Portugal

I've been home for about a month.  I can't say if my lack of updates have been due to lack of motivation or lack of free time (lack, lack, lack, lack, annnd the meaning is gone), but I would still very much like to succinctly describe the last couple weeks of my time overseas, before the memories lose their freshness and become jumbled together as one. 

Portugal.  Awesome place.  Before I delve into exactly why, I want to say that I 100% value diversity and am by no means anti-immigration.  But one of the reasons why I liked Portugal so much was that it seemed like almost everyone there was Portuguese.  This may seem like it'd be obvious, but, when compared to Spain, where Chinos (don't worry – it's not an offensive term) dot every popular street corner (and there are muchísimos in Madrid) selling cans of beer and invading your personal space advertising worthless doohickeys which may or may not light up and/or spin, that is, of course, when they're not peddling more generally undesirable shit out of their nondescript, murky-windowed Chino shops (the Spanish version of the dollar store), Portugal's purity was a beautiful thing.  There were less tourists, too.  All in all, Portugal seems to have done well to resist the degeneration of quaint, attractive spots at the expense of tourists seeking out the non-tourist route, which, naturally, turns such discoveries into a tarnished tourist spot.  Lisbon was rich with reminders of Portugal's impressive history of conquest and exploration.  It seemed like a terrific place to live – beautiful, active but calm, and full of the ever-desired, oft-inexplicable good vibes.  Our hotel was in Cascais, about 30 minutes north of Lisbon.  Such a lovely place.  Charmingly quiet, but not lacking a dynamic, intriguing downtown strip.  Oh, and tremendous beaches.  I got lost on my own walking around a marina at one point, but the experience served only to improve my lofty opinion of the country and its people.  One beach, in particular, was the 2nd best beach I've ever been on, behind only Positano in Italy.  It was so vast, so deep, with such beautiful sand – some points steep sand-dune-like slopes even – all surrounded by a gorgeous red cliff which looked westward out into the seemingly endless Atlantic.  That day was a hard one to top.  The Portuguese are very friendly, and their language is intriguing – it looks almost identical to Spanish and is structured accordingly, but it sounds nothing like it.  I thought it sounded quite like Russian, in fact.  It was kind of strange, alien-sounding really, with lots of sh's and ch's which gave the flow a curious timbre.  Then, I went to Amsterdam.  Now that's a language.  The problem was that, unlike Portugal and much of Spain, the Dutch are essentially all fluent English speakers.  Well, it's a problem when you forget that, anyway.  

First thoughts of being Home

Well, I'm home.  As the end of the program and the subsequent end of my year-long journey approached, I did my best not to allow myself to lament at how quickly time had passed or much I would miss Madrid or my friends once I was home, nor did I fall prey to the potentially-depressing compare-and-contrast of life in the States and life elsewhere.  Instead, I went through each week, each day, each moment, as though it were independent – a moment to be enjoyed as it was, void of deep contemplation about how I'd look back upon it in the future or how much I'd awaited it.  Even on the plane home, I did not think much about America.  I didn't make a list of foods I was eager to eat or people I was excited to see.  My adventure was not ending.  I spent a lot of time alone this past semester, mostly of my own choice.  I lost my phone in Rome and I decided to forego getting a new one for the final six-or-so weeks I was there.  I think the experience spurred on an extra level of awareness and perspective.  As the day approached when I would again land in America, this time with no set plans to leave anytime soon, I tried not to grow despondent, and instead realized that it's not where you're at, but who you are and what you've got.  Anywhere you go, you can meet that person or have that moment of overwhelming exultation.  

Home's been a little slow so far.  It seems nothing has changed.  This is a good thing, in some ways, but it also exemplifies a static lifestyle which is quite different than the one I've been living for the past year.  I'm eager to get my summer going, but before I get too far into this next adventure, I'd like to reflect on the last month, which, filled to the brim, was exhausting and perfect.  

Before spring break, I hadn't left Madrid since arriving.  The last month or of my Spanish vida was essentially the antithesis of that.  Every day in Spain was a special one, each an improvement on the previous.  My weekends, though, were for the most part spent away from my host-country.  The trips were meant to be somewhat spread out for a nice balance of time both in and out of España, la puta madre, but a certain somebody, the often very calm and collected but occasionally disruptive and ill-tempered, Mr. Eyjafjallajökull, had different plans in mind.  

