October 9th to 12th (Sevilla and Granada)

October 8^th: Happy birthday to brother Tai and friend Jillian! ¡Felicidades!

Sevilla

With no preoccupations except time for the next four days, Nicogrande and I boarded a bus to embark upon a voyage to the region of Andalucía in southern Spain. About a week prior, we knew for certain that we were going to visit the city of Granada, but two days before departure, we decided that we would visit the capital city, Sevilla as well due to its close proximity to Granada. Oh the sweet sensation of spontaneity!

But our impulsiveness would not go untested, for it was a holiday weekend in Spain, and we had no idea where we were going to sleep in Sevilla. Neither of us was willing to detach ourselves from the funds necessary to pay for a hotel, so that was not an option. Instead, we were riding on the idea that we would receive an email from one of the three CouchSurfing requests that I sent out, even though they came with such short notice (it is a CouchSurfing custom to request a couch at least one week in advance). Nonetheless, we bought our bus tickets—there was no turning back at this point, but just in case all of our efforts failed, I brought a sleeping bag. 

We arrived in Sevilla around 5pm with no knowledge of where we were sleeping that night, but rather than finding a hostel, we found a street that was great for playing music; for some reason, that sounded like more fun at the time. After three songs, two locals approached us; Nicogrande and I were playing a Jimi Hendrix song, and these two guys were Classic Rock fans. We then spent the next three hours with them walking around the city, eating at a grocery store with our winnings from performing, and learning horrible Spanish curse words that I soon tried to forget. Grande and I figured that after spending the evening with two really friendly college students, and after telling them our story, that they would say along the lines of, “Hey, we are two nonchalant, hospitable, academic fellows with plenty of unoccupied floor space; why don’t you gentlemen find slumber at our pleasant dwelling tonight?” But once the rain began to fall (literally), they directed us to a place with wireless Internet, and said something more along the lines of, “Later.”

The hour had just reached 10pm. We sat in a coffee shop and checked online to see if we had any response from the three CouchSurfing requests that I sent the previous day—nothing. It was raining, cold and getting late. As each raindrop ricocheted off the pavement, my sleeping bag idea was sounding worst and worst, but spending mass amounts of money for a hotel didn’t appeal to us either. On the Internet, I noticed an advertisement for a CouchSurfing meeting that was meant for Seville locals to practice English—it just so happened to be tonight at 9pm. We had absolutely nothing to lose at this point, so we walked over and practiced our English too. While we were at it, we asked around for anyone who was willing to host us for the night, but I noticed that most of these people felt a bit unsettled at the idea of hosting two random boys with identical names. We had been there for about forty-five minutes; by this time, the locals were ready to return to speaking Spanish, to go out for tapas, to go fight some bulls, or to do whatever the people of Sevilla do on a Saturday night. Nicogrande had never had any kind of CouchSurfing experience prior to this night, so I did all I could to remain optimistic and composed, but the truth was that this night was hopeless. As fear began creeping into my consciousness, I found myself thinking, “Maybe I should just settle back down into reality and go buy a room in a hotel; maybe I should just call off this picnic.”

But maybe not...There were still a few people left. Two girls pointed us over to Stephen, a vertically challenged English teacher from England, and they told us that he hosts a lot of travelers and would be more than happy to put us up for the night. As we told him our situation and revealed our desperateness, I noticed his inability to hold eye contact with us. While glancing away, he halfheartedly started out and exhaled various patterns of sound through the use of his futile larynx; these babbles roughly equated to the words, “You can’t stay at my place tonight.” Ahhh—So be it Stephen—on to the next…There was Emiliano, a seemingly warmhearted thirty-nine year old Italian man, who worked in Sevilla as an editor. We introduced ourselves to him, and as soon as I mentioned that we had no place to stay, without hesitation, Emiliano responded, “No problem guys, I’ve got room for you at my place.” Just like that, or search was over? But how can a man be so obliging to a couple of complete strangers after talking to them for literally a minute? While I didn’t understand his generosity, nonetheless, our irresponsible spontaneity had finally been justified; I felt chills waltz brilliantly down the length of my neck. I was so overwhelmed at the idea that people like him still exist, but to Emiliano, this was no deed of greatness; this was a simple situation of two guys in need of a favor, and he had an unoccupied living room.

