As you can imagine, we were initially disheartened by this postponement. Yet, just this week, we also had an opportunity to see pictures of the village Lela for the very first time. We have attached one with this e-mail so you can also see their current water source. We have also posted more pictures at <http://groups.engr.orst.edu/ewb/pictures_of_lela>. Seeing these pictures has strengthened our resolve to continue working hard to ensure that the people of Lela have access to clean water.

We look forward to your continued support and hard work since this project is not possible without it. Please let us know if you have any questions.

Sincerely,
Adam, Andy, Aparna, and Kendra
September assessment travel team

Eirinn & I pre-century

Thank you to everyone for your support in the Covered Bridge Bicycle Tour EWB fundraiser!  It was a huge success!  Not only did you help me raise almost $500, but I rode my bike 100 miles – close to double the longest ride I had done before – and loved it!

Four other EWB members rode 40 miles and one other the full century and everyone seemed to have a good time.  It was a perfect day for riding with no high temperature records broken like last week and beautiful Oregon countryside all around.  The ride is extremely well-organized with clear markers and feed stops about every 15-20 miles.  I’m sure the day would not have been as enjoyable if Eirinn had not come out from Bend to ride it with me.  Minus some nasty climbing around mile 60 and being tantalizingly close by mile 92, the 100 miles were generally very enjoyable.

(Just about) All the EWB Riders

So thank you again for all your support.

Eirinn and I at bridge #3

My first post ever from Oregon.  About time, I suppose.  Despite my writing enthusiasm of the spring, I have become a complete blogging loser, not only giving up on new entries during that great transition of my migration home, but also leaving this year-long account dangling incomplete.

Even as each day in Spain was continually better than the previous one, it did occur to me that soon I would be back home and that I would have to get used to everything all over again.  I asked myself things like, “Will I miss Spain and will I be sad?”, “Will I continue my newly acquired Spanish habits or revert back to the old way?”  “And if so, what sort of effect will that have on me and those around me?”, “Will I still like American culture?”, “Will I forget all my Spanish?”  I could not sit and dwell on what might happen upon returning to the states, but it was certainly a looming mystery.

Having been back in Oregon about a month now I can tell you the weirdest thing about being back is that there is no weirdness.  Corvallis has paved a few roads, some businesses have closed, and many of my friends are not in town anymore, but otherwise it’s exactly how I left it some 14 months ago.  I guess I had expected my return home to be some sort of foggy transition as I gathered my bearings and learned to live here again.  Instead, it was like waking from a dream:  you have a thousand memories of doing incredible things over what seemed like a long time, but in reality it was just 8 dark hours in bed and the world is just as you left it by closing your eyes the day before.  It’s not to say I don’t think about Spain anymore – every day, actually – or that I don’t miss it – the friends, the fiesta, the living in Europe, of course I do.  But I think two things in particular have eased my transition back:  visiting my family along the way and jumping full throttle back into a very busy life here.  While with my family I still felt on the move, yet another trip, and therefore not permanently removed from Spain.  Plus the setting was so familiar it acted as my cushy crash landing pad back to America, a little sugar to help the medicine go down.  Getting back to Corvallis I have a fulltime job, fulltime EWB in preparation for Kenya, furniture to find, TONS of stuff to unpack, and lots of people to see so there just hasn’t been a second to spare for reverse culture shock!

I do miss my old house and the old roommates here in Corvallis though this house is starting to feel like home.  And I miss the friends that have gone and moved on with their life while I was out and about.  I miss my ‘Spanish Apartment’ and the roommates that made it what it was and I miss my erasmus group there.  I miss speaking Spanish, but have to say English is nice too.  I love being back at a university with a beautiful campus, systems that make sense, professors that know and care about their students, and students that are enthusiastic about learning.  I love cooking yet really just can’t get enough peanut butter and tortilla chips and spicey salsa after months of deprivation.  I get to ride my bike again!  Having a car could be nice, but I’ve managed some creative carpooling and have just been eating more cantaloupe than watermelon.  And I might have time to dwell on any of these things if I didn’t have a full time research job to attend to, a trip to Kenya to plan for, and a whole list of awesome people to reunite with.

