Check. Credit Cards and phone have been restored. Still searching for a nice wallet though. Nothing will replace my cheap metal cigarette holder and it’s black snake-skin cover that barely heald my cards and cash.. sigh..missing you. Trying to describe that while filing a police report was entirely too exhausting.

A few things to report back to my mother country about–

1. Grapple with my new Spanish Friend
7:00 a.m., just getting back to the house, after a night of Puerto Ricans + Spaniard +yo , loud voices, photographs and calimochos…. He refers to himself as “No soy español. Soy Europeo.” It first appeared to me that he might be on crack cocaine. But it came to be that he’s just a jack in the box. Haha, impressive…BLAH! Just like that. He’s really odd. From the time I met him, he seems to just run through life without thought or ties, and seems to be in the same sort of identity crisis as myself–an attraction to individuals that are not from my own country. He just quit his job last night and now wants to move to Hawaii. Do you understand the picture I am trying to paint here?

Our fight took place in the middle of the streets, the night before my life was stolen. My spanish is so much better when I am yelling. Still trying to figure out why. However, some of the time I felt that there was so much more to say, and my mouth couldn’t speak as fast as my mind was thinking. I hate that. It was because of language of course. I’m right on cue in english, let’s not be misunderstood.

My perceptions of spaniards changed dramatically on this night. A lot was to be learned. After describing the pains of loneliness, and dramatically emphasizing how evil Madrileños are and it’s alienating affects it played on my abroad experience, I have realized how many horrible stereotypes I have created in my head. He, of course, was feeding it right back to me, describing how Americans act the same way here (which I won, due to the fact that I travelled to Spain alone without the American-alienating-comfort/support-group program..If that is offensive to those in American programs I do apologize) , begging for me to understand that spaniards are not this way, and fighting for me to discover that I am not alone. At the beginning, I simply figured, oh, well we just met. He has no idea. We spit fire at each other for two hours, feeding off of the stereotypes of our cultures. As the Spanish/American bloodbath was dying down both started to realize that in all ways possible, neither one of us fit our cultural stereotypes at all. Once we came to this conclusion, we sat down on the steps and decided an appropriate time to take a walk the next day because it was 9 in the morning. Later I found that he went to another bar, met people there, and partied until 12 in the afternoon. Haha, I love it!

Back to my stereotype issue. I think that it was developed, of course, before I came to Spain. I had heard that it would be difficult to make friends here, and when someone was unfriendly to me, I tended to blame it on the whole, on the people of Madrid. I’m really over my expectations and assumptions. The second I came to this understanding was when I really started enjoying everything with an open heart.

2. That was long, let’s get the ball rolling…Crazy Universidad Autonoma de Madrid.

My university is currently having another protest. I’m sure I told you the one before about the cleaning workers on strike? The students took it upon themselves to partake, by shredding newspapers, and throwing cafeteria food all through the halls of the philosophy department. I actually saw a kid finish his lunch and turn his tray of leftovers upside down in the middle of the hall. It wasn’t cleaned for a week and a half.

Last week and this week, there is a protest for Becas, or scholarship funding. Apparently the university is not funding enough money for their 350 euro/semestre tuition. There are spray paintings all over the grounds, tents pitched outside on the quad, and signs hung from every tree, hall, and staircase. I laugh every time I walk by it as I think to myself, if you knew what I pay every year you wouldn’t complain. Although the euro is pulverizing the dollar, i believe 47,000 per year will still win. Then again, I’m not proud of that either and wish to camp out at AU upon my return.

3. Club in the Train Station?

Yes. Atocha train station features a night club named “Ananda” and it was a force to be reckoned with. One room was veiled in all white surroundings. Completely spotless and so ‘au courant’. hahaha. It started filling at around 3 a.m. The music was latin and I about died and went to heaven. Typical.

The other room had this deep maroon glow going on, with ridiculously detailed chandelier swirls coming down from the ceiling. My good friend and I found the air conditioning vent and had a dance party. We laughed, thinking, why is there no one else around us here? This is a great spot! It was probably because they couldn’t compete with our sick dance moves. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it was.