The three of us left the bar with a few other travelers, and I could feel that lively energy return in my stride; an upbeat tune from Earth Wind & Fire, with a glowing horn section, would have been the appropriate soundtrack to my gait at this time. We went straight to a restaurant that served tapas, and I had a pleasant meal and a great conversation with a guy from Germany and a girl from Denmark. All the while, I was thinking of how unlikely it was that this night had turned out the way it had. Emiliano took us back to his place, a spacious and neat apartment guarded by a monstrous cat that looked exactly like my grandmother’s former giant, Rudy. Emiliano had a couch that converted to a full-sized, foldout bed, which Nick and I both agreed was more comfortable than the beds we had been sleeping on in Valladolid. Emiliano enjoyed having friendly company over; he lived alone because his ex-girlfriend of four years had left him two months prior.  He told us that he has been incredibly down lately and that he spends most of his leisure time alone, so we were more than happy to help lift his spirits. And there was no better way to liven him up than through a bit of music; luckily, Nicogrande brought his ukulele and I, my guitar. We were both surprised to find out that Emiliano was a musician himself; he played the alto sax and an instrument that was a predecessor to the clarinet. This trio jammed until well after 3am, and I saw Emiliano begin to radiate; he said it had been months since he had picked up any of his instruments. We all went to bed feeling significantly better than we did six hours before, when we had not yet met each other.

One eventful morning:

We woke up early the next day to see more of Sevilla before we headed off to Granada in the afternoon. Emiliano gave us a crash course of the beauty of Sevilla. 

This writing on the wall is from the middle of the 17th Century. It was uncovered when they were remodeling the walls. 

Look at the date: 1653

Lots of Moorish Architecture in Andalucía

Cathedral

We got caught in horse carriage traffic

We didn't go in because the line was hours and hours long

The trio took their act to the streets and made 15 Euro in less than an hour! We played in front of the Cathedral

Nick and Emiliano in front of the Cathedral

Plaza de España. This place looks like it is from another world, and coincidentally, it was used in a scene of Star Wars

Plaza de España

Plaza de España

At the end of our short visit, we all had trouble saying goodbye to each other. Emiliano told us that he had been inspired to start playing music again, and that he was grateful to have come into contact with us—the feeling was mutual.

Bus ride between the two cities

Bus ride

Granada

Thankfully, we had already found a CouchSurfing host ahead of time in Granada, so no couch hunting was necessary.  Our host was Bree, a twenty-four year old student from Australia, her roommate Jonathon (with a soft ‘j’) from Germany, and another roommate from Holland, all of who were learning Spanish. We spent the night together in their cozy, modest shack practicing Spanish, eating dinner, and sharing life stories. There we were, five foreigners from all around the world, speaking nothing but Spanish all night; it was a great experience.

Our suite was located on the east wing of the palace

Nicogrande and I ripped our faces from our pillows at 6:20am to arrive at the Alhambra before 7:00—but why so damn early? The Alhambra is a world-renowned sanctuary of castles, gardens, and history; Bree told us that tickets sell out very quickly. Although we were a bit skeptical because it was a Monday and not during the peek tourist season, people say the Alhambra is one of the most beautiful places on Earth, so we took her advice seriously. We converted our unpleasantly long walk into a tiring workout, and ran in the dark in the blistering cold up steep hills to the entrance of the Alhambra. We arrived by about 7am, before dawn, to find that there were literally hundreds of people already standing in line. Oh shit. 

Our run in the morning to the Alhambra

Feeling a small sense of defeat, we fell in line, shivered for a while, and practiced our Spanish with other cold travelers who were waiting in line. The park didn’t open until 8:30, so we had to shiver for a bit longer. At 8:00, a voice appeared over a loud speaker and informed us that there were 240 tickets available for the morning session and 150 for the afternoon session. 390 sounded like a lot of tickets, except that there were well over 390 people in line. Oh shit, again. Well the shit soon cleaned itself up; all of our talking to strangers in line paid off. A woman from Bilbao told us that her sister was buying tickets at another location, and asked us if we wanted her to buy tickets for us also. Wham! Bam! Zing! We were back in business!

We made it!!!

Granada at dawn

Two resourceful dudes using hand dryers to stay warm

This next section is for all you ladies out there, especially you Grandma: The gardens of La Alhambra

¡I have never seen anything like this in my life! 

La Alhambra

And the landscapers still use original style brooms!

 Alright, back to the manly man pictures:

Like this one. A true image of masculinity

La Alhambra is surrounded by mountains and trees. It's so green!

The Palace of Carlos V

Inside the same palace

Nicogrande in all his glory

A honeycomb style ceiling

The walls inside and outside of the Moorish style palaces are covered in hand-carved designs and writing. I don't understand how it is humanly possible to have so much detail on everything.

A close up of one of the walls with Arabic writing on it.