I’ve seen a lot of world and still think Oregon is about the best place of all of them.  It’s nice to be back in the northwest.

How does it work?

The CBBT is a ride – not a race – sponsored by the Mid-Valley Bicycle Club in Albany, Oregon August 9, 2009.  All riders have a variety of distances to choose from: 40mi, 68mi, 85mi, or 100mi.  The CBBT is not an EWB-specific event, but I am asking you to sponsor me as a rider by pledging your support for EWB-OSU.  The more you pledge, the more miles I will ride, as outlined beow.  I am committed to riding at least the 40mi for EWB-OSU and would love to do all 100 miles, but I can only do it with your support!

$50 = 40 miles

$100 = 68 miles

$200 = 85 miles

$300 = 100 miles!

These amounts refer to the total donations I collect from everyone so every little bit helps! (as does telling your friends!).  I’ll keep track of pledges here so you can monitor our progress.

To Pledge:  First, please send me a message with your contact information and amount of donation so that it may be counted in my total and put towards my mileage.  Then, make checks payable to “EWB-OSU” and mail all donations to my personal address or directly to EWB-OSU at:

103 Memorial Union #262
Oregon State University
Corvallis, OR 97331

-or-
DONATE ONLINE

Any donation submitted to me for this event will go towards OSU’s Lela, Kenya Project (for equipment, materials, travel, and other project expenses), unless otherwise specified by the donor.  Donations can be made in this manner anytime, but to have them count for the CBBT  please pledge by August 5th.

Contact me: seniowk@gmail.com  Don’t hesitate to send or call me with any questions!

More Information: Covered Bridge Bicycle Tour

Thank you for your support and for encouraging all your friends, family, coworkers, and neighbors to do the same!

Learn more about EWB.

How do I put my final weeks and days in Spain into words, let alone a single entry?  How do I capture the contentment of a now familiar group of good friends, the energy of the spring sun and always being able to find a familiar face at the beach, and the sudden race to the finish of classes and final exams all laced with that eery knowledge that the end is near so that these days of pleasant routine are limited and this newly established ‘real life’ will remain only a long, colorful dream once we all return to our respective corners of the world all too soon?  I suppose I don’t.  In my attempted descriptions here and in our conversations I’ll suffer the same frustrations as so many others.  We return from abroad bursting with happy memories and new ideas, but, more importantly, molded permanently and continually by the intimacy with foreign cultures yet unable to communicate this fully with anyone except maybe those who were there with me (and not just because I now speak a strange dialect of eraspanol no matter which language I am actually attempting).

Spain just kept getting better and better with each passing day, especially the last month or so.  And despite impending goodbyes the last week was no exception.  There was certainly not a moment of time wasted, at least not on sleep, my last few days in Santander.  With final exams to study for, projects to finish, goodbyes to say, sun to soak up from the beach, suitcases to pack, and botellons to attend my time this last week was precious – and well-spent, even if I am still recovering.  Miraculously I think I even survived the academic side of all this reasonably well.  I actually felt like I understood Reactores – finally! – and could have done better than terrible on the exam though the truth is that by then my classes were not honestly a high priority anymore.

The phrase that has kept coming to mind lately is “No lo creo”, “I don’t believe it.”  I allowed myself to be distracted from studying the other day and found myself reflecting on my life recently and am in awe that I should be so lucky to have done so much over the last few years, but especially this one abroad – What was I thinking and how was all this possible?!  No lo creo.  Furthermore, what have I done to merit so many incredible people in my life?  Not only do I have my friends and family back home in the U.S. (that I now value even more), but I now have priceless friendships the worldover.  No lo creo.  I decided to study abroad and to do it in Spain somewhere around the age of 14 so to think that it has actually happened is fairly incredible.  And now that it’s over? Pues, no lo creo.

