Katya and Her (Not Yet) First Kiss

*THIS POST IS FROM A YEAR AND A HALF AGO. I FOUND IT IN MY UNPUBLISHED BLOG SCRAPS FROM MY STUDY ABROAD TRIP AND THOUGHT I'D MAKE A FEW EDITS AND SHARE FOR A LAUGH. ENJOY! Feel free to read my old posts (they are pretty brief) for context.*

I was originally going to entitle this "Katya and Her First Kiss," but then I took into account that my parents read this blog to keep up to date on my study abroad experiences, and that I value my father not having a heart attack more than the shock factor and possibility of an increase in viewership.  That being said, a implacable need for truth and strong regard for my father's health compel me to disclose at this point that I have NOT had my first kiss. It has, however, now come-up as a topic of conversation* in two situations while abroad here in Spain.

The first occasion was at drinks after dinner with my flatmates and a couple new acquaintances. I cannot recall what precipitated my revealing this little fact about myself**, nor can I quite explain the measure of gratification one feels when the topic of conversation swerves suddenly from people "casually" (read: competitively) comparing how experienced they are in romantic relationships to immediate collective incredulity with one's flagrant admonition of rare innocence at 21 years of age (among one's peers, nonetheless).

Looks of concern, surprise, and dubious curiosity preceded exclamations of amazement, pity, and confusion. The odd mixture of reactions, from "...uhh," "I respect that," "What?! Really?," to "I can change that..."  were priceless. I followed this with reassurances of my desire to remain unkissed until I was actually in a deep and meaningful relationship and that my lips had been preserved thus quite intentionally, although to the occasional chagrin of my own sentimental and romantic nature.

The second situation where I shared my lack of snogging experience was more contrived. We were playing a game of "I have never..." and, having just witnessed the delicious social confusion caused by such an admission the night before, I took it upon myself to use the game as a trolling rematch. Once again, reactions were various and entertaining. I have since been told by my flatmates that I need to avoid such speeches, lest I find myself seized by the nearest male and smooched after my next declaration. I think I will take their advice, as such threats were made upon both occasions.***

Footnotes for the Gainfully Employed
*To those of you who bother with my footnotes, I feel must own to the fact that making these revelations is mostly due to my own mischievous desire to shock my friends and acquaintances by my utter lack of debauchery on a trip where so many enjoy bragging about how "adventurous" they have been in amorous matters. I tended to take advantage of the topic of romance and incorporate my revelation when it was not precisely called for. Nonetheless, I think that it's only fair that if I have nothing shocking of a salacious nature to share, I have earned the right to enjoy the satisfaction of shocking people with my innocence.
**I think it may have started with the two guys who were with us commenting that I should kiss the bartender, since I had supposedly annoyed him earlier with my delay in choosing a beverage.
***While these offers/threats never cease to be both flattering and entertaining, the idea of wasting my first kiss on an unfamiliar, if well-meaning, guy is not satisfactory for my idealistic, romantic self. Always appreciate the offer, though.

Katya Visits Northern Spain and the Albacetes are Awesome

Well, the title actually pretty accurately sums it up. 

But let me give you some history.

It was 21 years ago, on a mid-February day, after an impossibly easy labor, that a baby girl was born to Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt in Caracas, Venezuela. The next day, she met the Albacetes*. They would see her when she first walked, and see her last when she was around two years old.**

Fast-forward 19 years.

I took the bus from Madrid to Zaragoza, enjoying the view of the countryside as the bus zoomed out of the capital and over rocky plains. It passed between, climbed-up, and curved around hills of ivory rocks and red earth, which were alternately covered in green grass, green trees, green vine fields, with the odd building here or there. I'd been living in a large city for 4 weeks and was more than ready for some nature, so I soaked it in (on either side of a delicious nap). 

At last, I arrived at the station and called the Albacetes to let them know where to pick me up. And that's when I re-met the Albacetes. Well, half of them, since Mrs. Albacete (or Patricia) and David, the younger son were in Tudela. Mr. Albacete (he let me call him Felipe) and Arturo, the elder son, drove me around a bit to let me see Zaragoza before we left for the 40 minute drive to Tudela. They were so friendly, and we had great conversation, despite my poorly tended Spanish.