The volcano erupted about mid-week as Thursday the 15th of April approached, in which Matt, Ricky and I were scheduled to fly out on our long-awaited journey to Amsterdam.  I didn't think too much about the potential consequences of the eruption, but when, on the morning of the 15th, I read on Iberia's website that all flights out of Spain were cancelled, I was devastated.  I had been so very pumped to go, all set with a list of parks, museums, coffee shops, tulip markets, etc. to see, and I was all of a sudden left with an unrelenting, helpless situation.  There was simply nothing we could do to get to Amsterdam, or anywhere.  It was a frustrating morning, but, luckily, my intuitive mother did me a huge favor and contacted the airline for me and was able to maneuver a switcheroo for two weekends later.  Matt and Ricky likewise switched their flights, so, presto, another weekend in Madrid was in order.  It was a bit of a slap in the face that those who had left a day earlier were so unfortunately stranded in Paris, London, Munich etc., but it turned out that many of them had to catch über-long bus-rides back to Spain in the end.  So it all worked out, but, like I say, it certainly made the last few weeks much more jam-packed.   

Italy was amazing, probably the best trip of my life.  Went to so many places – Rome, Venice, Florence, Siena, Capri, Anacapri, Sorrento, Positano, Pompeii, Mt. Vesuvius, Naples – with a really great group of friends as well as my cousin Ben, who came to meet us from Israel, where he's doing some volunteering.  Rome was off the chain.  So much to see, great food, an easily navigable city, and overall a great vibe, independent of the more overt awe-inspiring aspects (see: Pantheon, Roman Forum, Coliseum, Vatican, etc.).  Venice was gorgeous and my cousin and I (we separated from the group, taking an overnight train from Roma) had a fantastic time which we surely will never forget.  Also had a great opportunity to go to a Sephardic Passover service and then eat at a terrific seder with people from all over the world.  Florence was.  Hm.  My first inclination is to call it overrated, but I have to give credence to the fact that it was tarnished by a few factors.  A lot of people really love Florence and say that it's so beautiful and nice and quaint.  It was quaint, indeed, but the smallness only served to emphatically emphasize the exorbitant number of tourists/people studying abroad which made English by far the most common language heard (we were there for the busiest, most touristy week of the year).  I was wowed by Michaelangelo's David, could have looked at it for hours, although I wouldn't say the renown Uffizi museum was worth the 3-hour wait.  Botticelli was incredible, but I'd had more than enough of my fill of images of baby Jesus.  It is a beautiful city, with a gorgeous Duomo (Italian cities are all about their Duomos) and the Ponte Vechio bridge, particularly with the enchanting view from the Plaza di Michaelangelo, but people had hyped it up to be like walking through a gorgeous museum; at parts this was moderately accurate, but on the whole it fell a bit short of what I was expecting.  Siena was beautiful, and a great remedy to the tourist-crazed Florence.  I'll never forget the advice a hat salesman named Gianni gave us: Happiness is harmony with the universe, and it is spontaneous; looking for happiness rarely takes you there.  Then the final leg of the trip, an organized tour of the Amalfi coast, was phenomenal.  Lemons the size of your head, literally.  Positano, with its black sand surrounded by cliffs and mountains, was the best beach I've ever been to.  Pompeii and Vesuvius were almost overwhelming in their portrayal of the passing of time and the power of nature, respectably.  Naples reminded me of Detroit, although with a touch more gaiety (their Duomo: beautiful, beautiful building overlooking a delightfully charming plaza.  Except there's trash everywhere. And there are weeds growing out of every crevice, on the steps, the colonnade, the basilica.  And those two impressive statues in the center?  Covered in bird shit.  But the people don't care; soccer balls being passed around, kids riding bikes, men [perhaps mafia; it is, after all, the mafia capital of Italy] laughing together). Overall, Italy is... 

-Kingdom of carbohydrates

-Wine

-Gelato!