Even as I said goodbye to everyone and even as Marlene, Tribak, and Alejandro helped me load my luggage onto the bus my mind was still operating on “no lo creo”.  I knew I loved my friends here and would miss them dearly, but not yet.  The gravity of my departure, that it was more than just a weekend trip, just wasn’t sinking in.  This involuntary denial mechanism is nothing new for my mind, in fact I’m sure it has helped me enormously prepare stress-free before tests, speeches and races (as long as that final moment when reality hits is not too much of a jolt).  A sleep-deprived zombie with way too much airport experience I easily went through the motions of the Madrid and Dublin airports.  I even made it pleasantly all the way to Newfoundland (well, 38,000ft above Newfoundland) before I felt really, really far away.  Far away from Spain, and from Oregon and from everything.  Gazing out the window knowing I was on the other side of the Atlantic was enough to convince me this is not a weekend excursion, but my permanent removal from Santander.  What had been before enough memories of good times and amigos to make me smile unprovoked by anything except reminiscing was now a dam broken over me and tears also unprovoked and equally unstoppable.

Am I being overly dramatic? Nostalgic now that it’s over and only the awesome parts are easy to recall?  Maybe, maybe not.  My last year has not been insignificant and as scary as this is to realize I doubt that this will be my only processing of it.  These tears and whatever reactions or realizations I continue to experience are not just sadness.  How could they be when I leave such positive experiences and am on my way to so many more with people who love me in New Hampshire, Arizona, and Oregon?  This is no new conflict for me, but now more than ever I feel trapped in this constant goodbye-constant hello.  Forever I will anguish over a departure, anticipate a reunion, and miss somebody (or somebodies) all at the same time.  Internal conflict it may be, but in the same way that I would never trade in my knowledge to avoid questions nor my years to avoid responsibility, I would never give up my friends to avoid missing them.

Walking home today I had the sudden urge to cry.  Not necessarily out of sadness, maybe it was the music of my ipod that struck something within me or my severely low blood sugar that left nothing within me.  More than anything, though I think it was – as this oh so brief instant brought to my attention – the combination of everything I did today and have been feeling in general: happy, sad, inspired, confused, enlightened, fed up. 

Lately I have been thoroughly enjoying myself, finally falling in love with life in Spain more and more everyday.  I have a group of awesome friends (and have I mentioned how much I love my roommates?), the sun has finally returned to Santander and transformed it into a blissful beach paradise, and I’m not sure if I benefit more from my now daily (essential) runs or the conversations during such.  Maybe it’s because my time is ticking away here, but I find myself noticing – and embracing – even the everyday ‘Spanish’ (2 kisses to say hello/byebye, gangs of little old lady/man friends, cookies for breakfast, everyone walking home for lunch at the same time with idential loaves of bread in their arms, and even Lupa) with a special affection and the certainty that I’ll miss it all when I return home.  This past weekend between odious group projects I made time to sunbathe (and swim!!!) with amigas, watch a military air/water show, and even see the King come to town.  But at the same time I am (and have been) very excited for going home, too.  And at the same time, I still have this nagging little detail of the university cutting into my beach time and casting a dark shadow over my vida espanola brillance. 

I know you’re not supposed to count your chickens before they hatch (nor, being in Spain: “Vender el piel antes de cazar el oso”), but I think in this situation it is safe to say I have just failed my first exam.  I only just took this second midterm (which would substitute the final exam in June if passed) in Reactor Engineering a few days ago so I don’t have my grade yet, but even if by some miracle or erasmus/pity-point donation I managed the 5/10 points necessary to pass I will still consider it a failure – and a bit of a milestone – in my mind.  For those who know me, you know that I’m not entirely accustomed to not doing well – especially academically – but those who know me well know that I’ve also not had to struggle too much in school.  Tis so no longer, though, as this course Chemical Reactor Engineering has been the bain of my existence at some level my entire time here, though increasing exponentially so these last few days and weeks of my time at the Universidad de Cantabria.

I knew coming here that things would be different.  I mean, of course, right?  Different university, different people, different culture.  But at the same time I also worried at the last minute before arriving last fall that maybe coming to Europe would be “too easy”, still western culture and too similar to home.  It is the all-too-common dissonance between what one knows, feels, does, and is combined with this superficial appearance of equality between western cultures that has really come back to bite me during my time here (in multiple aspects, but let’s focus on school for now).   