Let me tell you about Tudela: It is adorable. After Madrid's hodge-podge of crazy colors, noncontemporaneous structures, and mismatched styles, it was refreshing to see a small city with continuity and, a gift to my eyes: far less grafitti.*** Quaint, with a small industrial sector, larger residential areas, and green within easy walk of the Albacete's abode, Tudela enshrined hundreds of years of human habitation and expansion with more grace, I thought, than Madrid. I am, of course, biased by my love of nature and the wonderful welcome I received there, but that doesn't mean I'm not right. An interesting fact I learned was that Tudela had successfully been one of the last city's in Spain to expel the Jews and Moors, and they did so under great protest. This little town had some spunk.

The weekend was a lot of fun, but also deep. Patricia, Felipe, and I had some great conversations about what God is doing in our lives in the midst of great adversity, and I left their home feeling very encouraged in my faith and convicted about the great need to pray for and support fellow believers. David played some great guitar for us, and I hope to hear his band perform later this spring, when I'm back in Spain to catch my flight out of Madrid. He kindly slept on the couch so that I would have a bed to sleep in at their house. What a gentleman! Thanks, David!

Arturo took time to show me around Tudela, both the city and the green park area near their house, and we talked about everything from politics to nature, with beer and spirituality sprinkled in. When he wasn't teasing me mercilessly, he was a chivalrous tour guide, despite, I'm sure, having better things to do than show me around. I also met a wonderful new friend, Christel, from the UK, who goes to the Albacete's church and is teaching English in Tudela. She is an amazing woman of God, and I'm hoping to see her in the UK after my program ends in June, because she has offered to let me come visit her!
 
The food Patricia made merits a mention here. She made arepas one night, and I was soooo happy to eat them! It has been years since I've had any arepa, which a traditional Venezuelan flatbread, and she made them wonderfully! She also made this amazing stuffed bread the evening of my departure, and I savored it on the train-ride back to Madrid. Regarding new beverage experiences, Arturo introduced me to this mix of wine and coco-cola, which (sorry Arturo), I've forgotten the name of. It was actually pretty good, despite Arturo's friend's expression of pity and horror when he saw us ordering it.

The weekend went by way too fast. And thus and alas, I had to leave Tudela to get back in time to write several research papers for the last week of the Madrid portion of my program. The train ride was uneventful, but I ended up having to take a taxi from the Atoche Renfe station, instead of the metro, which I had hoped to take, because it is 15x cheaper.**** I hope I get to visit them again in June, but we shall see. May God bless the Albacetes and the wonderful new friends I made through them!



Footnotes for the Gainfully Employed [or not. The economy is rough, dude.]:

*Well, almost all of the Albacetes. Their elder son was almost 1 and the younger was not to be born until several years later.
**No, I wasn't a miraculous 2 year old with incredible memory. My inside source for all this early information is Mr. Albacete.
***I hate the graffiti in Madrid; most especially the ugly, inartistic kind that is just vandalism which defaces their public monuments and ancient architecture. There is some talent displayed in other places, like the community art project spaces, but too much of the graffiti around town detracts from the urban space and heinously attacks my aesthetic sense. Rant completed.
****My 1-month metro pass had run out just the day before. And I only had my credit card (no cash, and my debit card was eaten by an ATM several weeks prior and a new one was on its way in the mail). The metro machine would not accept credit card, because a credit card does not have a PIN, so I had to spend more for a taxi that would take my card. Sigh. There went 15 euro. #thestruggleisreal #shouldnotcomplain #iamineuropeafterall

Katya Goes to Parks and Likes Them A Lot

The parks here in Madrid are gorgeous. I've been to three of the most famous ones now, and they are not overrated. Granted, I'm a bit of a nature fiend and have a tendency to suffocate** in urban areas, but you know, you are just going to have to take my word for it. And pictures. Picture evidence will be included. See? No, literally, scroll down and look.