-Shiny, poofy coats

-Hair gel

-Stoic Italian faces

-And I would venture a guess it's arguably the most beautiful country in the world, with its endless green, rolling fields of Tuscany amidst a brilliant mountainous background, jaw-dropping cliffside views on the Amalfi coast, and spectacular historical relics, just to name a few...

Spain!  Spain's awesome.  Since I've been back from Italy I've put in a conscious effort to get out during the day and see the city and all it offers, and I absolutely love it.  Madrid has got to be one of the most livable cities in the world.  It's so incredibly lively and animated, and there's practically anything one could want in a city.  Almost every day I'll walk around the city, mostly toward/around my favorite tri-barrio region of Tribunal/Noviciado/Chueca and get such a terrific natural high from everyone just doing their thang Madrileño-style.  I love sitting in coffee shops, and either people-watching or reading.  You order a café con leche and you can sit there for hours; no one will come up to you and ask if you'd like the check; that table is yours as long as you want it.  Spaniards have so many idiosyncrasies.  Super friendly people, for the most part (compare: Italians).  Never in a hurry.  In fact, they go out of their way to not be in a hurry: on one side of the escalator you're meant to walk, and on the other you're meant to stand.  The line for the latter is ALWAYS loads longer than the former, but people simply don't care to take the quicker option.  Spaniards need a knife to peel their fruit.  They never eat the peel of anything – apples, pears, etc. (yet they feast on pig's blood and squid ink – go figure).  They prefer their bread to be without the crust (case in point: at the supermarket, a loaf of wheat bread with crust is 79 cents.  A loaf of white bread without crust is 2.50).  They're seemingly always drinking, but never drunk.  Love their pigs.  Well, dead, cured, pigs.  Cannot fathom the notion of vegetarianism.  Totally uninspired in their cooking.  This is how we do it, no questions asked.  We do not want to put lettuce on this or any sandwich.  We do not carry hot sauce in our house; such nonsense is for Mexicans.  An omelette should have one ingredient only.  An omelette that has just eggs is French.  If you leave without saying goodbye, you're practicing French culture.  French tennis players are no good.  I believe what I believe, even if it isn't true.  But if you don't agree, meh, no pasa nada, tío.  

Wish I had more time to write a more comprehensive blog, but it seems as if I've waited a bit too long, for I am headed to the airport in about 50 minutes en route to Italy for spring break. Woo!

Quickly, though, I am really having a great time in Madrid. There are so many awesome areas to go to, so many beautiful parks, so much to do! It's amazing.

My birthday was one of, if not the very best. On Friday, the 19th (mine is the 20th), I went with a trip that was offered through my program on a bus ride to Valencia for the culmination of Las Fallas festival. Throughout the week, the various towns around Valencia create absolutely massive, ornately detailed floats, with satirical themes (I guess I'm not down enough with Spanish culture/politics to know what they were really satirizing. It also didn't help that, like in Barcelona [crap, I didn't even blog about that, did I?], they have their own dialect which I couldn't really decipher, despite being somewhat similar to Spanish.) Anyway, the last night of the week-long festival, Friday, is when they BURN 'EM DOWN in colossally epic fires which are by no means safe but by all accounts wondrous. Throughout the day, leading up to the burning at midnight (and my birthday, of course!), there were explosions and firecrackers and whatnot booming constantly. On more than one occasion I momentarily lost hearing, and on even more occasions I saw little kids lighting things on fire. It amazed me that, as far as I could tell (for I didn't see many limbs lying astray), very few people were getting hurt. I suppose that was really the only difference, along with the utter jovial attitude and various tents lining the streets selling delectable treats and drinks, between the streets of Valencia on the last day of Fallas and the Gaza Strip. Actually, I guess there was really only one similarity between the two, but still, the comparison did come into my mind multiple times (I can't tell if that's too racy of a thing to say. I don't mean to be political. But I do keep it real. And I know that there's loud shit going off randomly within the Gaza Strip. Oh – and the crowds. That's a definite similarity. Yikes, I did not intend to do a compare and contrast essay between Las Fallas and Gaza Strip. But here I am. Carry on.). I met some cool people, accidentally (I swear) dined-and-dashed, and had my personal space violated time and again as the hour of the Crema, the burning, approached. It finally did, and yes, it was awesome, and yes, I'm kind of a pyromaniac.