Another good thing to mention is that before we went there, we had dinner at La Casa de Tortilla, where you pay 12 euros, and receive an all you can eat and drink supply of beer, sangria, and tapas…..hence great dance moves?

4. Restaurante Alquimista Bar desconocido and Jazz
In Bilbao, Restaurante Alquimista was the place where we bought a flower pot of sangria. A great place to start, or end, depending on how much of it you drink. Haha.. I started there, but should have ended there. Afterwards, a large pack of us wandered to a bar, which was interesting. Plastered all over the walls were large posters of jimmy hendrix, bob marley, and other classics. That night, I met some very wonderful people, mainly students from Georgetown. I’d like to think that many of the friendships I have made here in Spain will spill over into the district when I come home.

Jazz…. Ah jazzzzzz. Finally! A jazz venue. I’ve been dying to find one for such a long time here in Madrid. This particular night featured a typical band of a bass, guitar, drums, and sax– but the music was outstanding. My friend and I made ourselves believe that we actually saw the sound coming out of the sax. “What color was the sound?” “I think it was purple.” I can’t decide whether it was because I was just in heaven for the fact that I found it, or because I was in excellent company, or if it was that the sound was actually of great quality. I can’t really tell with jazz. The instruments are such a compilation of off-beat cacaphonies that it’s hard to really know if it was on purpose or there was fault. Especially in the change of lead instrument. I’m going to think that it was meant to be that way. Besides, that’s how I think about everything in general.

5. REAL MADRID V. BARCELONA.

I’m going to start this off with a frown because yes, everyone knows, Barcelona lost…4-0. … It was a sad, sad day for Barcelona and the heavens cried. Rain, everywhere. I had to hide my sadness on the inside and cry silently. Madrileños certainly went out of their way to rub it in every fan’s face. The stadium consumed thousands and thousands of people. Before the game, everyone was running spittlingly drunk and lighting bonfires in the middle of the streets. Covered in purple, in white, in flags, bandanas, face paint, …and annoying noise clappers–i’ve never seen anything like it. They screamed curses and insults as barça came through the crowded zealots. They waved flags and banners that denounced the catalanes. Much of the fanatical tension between the two is based on political reasons, if you weren’t aware. A ticket three weeks ago would have cost me over 500 euros so that just didn’t happen. I should have planned things out better and bought one months ago. I did, roam the stadium for an hour and try to steal a madrid fan’s ticket. I just wanted to snatch it and run wild, screaming, YEA MADRID THAT’S WHAT YOU GET! HIJO DE PUTA! BAHAHAHA!

Nonetheless, my crazy spanish friend Nico, in number 1… apologies for not introducing his name, went with me to a bar about 50 feet from the stadium to watch the game there. It was packed tight of Real fans but I live here so there isn’t much I can do. The bartender had a crush on me and gave me three glasses of wine for free.. haha.. Nico left early and I finished watching the game. While suffering the painful loss, I met a large group of spaniards there, and they asked me to join them in going to a different place around the area. So all of us left and went to an Irish pub close to my apartment and enjoyed the rest of the night there! Lo pasamos muy bien, son de buena gente y muy geniales!

Today I had classes which punished me for staying out so late. But it was the GAME OF THE YEAR. Much more important than an introduction to the international society with my merciless, and ironically insensitive-to-intenational-students professor that was blabbing this morning.

I’m trying to think of other exciting events that happened this weekend, but this blog has already gotten to novel lengths, and I wouldn’t want you to lose interest in my amount of words. Hopefully you at least read one of my numbers.

I did have some excellent bus thoughts today, most of them about this book I am reading called “The Bridge of San Luis Rey” by Thorten Wilder. Incredible.
One of my favorite quotes:
“The Archbishop knew that most of the priests of Peru were scoundrels…He had to repeat over to himself his favorite notions; that the injustice and unhappiness in the world is a constant; that the theory of progress is a delusion; that the poor, never having known happiness, are insensible to misfortune.”

FIfteen minutes of the bus is such an exercise to my mind.

hasta luego