Reflection of a palace 

Hey! You're just a wittle kitty! Why are you at the Alhambra? Obviously,  Monday is cats get in free day.

Still the same place

 The Alhambra turned out to be a great success, and was well worth the hassle; it was hands down the most beautiful man-made place I had ever seen.

After the Alhambra we went to a park and found a zip-line! The parks in Spain are so COOL!

Double Rainbow!!! If you look carefully you can see the other one on top of the brighter one! This was the best rainbow I have ever seen. The brighter one had more than just the full spectrum (if you look closely, after violet, there is still a few more lines of color).

That evening, we met up with my Uncle Bill and Aunt Kathy from Southern California, who just so happened to be in Granada at the same time that we were. Knock on wood, but I have been having the best luck lately; I got to see family while being on the other side of the world! They took us to a Moroccan restaurant, and we talked and ate a fabulous dinner together. Afterwards, we walked along the thin, cobblestone streets of Granada for a while. By about 11pm, sadly, we had to say goodbye to them because they were off to see the Alhambra in the morning and needed to rest up for it.

Uncle Bill paying the bill

The next day, Grande and I went out with Jonathon to explore more of Granada. He took us up a mountain (small mountain, but bigger than a hill) to see Las Cuevas, a large group of caves that gypsies have converted into homes. I brought the Frisbee, and we played at the top of the mountain where we could see a complete view of Granada and the Alhambra. 

There was a huge tour of travelers right in front of us all laughing at us.

On left: Jonathon

A few of the many caves that have been turned into homes

View of La Alhambra from the mountain

This mountain range is called the Sierra Nevadas just like in California

Freaky Baby toy I found when we were playing Frisbee

Giant wall that we all climbed up. 

The climbing portion

After lunch, I saw an attractive, bohemian couple walking into a tapas bar; each of them had an oddly shaped, oval backpack on. I immediately remembered the night in Sevilla when Emiliano showed us an instrument online that he was completely fascinated with. It was called a Hang drum, a melodic, percussion instrument built by a company consisting of an old couple from Switzerland (literally two people). This drum has become so coveted that if you decide that you want one, you must handwrite a letter to the couple, and if the couple even accepts you, you must wait for about three years because the drum is handmade and there is a list of people waiting to get theirs. This is no joke. Emiliano tried to buy one, and he showed me the letter that the couple sent back to him. It basically said that the Hang drum is not a musical instrument, but rather a tool for meditative purposes, and that they were unable to sell him one.  Knowing the rarity of this drum, I approached the bohemian couple ot see if I could get them to play it for us. Their names were Joan (|yō on|, this was the guy’s name) and Kampah, two rambling free spirits from Cataluña. After a quick lunch, the five of us walked to an uninhabited clearing in a quiet neighborhood, and they gave us a personal concert with this beautiful and intriguing instrument. They were really friendly to us, and after playing for a while, handed us the two drums and let us give it a shot. While we tried to figure this instrument out, they smoked hash. Being the friendly people that they were, they offered us some, but for some reason hash just didn’t sound as appealing as it usually does; I was looking for something stronger like heroin or anabolic steroids, but they just couldn’t satisfy me fully. 

I couldn’t produce quite the same beautiful sound that they could with the Hang drum; it is definitely an instrument that requires study. After about an hour together, we parted ways; I tried to hand them money for giving us an hour of their time and for sharing such a lovely instrument, but they refused it and told us it was their pleasure, and gave us a free c.d. Kampah had super-mega-hairy armpits.

View of Granada from the mountains

By and by, Grande and I were forced to bid farewell to beautiful Granada and the great friends that we had made there. After four days of adventure, it was time to return “home” to our “familias.”

Valladolid Part 1 (Sept 30th to...)

After two brief hours on the road from Madrid, the Cal Poly bus abruptly came to a standstill at the station in Valladolid, and as I peeked out of the tinted bus windows, I saw that our padres were already lively positioned around the vehicle to take each of us to our new homes. Our week stay as a unit in Madrid had come to an end; it was now time for us to split apart. All of our preparations were over.

Scene—As our names were called one by one, each of us were to leap out of the comfort of the group and into the welcoming arms of an authentic Spanish family. But this was in no way a gloomy time; it felt exciting and amusing, but a bit overwhelming. When the time finally came when the Spanish woman, who was reading off our names in her thick Spanish accent, said, “Nicholas Larson” (phonetically sounding more like [Nēk ō ləs] [Lär sən]), I marched off the bus to find Carmen and Pepe standing at the entrance with smiles. After a brief embrace, Carmen directed me to hop into the back seat of their car, a four-door, mid 1980s French compact. The new family unit then headed home for their first meal together.