On Saturday, I waited in line for OH MY GOD 4 HOURS for Real Madrid tickets, but it was totally worth it. I went with my man Bobby, who's been living here for a little more than a year, and we had a great time, and then went out after and did a fairly nice job representin' the 21st año.

Ummm. Family came March 5 - 12. Was great! (Yes, I'm giving you 6 words.) And my Spanish family is going really well. I've got a lot of anecdotes and thoughts on Spanish culture (as cool as they are for going out 'til 6 a.m. and not really caring about anything, they're kind of... big pussies [since it's in parentheses it's okay to use vulgarity, right?]).

Excited to see Italy and get a comparison! Here we go!!

If there is one word I would have to delegate to epitomize the Spanish mindset, at least as is effused by Madrid, it would be "nada."  Firstly, you hear it everywhere: Bump into someone?  Nada.  Received a favor?  Nada.   The soccer team just lost, of which you're a diehard fan?  Nada.  Above all, nada, which, as you ought to know, means "nothing," is, to me, the fitting metaphor for the Spanish lifestyle.  It's extremely carefree, and it pervades everywhere.  Walking down just about any street, you're almost certain to find a bar.  And within that bar, you're going to find people.  Depending on the location and particular place, the clientele will range from late teens to well into the octogenarian realm (the first time I ever heard such a word, octogenarian [or any of its accomplices], I thought it entirely ridiculous and unnecessary, but I've since come to embrace it).  Spanish old people are the starkest example of the nada lifestyle, but it doesn't take much time to realize that the ideal life of any Spaniard would be to sit and drink cañas (a pleasantly-small serving of beer from the tap) all day, served alongside, of course, tapas.  These small, variable portions of snacks, which are often served free-of-charge, too exemplify the lifestyle of ease and comfort.  Tapas bars also each have a way of their own, with some geared more toward the young hipsters and others toward the vets.  One of my favorite places is called El Tigre (meaning "The Novelist" [not!]), which serves up a delectable plate of unexpected snacks, ranging from potatoes to spanish omelette to various types of pork (<-- this would be the second word to epitomize Spain) served over small pieces of bread, all free of charge with the purchase of a two-euro caña.  The place is in a very alternative barrio called Chueca, quite close to the school, and is almost always packed to the brim.  You'd be hard-pressed to find the older generations reveling in the Spanish nightlife, though, in the same manner as the younguns do.  On just about any given night, but particularly from Wednesday to Saturday, it's quite standard to begin the night out at around midnight and continue on well past 4 AM.  In fact, it is common practice to stay out until 6 to catch the first ride of the morning metro, which shuts down between 1:30 – 6:00.  I've started the acclimation process, and have accordingly experienced a fair amount of seriously late, or perhaps early, nights.   

The nada metaphor illuminates the easy-going, live-for-the-moment lifestyle of Spain which is quite admirable.  It's different from Israel.  There, you've got the daily battle of balancing the epicentral nature of the land and the history with a desire to enjoy life in the present day.  It's not nearly as... light, in a word.  But it's something that I really liked while I was there.  In comparison, it's almost like Spain is missing something.  I couldn't say which lifestyle I like better.  They are, on the surface, quite similar, in fact, particularly the youth scene.  I'm digging Madrid more and more each day.  There is anything and everything one could want in this city.  It's similar to New York.  With a kick-ass Palace.  And, of course, the museums are amazing.  And the parks.  And the nightlife.  And the street markets.  And the plazas, which pop up just about every block.  If you're ever in Madrid and you're looking for an area, it will do you absolutely no good to say, "I'm looking for Plaza ... something."  The weather has been uncharacteristically poor, with lots of rain, and even snow on one or two occasions.  This past Sunday, though, I went with Ricky and Matt to the famous street market, el Rastro, and the weather was absolutely gorgeous.  We had a killer time and I cannot wait for the weather to make a permanent turn for the better.  I must say, though, I miss Israel quite dearly.  That place, man, it's something else.  