I’ve already stood on my soap box in previous entries expressing my frustration with the Spanish university system, but now I realize that the differences never actually sank in, remaining superficial annoyances and never reaching a deep enough cognitive level to inspire any real changes in my habits.  Looking back over this term I see that, yes, I was continually frustrated in reactors (constantly a 1/2 step behind, so close to understanding, always the idiot) and, yes, I tried to study and to anticipate the next move (OK, yeah we can always study more, but I’m in Spain!), but I was still applying my usual tactics and never getting anywhere.  Hindsight is 20/20 and now I see crystal clear that this system really is different and that I still don’t get it!  This is a wonderful epiphany, but I’m still left with a lot of Reactor Engineering to learn (a rather important class for a wanna be chemical engineer), tests to pass and life to enjoy.

Reactors, and more specifically the practical (2 hours every week when we do problems), has easily qualified as my most difficult, uncomfortable, challenging aspect of my time here.  I have a unique horror story from each week and have on multiple ocassions come close to tears.  Generally, the trauma has something to do with my absolute non-understanding of the subject material or current activity which, knowing that I should understand both the language and especially the chemistry, throws me out of whack and, what’s more significant, is incredibly humiliating!  So I realize now, what has been hurting the most is my pride – I almost considered not turning in my exam in order to avoid the association between myself and such pitiful work and I can think of few more horrifying experiences than my attempt to convey even the most remote understanding of our project during the presentation – and what I wonder is ”What is it that I really should know?”  Furthermore, does this mean I’m not smart? Nor adaptable?  Nor qualified to work in engineering or abroad?  I suppose this is the kind of lesson I’m supposed to be learning while abroad and out of my comfort zone, but I haven’t quite gotten it sorted out yet and it doesn’t seem to be fitting into that space I had already hollowed out in my resume and future interview discussions (how do you put a positive spin on failure?). 

What have I learned here?  And now what will change?

Last night I used one of the free city bikes to ride across town and greet the group from Tolouse, France (see my France entry) upon their arrival.  On my way home around 12:30am I’m cruising down the sidewalk on the empty street of the university when two cops approach me from their parked van on the other side of the street.  This is not a usual sight for Santander (this main road is only busy by daylight afterwhich police have more to worry about near downtown bars), but I figure extra security is to be expected when the King is in town (a very special weekend for Santander) so I stop politely at their signal.  He requests to see my ID (I had no idea I looked so suspicious!) so I give him my residence card.  Then he asks to see my driver’s license in which instant my brain quickly assesses the options of “Have I misunderstood the Spanish?”, “I don’t have one from Europe”, “WHY???” until I decide I must be the subject of a very elaborate, but not very funny joke and glance around for an audience or a camera.  But this guy was serious: he explained that bicycles are vehicles and that he could/should issue me a ticket for driving my ‘vehicle’ on the sidewalk where only pedestrians are allowed.

I’m sure my mouth dropped with surprise and confusion, but I attempted to keep my cool in the face of this authority figure obviously looking out for the health and safety of Santanderians.  Not wanting to offend anyone, but not willing to obey blindly without even a simple question and explanation, I explain that I undertand that a bike is more than a pedestrian, but far from the size and speed of a car.  I didn’t want to cause problems, but frankly riding a bike on many of the streets around here (especially in the dark) scares me.  There is no shoulder area here and drivers don’t seem to take the utmost care.  To my logic he returns his own: I can walk.

He reminds me of the potential ticket he has spared me and walks me to the right side of the road to begin the lawful section of my journey.  He never mentioned anything of the fact that I had no helmet, was riding at night (with lights at least) and seemed not to notice that the street and the sidewalk were almost completely void of people (thank goodness as the streets do scare me!).  But I guess this is Spanish logic at its best: lots of work, little logic.

While hiking through the glacial canyons of the Pyrenees this weekend words of flowing eloquence came easily, inspired by the natural beauty they were to be used to describe, as I contemplated what I would write here.  I only hope that having returned to real life in Santander I can muster the language to adequately convey why this was one of my favorite weekends in a while.

