Hoy es Domingoooo!

I'm finally getting to kick back (a little, tiny, tiny bit) and enjoy Madrid.  One week from now I think I will be even more relaxed, but for now, I'll gladly take what this Sunday Funday gave me: Peace of mind.  I was initially very skeptical as to whether or not I would be able to make this town my own, but I'm starting to find the nooks and crannies that I fit into perfectly.

Attempting to navigate Rastro's crowds

I started the day off by, most importantly, sleeping in.  Afterwards, I wandered down to El Rasto, one of the largest flea markets around.  I cannot even describe the magnitude of people that were crammed into the streets of the La Latina and Embajadores neighborhoods.  In the future, if I want to get aaaaanything done at El Rastro, sleeping in won't be a luxury that I can enjoy.  Stalls were filled with vintage clothing, tapestries, jewelry, leather bags, and endless amounts of various knick knacks.  Definitely will be somewhere I'll return once I'm happily in my own home.

The day before my adventure to El Rastro, I did some thrift shopping in my new neighborhood, Malasaña. Mercado Fuencarral was one of the funkier places I found.  Vendors rented out different stalls within the three level Mercado, and most were refurbished or original vintage pieces.  Between Mercado Fuencarral, El Rastro, and the magnitude of other Tiendas de Segundo Mano, I might actually come up with a pretty fun wardrobe here.

The entryway to Retiro

Back to the Sunday Funday adventure… Ran into a million and a half people from my teach abroad program while we were still wandering the thrifty streets, and decided we needed to get into the polar opposite of the area we were in.  We ran into a local grocery, bought some fruit, salad, cheese, and wine, and made our way to the Parque del Buen Retiro. Despite forgetting blankets, we laid in the grass for hours.  Our group fluctuated in size as people joined and departed, and we happily enjoyed our quiet afternoon solstice. This park was easily the hardest place to pry myself out of since arriving in Madrid.  It reminded me of the ease of life back home at my parents lake house.  The kind of place where you could sit around for the entire day without a worry (which I currently seem to have too many of).

Ended the day by attempting to get into an Irish sports bar to watch the Patriots with one of my fellow Boston-lovers (that lovely lady in the picture below…), only to discover that they weren't open on Sundays.  The search will continue for the New England sports venue, but I'll save that to be an adventure for another day. For now, more wandering! And more tapa-ing and clara-ing (clara: god's gift to Spanish beer… a splash of lemon soda in the shitty local draft)!

Lauren in all her glory

Donde esta mi casa?!

Apartment hunting is normally something I enjoy. You get to meet with people, see a bunch of properties, pick one out, write a check, and boom! You're home! To say my feelings have changed about the hunt in the past four days would be a harsh understatement.  In Madrid, half of the people showing the properties don't speak a word of English, and there seems to be no set standard on how much a deposit is, whats included, and the level of cleanliness is that constitutes "livable."

Thus far I've viewed:

• A beautiful apartment with a bed in the wall, but its windows look out on a nearly basement level view of concrete.
• A huge studio great light that had so much built up dirt you could barely see what color the floor was, and was situation across the street from a gigantic gay club. My favorite part of this one was the landlord trying to explain to me (in Spanish nonetheless) that during the day it was tranquil and luminous, but at night you had to seal the windows and use sound proof curtains to keep the club noise out…
• A funky attic apartment with a window in every room (unheard of), that was on a fifth floor with only narrow staircases (no elevator…) and no air conditioning.
• A tiny apartment that, if I were able to do a split, I wouldn't have enough room to do so.  
• A fantastic studio with a lofted bed, spanish style tiled bathroom, hydromassage shower, and everything else wonderful that a tiny studio can have.  But that later changed the date of the rental on me, and said I would have to wait two extra weeks to move in. Argh.

I'm sure more than half of my complaints seem like I'm being too picky, but after spending the past 10 days living out of a suitcase and the past 5 days living in a 62 year old woman's home, I'm getting restless and quick to snap.  

Unfortunately, for now, all I have is a rant. No resolution yet. I'll keep ya all posted.

Mi Casa es Tu Casa

First day of much-needed spanish classes today! Aaand second day of my home stay with Maria Rosa. As of right now, every day that I've had in Spain has been significantly more interesting than the last.  Whenever I think I have my bearings, the rug is pulled from under me.  I think that all of this disorientation is creating a sense of self-reliance that I wouldn't have been able to forge on my own.  I'm honing my ability to make the best of any situation.

Yesterday, I stuffed the rest of my belongings back into my suitcases, shimmied big-red (my gigantic wheeled bag) into a packed elevator, and hustled down 7 flights of stairs with a human-sized backpack to meet my bag on floor 0.  I walked out from the stairwell to complete and utter chaos.  70 auxiliaries stood with their entire lives in suitcases waiting to meet their home stay families.  Significantly winded, like, panting-can't-even-speak-english-winded, I immediately heard my name.  Maria Rosa, my 5 foot tall, 62 year old señora, waved Morgan (a super sweet Alberta native) and myself to the door, grabbed me by my bicep, and dragged me out to the taxi stand.  She unsurprisingly spoke 100 mile/minute Spanish and refused to slow down or give up on us responding to her with our limited vocabularies. Needless to say, we were overwhelmed.