Palacio de Cristal*

Parque del Buen Retiro (know commonly as El Retiro), to give some history, used to be the King's private park, but is now a public space with statues, fountains, ponds, and pathways galore. I've never been to Central Park in NYC, but I'd imagine it'd kind of like that--a space frequented by many Madrid-residents and located in a lively part of the city. It has some very nice French gardened areas, which are more planned looking and orderly, but my favorite area is the more English garden-style near the Crystal Palace, which is more wild, free, and rambling.***  I also love the giant monument in the middle of the park that sits facing the largest pond (which you can take a boat out on, which of course I am planning to do on my next visit). I've been to it about 2 and a half times now.

Monument to Alfonso XII (photo cred: me!)

The second park I have visited (precisely twice) is called Parque del Oeste (West Park). It's famous for the 2nd century B.C. Egyptian temple which Egyptians gifted to Spanish engineers for helping them with a project. Reconstructed ancient temples included, my favorite thing about this park is actually the rose garden just a short walk down the hill. 

Rose Garden*

 My flatmate, Samara, and I want to go back again and take the gondola ride that leaves from Parque de Oeste and glides over Casa de Campo, which is the third park I've visited here (only once so far, though). Beyond the gondola ride over it, I want to go back and wander around more. Samara and I are pretty much official park buddies, and she and I visited it just this past Saturday. We plan to return to haunt its majestic expanse.****

Casa de Campo*

 Maybe it's because I'm an introvert who enjoys being alone in nature, but these parks have been among the highlights of my stay here. I am very blessed to be here in the spring, with everything blooming and green. Sorry if you are reading this and are not a nature lover. I'll try to include more human interest stuff in my next blog. Patience, my friends. Patience.*****

Me at Casa de Campo (Photo cred: Samara)

Footnotes for the Elite Reader:
*Honestly, I haven't charged my camera since it died on me about two weeks ago, so I pulled most of these off the Google. Thanks, Google.
**Only spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and figuratively. Don't worry. I don'tphysically suffocate--in case you actually took me literally...which you probably didn't. Because I'd be dead already, it's illogical, and you know my way of speaking by now I hope. On that note, a lot of people smoke here and there is air pollution, so I may be physically suffocating just a little bit.
***Yet another reason why I would make a great English literature heroine. I could spend all day in those English parks, parasol in one hand, book of poetry in the other. Note to self: go back in time and insert self into Austen or Bronte novel.
****Most things sound more poetic in my head. And then I open my mouth, and people think I'm cheesy, insincere, or adorable. 
*****And reminders. Patience is good, but reminders to make new blog posts are good, too. Sorry for how long it took me to get this one out to you!

Katya Discusses Dogs and Goes to Church

...I saw a dog with socks today. Not on all four paws--just the back two--but this brings me to a fascinating trend among the Spanish--or at least the Madrid, city-types. People bring their dogs EVERYWHERE. Moreover, I have seen dogs with collars that were actually scarves or wearing fur-hooded* jackets and sweaters. Granted, it has been rather chilly** in Madrid lately, but I can almost imagine that in the summer they just dress them in sundresses and shelter them under umbrellas. My conclusions are that Spaniards love their pets like children, and those rich enough to, clothe them as such.

Also, sooo many women wear fur coats here. I'm quite alarmed. They seem to love animals very much, but they wear a LOT of fur***. Whilst we are on the subject of animal skins/hair/fur, our apartment has a cow rug. I have decided to call him Brown Cow. I'm told people like blogs with pictures, so I figure I better get you a pic of the rug if I want your continued patronage. (Annea, close your eyes!)

How Now, Brown Cow?

Anyhow, tomorrow is my first day of classes. I’m excited to get a schedule in place so that the world can start making sense again. I just found out that for the first time in university, I got straight As last quarter! Yay! It is a bit of a miracle, because last quarter was very stressful for me, with getting ready for this trip financially and organizing a sublease and trying to make plans for upon my return. Yeah. I’m pretty happy about this. But, this is a travel blog, so now I will transition into something more on topic….

I visited a church here today, for my first Sunday in Madrid. It is called Immanuel Baptist Church, and was the only English speaking congregation I could find within a reasonable distance via metro and walking. Even then, it is about a 30 minute commute. I really liked it, despite feeling very out of place at first. One of my flat mates came with me and we both want to go back there in for future Sunday services. There were people from so many nationalities there! It was like a UN convention. I look forward to checking-out their university group, which meets every other week. I think that this will be a wonderful new community to be involved in.