Oh, I switched my home-stay.  Toñi was a stand-up lady, but it wasn't the situation I wanted, and an opportunity came up which allowed me to switch.  Now, I live with a couple, Visi and Tito, and their 28-year-old journalist daughter, Vita.  They're very well fed (<-- Dig that euphemism) and Visi is a great cook.  She, seemingly like many Spanish women of her generation, is the ultimate housewife.  On many occasions, immediately after finishing dinner, which we eat around 9:15, she'll start preparing for the next day's meal.  I've got the whole basement to myself, equipped with a solid study area, TV with DVD player, and a pool table.  It's a house in sort of a condominium-like complex, and it's actually in the same complex as Matt and Ricky, who live literally two doors down.  I'm really happy with the move; it's a much preferable situation.  

My classes are quite good as well.  I've got two history classes, which are kinda similar, focusing on the monotheistic religions, both in their development and influence on Medieval Europe.  In addition to Spanish, I've got a Psychology class which I'm really digging and a course on Modern Spanish Art, which is taught in Spanish, and includes trips to museums about twice a month.  I've been to the Prado with it three times now, and I am now trained and equipped to drop some heavy, Goya-filled bombs of knowledge on your ass.  

My family is coming tomorrow!!  Well, everyone except Papa Bear.  We're going to Barcelona until Tuesday afternoon, then we'll hang out around Madrid until they leave next Friday in the morning.  I can't wait!!  And, BASEBALL'S BACK!  Wow!  I remember watching (gulp) the Tigers last game from Istanbul in October like it was just last week.  Crazy.  Bueno.  ¡Hasta luego!

Welcome to Spain!

After an entirely-too-long stay in the Newark Airport, the group, which had steadily grown in number as the hours passed, boarded the plane en route to Madrid. Earlier in the day I'd hit the jackpot and was able to change my seat to the aisle of the exit row – cha-ching! I was sat next to two classily-dressed Spaniards who gave me a preview of the plentiful sweaters and corduroys I'd apparently be seeing during my time in Spain. I slept most of the way, and could feel my unexpected nerves brewing as the plane got closer to the opposite side of the Atlantic.

Shortly after landing and gathering our bags, the group was led to a cluster of buses and shuttles and, before even getting a chance to say what up to the city which would host us for the following three-and-a-half months, we were on our way to Toledo, the first stop on our seminar. It would turn out to be not only a nice, well-rounded tour of Spain but also a very interesting educational experience filled with intriguing lectures and exceptional monument-visits which displayed the (personally previously-unknown) fascinating and multi-layered history of the country. In addition to immediately hitting it off with my man Ricky and his twin Matt, I quickly became acquainted with a couple other guys who I've found to be really good company.

Toledo was a relatively small, but quaint, town with a pleasant main square surrounded by a labyrinth of side streets. Every block seemed to have at least three shops filled with a plethora of swords and knives, and our hotel was medieval-themed, including myriad knightly armor suits and numerous uncomfortable, noble, high-backed chairs. The perplexity of such a situation was solved when we learned that Toledo apparently is the sword capital of the world, in fact producing many of the weapons used by Hollywood. At one point we walked into a shop which claimed to be the supplier and I got real kick out of watching Matt and Ricky nearly orgasm at holding replicas of Lord of the Rings battle gear. I hadn't planned on it, but decided to purchase a nice pocket knife, made out of bull horn, because, hey, when am I ever gonna be back in the sword capital of the world? Knives are small swords, right? It seemed like a logical, reasonably pragmatic decision, and I feel really badass playing with it, which is always a plus.

The average day in the seminar, which covered the fall of the Roman Empire in around 475 CE, the subsequent Visigoth (German) occupation, the Islamic Conquest in 711, and the Christian Re-conquest around 1100, included a lecture or two and a visit or two to one of the many historical, epically beautiful buildings housed in Spain. Being an historical epicenter of the three monotheistic religions, and in accordance with the theme of the seminar, almost all of our visits were to churches/cathedrals, mosques, and a synagogue. Each city we visited (Toledo for 3 days, Cordoba for 2, Seville for 2, and Granada for 3) continued to spew out astounding structures which have all blended together in my memory as a group of unbelievably beautiful, incredibly detailed and ornamented structures ripe with history and reeking of the longevity and potential of man's capabilities and artistry. The professor who ran the seminar was one of those guys who seems to know everything, and is good at explaining what he knows, so he was a terrific guide and I learned a tremendous amount of interesting information.