Our crew

First of all I have to give credit to my awesome lab partners who understand that I’m here to experience Spain in its entirety and made this awesome weekend possible by allowing me to miss two labs in a row.  Experimentación out of the way Friday morning, Roberto, Kaeli, Tyler, and I met downtown to rent a car and head eastward to the Pyrenees.  After grocery shopping (no, of course niether 3kg of oranges nor 3 loaves of bread nor 1 of every flavor of chocolate bar could be too much for a weekend mountain getaway) and the 6 hour drive (I got to do the part in the mountains!) we arrived at Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido.  The plan was to hike 7km or so up the canyon to Refugio Goriz – even if it got dark first – to spend the night before hiking to an albergue in a little pueblito, Nerín, and returning to the car on Sunday.  Despite rumors of storms to come through the weekend we headed up the canyon.  This area turned out to be gorgeous, far more impressive than the photos we had seen earlier.  I’m sure it helped that in late spring the river and creeks that converged along the canyon were at maximum capacity so the trees were at their greenest and waterfall after waterfall at their fullest.  The lower section of the canyon actually felt very Oregonesque – as if I needed another reason to appreciate fresh air and natural beauty.  Soon enough, though, the trees thinned and opened into sprawling pasture hugged close by steep, glacier-carved canyon walls and inhabited by many a cute mountain goat.

Early morning stroll from the refugio

Early on in the evening we met a group of Spaniards headed to the same refugio whose company and knowledge of the area from previous trips we were happy to have along.  Unfortunately, their expertise faltered some as the sun set and the path became less and less obvious.  One of them suspected a missed turn and before long it was fully established that we were lost.  Lost, yet so close to the refugio.  This would have upset me more if the air had not remained so warm and comfortable, the sky had not chosen to clear and reveal its billion stars, and had I not retained a remarkable amount of energy - and, of course, if we had not become unlost within an hour or so.

After some initial confusion of why the refugio manager had assumed we weren’t coming to claim our reservation for the night, he explained our options for the next day – they didn’t look good: rain, wind, lightning. But, we’d see in the morning how adventurous we felt… The refugio was very much a mountain house – warm, dry, cozy and rugged.  Beds were thick pads lined side-by-side on wooden levels that turned the decent-sized room into one giant bunkbed.  (One must also forget that many a sweaty, tired hiker had laid there before in order to feel a bit more comfortable)  But no matter the layout – there were friendly inhabitants and coffee the next morning!

Roberto at El Refugio Goriz

Looking out into rain and fog and cold the next morning we decided to take the safe route back to the car and drive to our second night in Nerín to do some day hikes instead.  The weather god did have some mercy on us, though, as for our few hour return we had more sun than rain.  It was pleasant enough, in fact to enjoy a picnic with our Spanish friends from the previous day by one of the larger waterfalls.  They also returned to the car early after the weather foiled their 3rd attempt at summiting Mt Perdido (~10,000ft, near the refugio, something Kaeli had really wanted to try, but I’m just not that hardcore).

The mountain pueblo of  Nerín is hardly large enough to even qualify as a pueblo, or town.  Luckily Roberto was driving and not me since having reached the dead end of Nerín (only moments after entering), he was forced to back the car our of the narrow, stone drive in a very awkward manuver.  A local came to help guide his driving and help us find our hotel.  Trusting his advice we followed him to a courtyard, through a doorway, and straight into a little room packed full of hand-carved wooden spoons, combs, and other tools.  It dawned on us quickly that we had been tricked into a detour, but I can’t blame him for trying.  He did eventually take us to the hotel which turned out to be run by very kind people (though I never actually figured out who specifically as it appeared to be more of a family/town effort) and felt immediately like home.  Showers, naps, a loaf of bread fatter around than both my man-hands could even wrap completely (to share), beer and mountain views – who could ask for more?

So green!

We moved slow the next day, but did a wander a bit around the intersection of two other nearby canyons.  The scenery was thoroughly impressive with still more waterfalls, bright greens, and even cliffdwellings in the high walls.  On the way back to Santander we stopped in Pamplona for lunch.  Unfortunately the Spaniards hold very strictly to their eating schedules and we couldn’t find any restaurant to serve us ‘real food’ between 5-8pm.  After this initial confusion we eventually we found some tapas to raise our blood sugar levels and our spirits.  There weren’t any bulls to be seen in Pamplona that weekend (not til San Fermín in July), but we did find the awesomely realistic running of the bulls statue and the very large, very green and pleasant park of what used to be the city citadel, La Ciudadela.  Imagine a huge castle in the center of town, years ago abandoned to now provide recreation to climbers on its walls and picnicers and strollers on its countless, now grass-covered surfaces.

