(no subject)
March 23rd,
Now where was I…oh yes. Spain.
I have resumed my habits of panicking in the middle of the night about being a potential failure in life due to not having a summer job, suitable education, or focused career goals. Therefore I dedicated this week (a little late, I realize) to searching for a summer job. As a result, I have really just completely neglected this foreign country I live in. Instead I’ve spent a week in the basement of my the university library typing up an updated resume and cover letters and selecting my classes for the upcoming semester. This state of panic has also, unfortunately, decided to coincide with my MIDTERMS…. Can you say BAD TIMING? These thoughts about my future have squeezed into my head among random facts about women’s literature, translations of colloquial phrases such as “that guy’s trashed,” the entire story of the Apostil St. James, and then, oh yea, Art History from the stone age until El Greco. Sometimes I just don’t know about me….
My goals for the weekend are to apply to two internships everyday (I’ve already done two applications for today, one which I probably won’t get owing to the fact that I sent in the wrong coverletter, wooooops). It should be relatively easy now that I have all of the paperwork updated and organized (hopefully I won’t be making that coverletter blooper again).
I stopped in the office to pester Jennifer and Eva to help me make an Alicante to-do list. They told me about the Centro Catorce which is a hip place down in the barrio with all sorts of pamphlets and information. They also gave me theatre and ballet schedules. Jennifer told me about an ice skating rink down in Elche, as well as a state park up the coast a bit to the north, both of which can be reached by train. Our list of things to achieve while enjoying our LAST TWO (eeek! How time flys) months here in Spain, is beginning to grow:
Senderismo (hiking) daytrip (it’s a FREE picnic trip with the centro catorce)
Visit to the National Park
Ice Skating in Elche
A (possible) excursion to Toledo through the University
Murcia and all things related to it (Cathedral, Historical Center, Cultural Casino, etc)
Bikini Waxing
I’ve got THINGS TO DO and no time to waste! This last one on the list was so random…. I was talking to Jennifer about my green corduroys (which she has the same pair of) and I told her they’re better on her because they are made for the long-legged (seriously she’s like 20 feet tall), and she explained to me that here in Spain stores like H & M (where our pants are from), and stores equivalent to the GAP, say for instance, do free alterations. ALL of them! I couldn’t believe it…. And then suddenly Jennifer (who’s speaking to me in spanish), points to her fly and starts talking about wax. Oh boy. I had no idea how the conversation had changed to this but apparently it’s just another thing that Spaniards do differently. They don’t use razors here. They’re all about wax and getting waxed is therefore super cheap. So she suggested a good place and it’s the next on my list of wacky-spanish-experiences to come.
So last night Megan, Nuria (our trusty translator), and I wandered into the Centro Catorce and started writing down dates and events. Nuria took us to a pretty stylish churro and chocolate joint where I promptly put away about 5 of the delicious fried pieces of dough. I felt justified as I finally went RUNNING yesterday for the second time EVER while being here. I ran about two miles and felt like I might die, but I made it.
After hours of spanish speaking extravaganza with Nuria, I decided to haul me and my circuit-blown brain back home only to discover Mayte desperately attempting to download something onto her computer. She enlisted me to read the Valenciano (which of course I could only barely) and to then download the spanish software. I seriously don’t know how European’s function with so many languages being thrown about. While in the midst of this VERY SLOW downloading processes, Mayte’s best friend brought over her 5-year-old daughter, Andrea. Andrea took IMMEDIATE interest in my habitación because my room is actually Mayte’s grandson’s playroom (toys included). She treated all of the toys very gently and was interested in discussing with me why on earth Mr. Incredible (superhero doll) was so fat. “A ver…qué GORDO! Ha comido mucho.” (Let’s see…HOW FAT! He has eaten a lot.) She put them away tidily and asked, “de dondé eres?” (Where are you from?). I told her I lived far away in a country called the United States. She asked, “cuál equipo tienes?” (Which [soccer] team do you have?). She began to ramble off her favorite teams, relating where she lived with a soccer team rather than just saying “I’m from alicante.” And then she looked up and said, “quien eres?” (who are you?). I told her my name was Zoe. She looked up at me, eyes sparkling with sincerity and repeated, “Zoe,” clear as a bell with not a hint of an accent. “Qué BONITA!” (Zoe, how pretty!). I was actually shocked. My name is not easy on the spanish ear. Z is pronounced with a “th” sound so my name is quiet ugly (pronounced thoe). But since her ear is young she can still hear, and pronounce my name correctly. What a shock. The first (and probably only) Spaniard to compliment my name is a 5-year-old….