I enjoyed getting acquainted to Spain via Toledo, where I had some terrific tapas and started the ongoing process of adapting my stomach to the mass amounts of pork to be seen and inevitably eaten. It's not the place to go for nightlife, but I look back on it fondly and am very glad I had the opportunity to roam its streets and meet some of the locals. The man who sold me my knife was particularly memorable – very likable and personable. I really appreciate a person like that.

Cordoba was a quick stop. We went to a monument – the Great Mosque – which, like many others, had gone through various religious-identities resulting from the various ruling factions of the land. This particular one was a grandiose mosque with an epic cathedral built in the middle. One of the themes of the trip was comparing not only practices and cultures of the various religions but also the art and architecture, which was very interesting. My experience here was marred a bit when, after the visit, walking on a promenade lined with orange trees, I jumped up with the intent of grabbing a couple and juggling, but landed on a strange, inconveniently placed ledge and turned my ankle pretty badly. Naturally, we got lost walking back to our hotel, and that was certainly not the most ideal post-ankle-sprain situation. I did quite like the city, which, somewhat similar to Toledo, had a sort of antique charm to it with its cobblestone, windy roads (also not ideal for a twisted ankle) and such.

The somewhat long bus rides between cities were a stark reminder of how much bigger Spain is than Israel. I enjoyed them though, particularly looking out at the endless rows of olive trees, looking first straight out through the alleyways the rows of crops created, then the two diagonal alleyways on either side of the straight-away view. I think it was the ride from Cordoba to Seville in which I was feeling so high on life. I was totally digging Spain. It inspired in me the same feeling I get from a new pair of fresh sneakers. Smooth and kickin'.

Seville was my favorite city of the tour, by far. Amazing monuments, check. Epic nightlife (here was my first exposure to the almost [<--- keyword] over-the-top Spanish discotheque outings of dancing the entire night away), check. And probably the best thing I've seen yet, which wasn't included in our tour, an unbelievable plaza which I heard (but not confirmed) was erected in dedication to Christopher Columbus. This would make sense, as we also saw Columbus' tomb in Seville's cathedral. The massive, open structure (the plaza, not the tomb; Creepers.) was lined with beautiful intricately detailed benches, decorated with colored tiles depicting scenes which represented various cities of Spain. And it was so clean. I noticed that every city, in fact, seemed to make cleanliness a priority. At one point I climbed a staircase and looked out at the expanse from a sort of patio, and felt just like the Emperor of Rome about to give the go ahead to epically dispose of the gladiators of the Colliseum with whom the lions had totally just had their way. Or perhaps just saying hello to my onlookers. Either way, it was a cool sensation, and I guess I'd be down with being Emperor one day. Better start looking for internships I suppose!

Overall Seville was just cool. A unique Spanish-European city, streets filled with delicious tapas bars and elegantly lined with orange trees. At one point we went to a park and had a ball (no pun intended) playing with the endless stream of oranges at our disposal. Apparently they're bitter and not to be eaten, so it's basically like having a ball tree. Then it explodes and gets you all sticky, but still, I would really dig a ball tree at home. I'd love to go back to Seville, and hope to once I figure out the Spanish bus system.

We then moved on to Granada, our last stop. By then I was growing a bit restless. I'd been living out of a suitcase for almost 3 weeks now (including my time at home in which I moved around a lot), the hotel dinners were taking their toll on my digestive system, and the seminar seemed to be dragging on. I was eager to arrive to Madrid already. The highlight of Granada was the Alhambra, a beautiful walled-city/palace stemming from the last faction of Islam before they were entirely eradicated from Spain, pushed out of the south in around 1492. At this point in history the group who remained in Granada knew they were the last of a dying breed (Muslims in Spain), so they dedicated their lives to beauty and elegance, with the Alhambra being their supreme wonder.

On January 26, we took the long ride north from Granada to Madrid. My nerves were brewing as we approached. I'd already learned who my host family would be: A 61-year-old widow named Toñi. I had requested to live with a family with someone my age, and I was initially quite disappointed about the prospect of living alone with one older woman. We made it to Madrid in the late afternoon and, after picking up my bags, I managed to unite with Toñi, who, along with other host mothers and families, were waiting next to the Real Madrid stadium where we were dropped off to take us to our respective homes.