Home/my street address: Lepanto 5, floor four, apartment B (which is actually floor five in the US because Spain calls floor two, floor one).

While Carmen prepared lunch, I began unpacking in what will be my bedroom for the next three months, a cozy room with childhood pictures of Carmen’s two daughters, a wall-mounted bookshelf, wooden desk, and two twin-sized beds. As I sat at the foot of my squeaky bed, I had so many questions floating around in my head. Then Carmen entered and told me that I would soon have a roommate once he reached Valladolid on Sunday. “So lunch will just be the three of us today?” No, no, there would be lunch for four, Carmen, Pepe, Fernando, and me. “Fernando?” I thought curiously to myself; that’s a very Spanish name. With such a Spanish name, I would probably expect a student from South America or maybe from California with Mexican heritage. But nope, that would be too damn predictable; I would soon realize that Fernando was not predictable at all. Fernando is from China; Fernando is full-blooded Chinese. To make things a bit more unusual, Fernando knows almost no Spanish, and he knows but a few words in English. But if you are like me, you will soon be in love with Fernando.

This is a picture I got from Fernando that he took of himself

Of course Fernando is not his birth name; he chose it before he came to Spain because his real name is 原毅, which I am still having a bit of trouble trying to pronounce. Fernando moved to Spain with less that three months of Spanish classes under his belt, and if I understood him correctly, he will be living in Spain for the next three years to learn Spanish and then to go to graduate school to study Architecture, but I also could be completely wrong. Every day, he gets a little bit better at Spanish, or at least a little bit better at using his Chinese to Spanish hand-held translator, so we have managed to communicate pretty well. On the floor below us lives Monica, Fernando’s Chinese friend from China who also speaks very little Spanish and English.

And if we fast-forward a couple of days, I now know Fernando and Monica to be incredibly friendly, funny, and generous friends. Monica is very nice, but culturally, she is unlike any girl I’ve met in the US. The best way I can explain her is to compare her to a small infant-baby-child, but not in the sense that she cries a lot, rather she is fragile, tiny, doesn’t like the sun or any type of physical activity, and her preferred hobby is sleeping. It is remarkable how culturally dissimilar she is to American girls; if anything she is more similar to a historic British monarch in the sense that she believes that her skin should be as light as possible, thus she avoids direct exposure to the sun, while American girls (and boys) spend hours outside for the exact purpose of darkening the skin. 

Monica, Me, my favorite turtle shirt, and Fernando.  I absolutely love these two.

Unfortunately Fernando will only be living with us for two weeks, and then he will be moving into an apartment with his three Chinese friends, Monica, Maria, and Spanish-Name Chinese Girl #3 (because I can’t remember her name), but the only name that you, the reader should remember is Monica because she is likely to resurface later in El Blog. 

The clock tower of the Cathedral in Valladolid

Fernando took this picture of Nick and me while we were playing in a field in Valladolid. Notice that I am wearing an American Flag tank-top... Coincidentally, later that day I found out that American tourists in Europe have been attacked recently for various reasons. I imagine that wearing an American Flag tank-top has got to be one of those reasons. 

These past eleven days or so, I have found myself spending copious amounts of time with Fernando. The second day I knew him, I invited him to meet up with Jackson (one of the guys from the Cal Poly group), Nicogrande (other Nick) and me in the main plaza, and since then, we tend to do just about everything together. He has truly become one of the guys. But I’m now realizing that Fernando is far too complex for me to break down in words. Basically, I know for certain that he is absolutely friendly and genuine, although I have not really had a significant conversation with him; I can see how great we would get along if we could properly communicate with each other. But nonetheless, we can converse enough to share simple ideas and to make each other laugh. The best thing Fernando every said to me was when we were leaving a Flamenco concert and I asked him if he enjoyed it, and he gave me a thumbs up and said in his thick Chinese accent, “super-buenissimo” (note: the suffix ‘-issimo’ is like the English word ‘very’ to add emphasis to an adjective). Fernando is truly a character; I could go on for days talking about him, but there are more personas in my Spanish life that I must describe.

Campo Grande

The City Hall building located within Plaza Mayor. There is a Plaza Mayor in every city in Spain, but the one in Valladolid was the first! It was built in the 16th Century.