Love
Zoe
Now where was I…oh yes. Spain.
I have resumed my habits of panicking in the middle of the night about being a potential failure in life due to not having a summer job, suitable education, or focused career goals. Therefore I dedicated this week (a little late, I realize) to searching for a summer job. As a result, I have really just completely neglected this foreign country I live in. Instead I’ve spent a week in the basement of my the university library typing up an updated resume and cover letters and selecting my classes for the upcoming semester. This state of panic has also, unfortunately, decided to coincide with my MIDTERMS…. Can you say BAD TIMING? These thoughts about my future have squeezed into my head among random facts about women’s literature, translations of colloquial phrases such as “that guy’s trashed,” the entire story of the Apostil St. James, and then, oh yea, Art History from the stone age until El Greco. Sometimes I just don’t know about me….
My goals for the weekend are to apply to two internships everyday (I’ve already done two applications for today, one which I probably won’t get owing to the fact that I sent in the wrong coverletter, wooooops). It should be relatively easy now that I have all of the paperwork updated and organized (hopefully I won’t be making that coverletter blooper again).
I stopped in the office to pester Jennifer and Eva to help me make an Alicante to-do list. They told me about the Centro Catorce which is a hip place down in the barrio with all sorts of pamphlets and information. They also gave me theatre and ballet schedules. Jennifer told me about an ice skating rink down in Elche, as well as a state park up the coast a bit to the north, both of which can be reached by train. Our list of things to achieve while enjoying our LAST TWO (eeek! How time flys) months here in Spain, is beginning to grow:
Senderismo (hiking) daytrip (it’s a FREE picnic trip with the centro catorce)
Visit to the National Park
Ice Skating in Elche
A (possible) excursion to Toledo through the University
Murcia and all things related to it (Cathedral, Historical Center, Cultural Casino, etc)
Bikini Waxing
I’ve got THINGS TO DO and no time to waste! This last one on the list was so random…. I was talking to Jennifer about my green corduroys (which she has the same pair of) and I told her they’re better on her because they are made for the long-legged (seriously she’s like 20 feet tall), and she explained to me that here in Spain stores like H & M (where our pants are from), and stores equivalent to the GAP, say for instance, do free alterations. ALL of them! I couldn’t believe it…. And then suddenly Jennifer (who’s speaking to me in spanish), points to her fly and starts talking about wax. Oh boy. I had no idea how the conversation had changed to this but apparently it’s just another thing that Spaniards do differently. They don’t use razors here. They’re all about wax and getting waxed is therefore super cheap. So she suggested a good place and it’s the next on my list of wacky-spanish-experiences to come.
So last night Megan, Nuria (our trusty translator), and I wandered into the Centro Catorce and started writing down dates and events. Nuria took us to a pretty stylish churro and chocolate joint where I promptly put away about 5 of the delicious fried pieces of dough. I felt justified as I finally went RUNNING yesterday for the second time EVER while being here. I ran about two miles and felt like I might die, but I made it.
After hours of spanish speaking extravaganza with Nuria, I decided to haul me and my circuit-blown brain back home only to discover Mayte desperately attempting to download something onto her computer. She enlisted me to read the Valenciano (which of course I could only barely) and to then download the spanish software. I seriously don’t know how European’s function with so many languages being thrown about. While in the midst of this VERY SLOW downloading processes, Mayte’s best friend brought over her 5-year-old daughter, Andrea. Andrea took IMMEDIATE interest in my habitación because my room is actually Mayte’s grandson’s playroom (toys included). She treated all of the toys very gently and was interested in discussing with me why on earth Mr. Incredible (superhero doll) was so fat. “A ver…qué GORDO! Ha comido mucho.” (Let’s see…HOW FAT! He has eaten a lot.) She put them away tidily and asked, “de dondé eres?” (Where are you from?). I told her I lived far away in a country called the United States. She asked, “cuál equipo tienes?” (Which [soccer] team do you have?). She began to ramble off her favorite teams, relating where she lived with a soccer team rather than just saying “I’m from alicante.” And then she looked up and said, “quien eres?” (who are you?). I told her my name was Zoe. She looked up at me, eyes sparkling with sincerity and repeated, “Zoe,” clear as a bell with not a hint of an accent. “Qué BONITA!” (Zoe, how pretty!). I was actually shocked. My name is not easy on the spanish ear. Z is pronounced with a “th” sound so my name is quiet ugly (pronounced thoe). But since her ear is young she can still hear, and pronounce my name correctly. What a shock. The first (and probably only) Spaniard to compliment my name is a 5-year-old….
Love
Zoe