The first night we'd been instructed not to go out. We didn't have phones. I didn't have internet at my place yet. Toñi spoke no English. She was nice, no doubt, but it was terribly lonesome. I felt miserable the next day, and angry that my housing wishes had seemingly been ignored.

As time has passed, though, I've grown more and more content with the living situation. In addition to being nice and caring, Toñi is a good cook and pretty goofy, albeit sometimes unintentionally. She has a sort of wispy, high pitched voice, with a distinct Spanish flair. Last night for dinner, the first course was peas. I asked, in spanish, "How do you say this in spanish?" "Guisantes," she answered, "y en ingles?" "Peas," I replied. "Qué fácil!" she exclaimed, in her unique, cutely-comical tone, "Vamos a comer peas." (How easy! We are going to eat peas.) It was really really funny and I laughed out loud.

So my housing has gotten better and I'm starting to feel comfortable in my room, and now I've got internet and a cell phone so I'm more connected. Plus, Ricky and Matt live very close so we go to the same Metro stop to get to town, which is about a 12-minute ride depending on where you get off (12 minutes to the Syracuse International Institute where our classes are). They live in a house about a 4-minute bus ride away, in a basement floor of their own, and I went the other day for a play-date.

Classes have started this week and they seem good enough, which is more than I could expect, particularly after last semester's debacle. I'm taking two classes in spanish: one standard grammar/vocab, and one on modern Spanish art in which we'll visit some of the many renown museums of Madrid each week. In addition to these, I've got a history class on Medieval Europe similar to the seminar but far more in depth, a Psychology class on Personality (I quite like the professor and the material so far), and one on Human Rights and World Politics.

Madrid is a big city and I'm still getting to know it. I walked around one day on my own for quite a while (so long, in fact, that I really grew to admire those who do walking marathons. Walking is hard!) and I quickly learned there are many different areas with a unique life of their own within the city. It's similar to New York City, but more calm. I heard that Madrid was determined to be one of the noisiest cities in Europe, but I would have to beg to differ. I hear much less honking and people seem kind of reserved. I'm still getting to know the Spanish culture as well, but they seem like fun-loving people, although less overtly polite and friendly than Americans, which is not necessarily a bad thing, for the latter could easily be deemed as insincere. I've found that being genuine is one of the factors I value most in people. I haven't fallen in love with the city yet, but I will give it time. I'm planning on going to its supposedly-most beautiful park this weekend and to a flea market which is meant to be a memorable experience.

And I booked my spring break trip to Italy, from March 26 to April 6. A couple buddies and I are flying into Rome and then out of Milan, and along the way hope to hit Florence, Venice, Naples, and anywhere else anyone would care to recommend. Excited for that! And excited to continue to grow and see the world and this city and country. Hasta luego!!

From Newark Airport, January 15

I am currently sitting in the Newark airport, on a 7+-hour layover awaiting my flight to Madrid tonight. I'd heard pretty lackluster reports about Newark, and a cursory glance out the window as my plane descended more than confirmed this reputation. The interior is quite nice, to be fair, although after getting off the plane I wandered for a frantic while wondering who the wise-guy was who decided on the bathroom allocations. I've settled down now in a coffee shop, and feel it's a good time, perhaps the best time I've ever had, to write an entry.

Israel was unbelievable. The last few weeks couldn't have been better. From the all-night/day covert desert party on Hanukkah, to visiting Bethlehem on Christmas Eve, to spending treasured time with my friends in the Kfar and portraying our savvy party-throwing skills, to renting a car and traveling almost the entire north in a span of about 36 hours, it was a jam-packed month which emphatically placed the cherry on top of the trip of a lifetime. I saw so much of the country, many different kinds of people, from jovial Palestinians in Bethlehem to high-spirited Ethiopians celebrating Hanukkah as they feasted on Jelly Donuts (or Sufganiyot – by far the most manifest representation of Hanukkah in Israel, far surpassing the menorah or latkes), and, of course, my Israeli friends. I can't say enough about how much they affected my trip. Thanks to them I was easily able to break away from the bubble of the study abroad program and explore more of the authentic Israel, as I met their friends and families and lived their lives alongside them. The nature of the program, and the country, made this difficult to do otherwise. Particularly because of the army: everyone around my age is in it, and since Jerusalem is mostly dead on the weekends because of Shabbat, there wasn't so much exposure to these people. All the people studying were older, and, because of the nature of the Israeli education system, took their studies very seriously. So, in addition to just being incredible people and better friends than I could ever hope for, my Israeli companions had a profoundly positive effect on my entire experience.

