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.