This angle actually makes the room look big! Woo!

Upon getting our multitude of bags out of the taxi and into her apartment, we were cozied into a teeny-tiny room, instructed to unpack our suitcases, and told lunch would be in 30 minutes.  I think my immediate reaction and response to Morgan upon the door shutting was, "what just happened?!" We quickly unloaded into the the small closet and slid our suitcases under the bed, simultaneously debriefing one another on our lives.  Quickly becoming friends and comrades, we decided to embrace the situation we had on our hands.  Lunch was a traditional meal of ensalada rusa (potato salad with peas, carrots, peppers, tuna, eggs, vinegar, and mayonnaise), a leafy salad, fried pork (I think thats what it was?), and watermelon.  At the table, only spanish was allowed, which was hard for us, but clearly more difficult for our down-the-hall japanese roommate.  We did our best to clear our plates, and retired for siesta. I slept like a baby.

Olives on olives on olives at Mercado San Miquel.

Leaving the house at 5pm, Morgan and I walked the streets of Madrid for 6+ hours, stopping only for a glass of wine or tapa when we needed to refuel.  We wandered through nearly every neighborhood of the city, falling in love with the livelihood of La Latina, the bars of Lavapies, the hustle-bustle of Sol, and calming quiet of our own neighborhood for the next two weeks.  El Mercado San Miguel quickly became a new favorite for me with its wide array of seafood, wine, fruit, olives, and much more.  I indulged in a green olive stuffed with smoked salmon and feta cheese, and washed it all down with a glass of Torres chard.  Hours later I had a glass of Tinto de Verano, a refreshing and simplified version of sangria, which was, of course, served with a tapa portion of ensalada rusa.  We finished the night with yet more wine and a staggering plateful of fresh grilled vegetables with sautéed goat cheese (STOP IT, I know, too delicious).  

Oysters!

With nearly blistered feet, we limped home with full bellies and a whirlwind of initial impressions of Madrid.  That night (last night), I did not sleep like a baby, but rather tossed and turned for hours.  This city is either going to take me in with open arms or chew me up and spit me out, and there is no way to figure out which will be my fate until I decide to entwine myself with it.  Now is the time for new beginnings.

Bienvenidos a…. ¡Madrid!

Whelp, I finally made it to Spain. Despite sleepless travel, dry airplane food, long waits in airports, and a clammy bus ride, I survived.  I'd be lying if I said its all been sunshine and rainbows since I arrived, but, I MADE IT.  Sure its been 95+ degrees outside, I've been jet lagged, and my hotel shares a terrace with a construction zone, but, I GOD DAMN MADE IT.  I'm trying my very hardest to be patient.  I know that the Madrid I fell in love with 11 months ago is around here somewhere, its just hiding behind sleep deprivation, dehydration, and a pile of concrete blocks.

Plaza Mayor at dusk.

In the past 72 hours, I've met about 60 new people (about 6 of whom I've remember the names of…), sat through several hours of presentations regarding becoming a Madrileña, had lunch at the Atlético de Madrid Futbol Stadium, and realized the perils of trying to get anything done during siesta. I've seen someone's life get turned upside down (in the form of a pick pocketing), seen a bus fill up like a clown car, and watched someone dance such a breathtaking flamenco that they were in visible emotional pain.

 I'm just now realizing that this city is going to give me a run for my money. I've spent years living within my comfort zone, where I'm familiar. Madrid is big. REALLY big. And immensely beautiful. I might not fall in love with it today, or tomorrow, or on that day I'm bound to lose my key or get lost, but one of these days, I'm going to realize that this city is what I've needed all along. I can already see that I will grow into myself here.

So, cheers to an adventure that will be life changing in ways that I can't yet imagine. I'm psyched to see where I am one year from now. Adios!

The Unloading Begins

It has been a relaxing / fun / anxious / sad / exciting / cleansing weekend.  Yesterday was my final hurrah in good ol' NH, and today, I arrived in Madrid.  It was with a heavy heart that I said a (temporary) goodbye to my home for the past 2 and a half years. Portsmouth taught me more about who I am and what kind of person I can be than I ever thought a place was capable of.  I built relationships with amazing people that I hope can withstand the test of time that so many relationships in the past have failed.  I've realized the importance of hard work, kicking back, and soaking it all in with the good company. 

I spent the past few days meeting horses named Zeus, shooting handguns and assault rifles at plastic cans (oh my god, feel the power), drinking on the decks of Portsmouth with friends and family, and packing my life into boxes.

Today, the unloading begins. Whether it be the suitcases I've lugged across airports and city streets, or the memories I've tucked into my back pocket for a day I'm feeling lonely. Today, the next chapter of my life begins, and though I know its going to be rocky at first and there will likely be a few bumps along the way, I won't let myself regret anything.  I won't look back 10 years from now and ask, "what if?" I'll be damned if I let life slip through my fingers without taking it for all its got.  Madrid, here I come.

¡Hasta luego!

The Charmer: Zeus