But Lizzy decided she would crawl it, so I took her skis in my arms and she took my poles. Elizabeth, in the meantime, was trying to turn around but took a tumble and almost rolled off the cliff. And that's really not an exaggeration.  We slowly made our way across, and Lizzy eventually just slid down on her butt. I found this situation oddly exhilarating, and we were able to laugh about it at the bottom when we knew we were all safe. I knew we had all looked like a hot mess though, because everyone on the nearby lift had been staring at us. But that's OK — everyone needs something to talk about on the lift rides.

At the end of the day, we turned in our equipment, which was basically a free for all. I compare it to trying to buy a drink at Firehaus on a Wednesday night when there are a million barcrawls going on. It's basically survival of the fittest, and no chivalry is shown for the ladies. We struggled our way to the front of the line, where huge male snowboarders towered over us and little kids tried to squiggle their way in. We quickly turned our stuff in and got the heck out of there.

After that, it was time for a drink and then the bus home.

We asked for a hot chocolate with Baileys, and we got Baileys with some melted chocolate.

 Despite the weather mishap at the beginning of the day, we all knew we wanted to come back in the spring, when prices are lower and we could maybe make a weekend of it with hiking.

Beautiful views on the bus ride home.

I also decided that I need to marry someone who either a) knows how and loves to ski, b) is willing to learn to ski or at the very least c) won't have a problem with me taking off with the kids to Colorado.

I can't put my finger on what exactly is so addicting about skiing. But the fresh air, the beautiful views, the challenge and the adrenaline rush combined factored into a fantastic day in the Sierra Nevadas.

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.