The last few days particularly were a mixed bag of emotions. On the last night, many people came over to my apartment and we sat around together, just living and laughing, having a great time. My flight left at around 7 AM, so I pulled an all-nighter as I waited to be picked up at 3:30. As I made it onto my plane, many of the tough feelings I'd been going through – sadness, regret, longing – were displaced by an overwhelming joy of having gone through such a legit experience. Looking back, I just killed it. It was a 10 out of 10. I saw so much, so many different perspectives and viewpoints, learned so much about myself, people, the world, life, felt so much. Nothing but great thoughts about Israel. It's such a crazy, unbelievable, altogether unexplainable place. Living there for an extended period of time was an incredible experience which will stay with me for the remainder of my life.

There are just so many aspects coming from all directions of time and space which go into making Israel what surely must be one of the, if not the, craziest place on Earth. I'll arbitrarily start with the history. For nearly 3,000 years, people have been fighting over the land. Ancient walled cities which today house bustling street markets and modern apartments stand as stark reminders of the almost seemingly endless past of the country. The last century, after the fall of the Ottoman Empire and the rise of Zionism, with the subsequent independence of the Israeli State, has brought an amazingly fascinating sequence of events. Indeed, the country's significance, which has been prominent, particularly in the monotheistic religious world, has probably only increased in the last 100 years. The world exposure certainly has. A lot of the history is ripe with conflict, which is an unfortunate portrayal of humanity, but there is so much more. Even today, the people represent an incredibly eclectic, rich, varying culture. The ongoing Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a shame, indeed, but it makes Israel all the more distinct and, in a word, wild. There's been so much strife, but an equal amount of bravery and cunning. When you look at the first ten or so years of Israel's existence, it's almost a miracle that the country still remains. The government, of course, has its faults, but one must commend them for making Israel a world powerhouse, respected on many fronts, notably for more than just their military prowess. Like my time spent in the country, they're so legit. Jerusalem is perhaps the paramount representation of the unending buffet of elements which are in play in the country. There are so many different kinds of people living there: staunchly religious Jews who don't even think Jews are meant to be in Israel before the Messiah comes, Arabs who feel their home has been tarnished, secular Jews who just love to live and just as well might live in any other city in the world, Arabs who appreciate the opportunities they're given which otherwise might not be available in other areas, and more. It's just so... crazy. And I was there. I was right there. The windows from classroom overlooked the West Bank. I went through checkpoints. I saw the conflict manifest itself in everyday life, from entering buildings to riding busses. Yet, and I cannot emphasize this enough, there is so much more than conflict. There's an ever-present love of life. A cultural consciousness of truth and reality which I've learned is not nearly so prevalent in the United States. It's a special, special place, and I cannot say enough of my experience there. So much fun, so much truth, so much value. Lifelong friends. Moments and images which will stick with me forever, and surely many others which will resurface from the depths of my memory at random times throughout my life. 10 out of 10.

My time at home was as good as I could have hoped it to be. A lot of mixed feelings about lifestyle and culture and belonging. Seeing my sisters in New York for the first few days was wonderful, and I'm proud of our relationship and theirs together. Spending time with my parents was great, and I feel my experience thus far has helped me gain a great appreciation of them. Seeing my friends was terrific; there's nothing like great friends who you can see only rarely but pick things right back up where they were left. Spent a fair amount of time in Ann Arbor, a lot of it with mah gurl Gummy (Clare), who I successfully converted to a Tigers fanatic when we lived together during spring term and the summer, and it couldn't have gone better. I'll miss everyone dearly while I'm gone, but I'm excited to meet more people, see more life, and just live live live. 2009 was easily the best year of my life, for many reasons. 2010 has started off terrifically and I can't wait to find out how it will play out. Here I go!