Hopefully, I will give you all a run-down of my first day of class soon. I have classes back to back from 4pm to 8pm Monday/Wednesday and from 3-5pm on Tuesday/Thursday. NO CLASS ON FRIDAYS! WOOT! Good times.



Footnotes for the criminally insane:

*Don't get me started on how gross it seems to clothe an animal in animal hair...weird. Like, what if humans wore human skin? Ughh.
**And to think, I almost didn't pack more than one long-sleeve shirt. I think it has managed to get below freezing while we've been here. Also, fun fact: "Madrid is situated in the middle of the Meseta, and at an elevation of 646 meters (2,119 feet) above sea level is the highest capital city in Europe" (nasa.gov)
***In one walk, I think I counted 5 fur coats. Annea forewarned me.

Katya Meets Jet-Lag and Visits Madrid's Soul

Time adjustment is going pretty weird for me right now. People eat dinner here super late (10:30pm) and young people party as late (or should I say “early”) as 6 in the morning. I think* it will be easier to manage my schedule once classes start. For now, I’m sleeping usually twice a day at awkward times**, eating at even more awkward times, finishing the novel Heather-Freaking-Awesome*** gave me for my birthday, emailing contacts, grocery shopping, getting a phone, and running other dubious errands. 

I think jet-lag intensifies my ADD-tendencies. I have moments of extreme focus and energy (like me typing away here, at like, 2:30am) and then languish in my bed (like I did at 2pm this afternoon), fuzzy-brained and petulant, knowing I have errands still to do in order to be ready for the up-coming school week. You know, sort of important errands. Like buying food. So I can eat. Anyway, this probably would not have been a proper travel blog if I did not discuss the debilitating effects of jet-lag at some point. Be satiated, oh, travel-blog fiends****.

When I do get outside, Madrid is so unique. Like a person, I’m getting to know how it is like others I have met, reconciling differences, learning weaknesses, and gaining glimpses of its beauty. I visited the center of the city today and the poetic side of me clapped with joy at the significance of the center plaza being called Puerta del Sol. 

Firstly, I know Puerta del Sol means Sun Gate*****, but it is a phonetic match for soul, and there I was at the center, the soul of Madrid, Puerta del Sol*(x6). From the exorbitantly priced smartphone store, to the free café with my buffet, the rooftop of the high-rise everything-you-could-need store to the metro station, it’s soul was bare before me. The good, the bad, and the meh. Secondly, if you did not know, Madrid is shaped in a concentric, circular pattern, with lines of streets shooting out from it's center, like rays radiating from the sun. I wonder if they named the plaza before or after the city grew in such a way. You had all better prepare yourselves right now for future poetic frippery from me. Don't say I didn't warn you.
 

For now,  I will stop my soliloquizing and merely say goodnight. I’m praying for this city and it’s people and trying to let myself love a place which I plan to leave in just 5 short weeks. But I’ve never been good at guarding my heart from loving places—or people.

Footnotes for People Who Can Read Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too: 

*read: "hope"
**though, here they have this thing called a siesta (observed religiously by Spanish grandmas from 3-5pm), which I could certainly get used to, and which corresponds nicely with the time when my urge to sleep on West Coast time grows strongest.
***-Mc-She-Who-Must-Not-Finish-Being-Named-Because-This-Is-A-Public-Post-And-I-Do-Not-Want-Her-To-Have-Stalkers
****I have a feeling that the only travel-blog fiend reading this post is the one and only Heather-Freaking-Awesome-Mc-She-Who-Must-Not-Finish-Being-Named-Because-This-Is-A-Public-Post-And-I-Do-Not-Want-Her-To-Have-Stalkers, but I cannot be too careful about pleasing my audience of 3. This is the interwebs, after all. Also, I apologize if at this point my asterisks are beginning to look like they are taking the place of words-which-must-not-be-named and are shocking anyone. Superscripts are out of my league right now. I'm still learning how to even edit...

*****I actually only knew sol meant sun and puerta meant door, so I got the official meaning from google. Thanks, Google.
****** (*x6): This also is a false cognate for a poem I once wrote called "Portal to a Soul". Weird, yes. But also a third reason why the name struck me.