CARMEN

Carmen is a pleasant, kind, yet strong woman of medium build, who carries an indomitable spirit. She prides herself on her hospitality and abilities as a cook, and she continuously reassures me not to worry about being a vegetarian (in Spanish: “No te preocupes, Hijo”) because she has absolutely no problem accommodating for me. Of course, I feel so fortunate and grateful to be in her house. Oddly, she occasionally serves me something that has fish in it and either chops it up and doesn’t tell me there is fish in it or she gives me something like squid because she considers fish to be vegetarian, but I just laugh to myself, tough it out, and eat it anyways. She has a very strong personality, but she is also light hearted, so conversations are always very entertaining. I always feel comfortable talking to her, but I still can’t bring myself to insult her cooking.

Carmen calls me Nico, Hijo (son), Majo (which roughly translates to ‘charming’), or Nicotito (but only when Nicogrande and I are being referenced in the same conversation).

Her birthday is October 24th, so I'm going to try and do something nice for her (any crazy ideas?).

Valladolid

Pepe

Pepe is a bit more reserved; he does not participate in much chatter, but this is understandable because he suffered two strokes in the last few years, which has forced him to retire after owning his own small business for most of his life. But he still comes off as a man full of wisdom; everyday he tells me a new valuable Spanish proverb that I want to carry with me for the rest of my life. 

Example: He told me that if a man works his whole life and some other able-body does not, then the worker not only has to work for himself but also for the unemployed able-body, thus lowering his own quality of life and chances at improvement. He says that all people must do their own part if the world is ever going to improve. This led to one of the proverbs that he told me, and I translate, “The ant spends his time in the ground, and the bird spends his in the air, but still, we all have our work to do.”

Pepe may not be as quick-witted as he used to be, but every time he opens his mouth, I take it as an opportune time to learn something valuable. Occasionally, we join in together and give Carmen a hard time about something like her addiction to the telephone. 

Campo Grande

Juan

For those of you who don’t really know me all that well, Ian is the name of my closest friend at home in Sacramento; he is like my brother. When my roommate arrived midday on Sunday, he introduced himself as Ian; Carmen told me to think of him as my brother for the next three months, so now I have two brothers with identical names. But for some reason, Carmen can’t pronounce Ian’s name, so we all refer to him as Juan in the house, and for the sake of clarity, I’ll refer to him as Juan in El Blog as well.

Juan is easy going and friendly; he is nineteen, studying Criminal Justice, and hopes to someday find employment within the FBI or CIA. Like all of the other foreign students here with Spanish names, Juan looks nothing like a Juan; he has light brown hair and hails from Wisconsin. To his credit, his Spanish is much better than the other students’ who had to adopt Spanish names. In fact, we agreed the day we met to only speak Spanish to each other. He is also officially "one of the guys."

From left: Spanish-Name Chinese Girl #3, Maria, Fernando, Monica, and Juan at Campo Grande, the main park in Valladolid

Escuela

Unfortunately, this Spanish life is not all fun and games; on October 4^th, classes began at the Centro de Idiomas (Center of Languages). Every morning at 9:00, I put on as many layers as I brought with me to Spain, and Juan and I walk for fifteen minutes through the piercing cold air alongside a river to campus, but from Juan’s perspective, the weather is like a cool spring day in Wisconsin—he will usually wear short sleeves. This is one of the many times in my life when I feel like a wittle cupcake.

Hey but this wittle cupcake has made plenty of Spanish friends like this dog here.

...Or this peacock. I've got a million friends.

On our first day, we took a placement test to determine which of the four groups we belonged in—elementary, intermediate, advanced, or bilingual; to my amazement, Juan and I were placed in the bilingual group. This test was obviously incredibly inaccurate, but I guess it just means that we get to learn more Spanish. 

Madre dressed me in my Sunday's best for my first day of school .
"Back to school, back to school to prove to Dad that I'm not a fool. I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don't get in a fight. Oh, back to school..." -Billy Madison

From Monday through Friday, I have school until 2:00pm, and throughout the week I take classes in Grammar, Oral Expression, Spanish Culture, Art History, and the History of Spain—all of which are taught in Spanish by Spanish natives. To say the least, I am incredibly pleased with my classes, and I have classmates from all over the world including Brazil, China, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, and Austria. So while I’m learning about Spain and it’s culture, I am also learning about various other countries around the world.  

Plaza Mayor

The Royal Palace in Valladolid

Two Chinese friends and a few Californians at the beach in Valladolid. This is not an ocean beach, but rather a river beach, but it gets the job done. And plus, you can find a wide selection of nudists at this beach on any sunny day.

I hate to make promises that I can't keep, but I'm gonna do my best to post another blog within the next few days. This next one will be full of adventure!!!!!