Roberto and I at one of many beautiful waterfalls

This weekend was certainly beautiful and a treat to get out of town and move a bit, but certainly would not have been as enjoyable without such good company.  I feel like to have found 3 people that I like so much and with whom I can travel so comfortably.  And in general, the people I’ve met here and the friends I have in Santander (though none of them are actually from Santander or Spain) are definitely what make my time here worthwhile.  I also have to admit that it’s really nice to have some American friends as well.  Though not as strongly against it as when I arrived in the fall, I still didn’t go to any trouble to seek out my American counterparts this winter and spring either.  It paid off in that there were a couple weeks when I spoke absolutely no English.  But there is a value in finding some of ‘your own kind’ in order to share common experiences, frustrations, understanding, etc and to simply speak easily in your comfortable language.  Between my experience last fall in the Oregon class and that of this spring when I knew almost no Americans until Kaeli, I realize that there is this delicate balance between a ‘home away from home bubble’ and having just enough support and understanding to better enjoy the experience abroad.  Not to mention, discriminating against Americans (or English or Australians) is a good way to avoid potentially making good friends, when in the long run it won’t matter where we’re from.

Turns out San Fermin is whenever you want it to be.

A final comment from this weekend is that I finally have to admit I really like traveling by car.  Recently I had been of the opinion that cars were bad – bad for the environment, bad for my wallet.  We need better public transport to hault this downward spiral on which we’ve sent our world and the best way to encourage better public transport is to demand it by using it.  Not to mention, ever heard of a bike? Or walking??  After my roadtrip with Kelly last summer and after this weekend (and that to France) where we had the liberty of choosing our routes and schedules and stops freely, however, I need to adjust my views.  Public transport is still important and fewer cars when ever possible always best, but maybe shared cars would be a better goal so that we can still enjoy the freedom of the road.

For an alternate and even more amusing perspective, see Kaeli’s blog: http://gockelk.blogspot.com/.  (especially the part about our new car game, which I forgot to mention…)

Basically, the DELE exam is the equivalent of the TOEFL for Spanish to recognize officially and internationally that you speak the language at a high level.  After studying Spanish for so long the idea of having this as a culminating point seemed appealing, plus, though I’m not sure exactly when or if I’ll need it, it’s valid forever once you pass and I probably won’t have another such opportunity like my class here to prepare (I also have this crazy overachiever/self-torture tick to my personality).  This is no easy test, though.  It consists of reading texts and answers questions, listening to texts and answering questions, filling in the blanks of a text, multiple choice questions over vocabulary, grammar, and even Spanish sayings, writing 2 essays, and an interview.

Seeing as this exam is internationally recognized and can permit you to work as a Spanish Language teacher or for the Spanish government  and more I expected its procturing to be a bit more strict than the usual Spanish style – you know, starting on time, sticking to a specific schedule, no talking during the test, no cheating, etc.  I guess I should know better by now than to ever get my hopes up.  First off, I never received the letter confirming my registration and saying when and where the exam would take place – no big deal, I have a class full of friends who received there letters to tell me.  Everyone arrived early friday morning except our proctor – 20 minutes plus an awkward change in rooms – still OK, no biggie, life goes on.  Finally after some confused shuffling of paperwork we start the exam and while the official protor is away some where her apparent assistant (another professor?) tells us we can ask him if we need help on vocabulary – Spanish vocabulary on a Spanish exam! Not only does this not seem entirely kosher it’s incredibly distracting during a test!  My suspicions of it’s fishiness are confirmed when our life line is cutoff at the official protor’s return.  Then comes the listening section.  Upon starting the CD the proctor finally realizes that the classroom more closely resembles a gymnasium than concert hall (surprise! The 2 spaniards could harly understand eachother before…) so we move.  No worries that we’re holding the exam while trapsing around the university in a mob.  One of the Italian girls from my class (who speaks the best of everyone, by the way) immediately takes the opportunity to corner any spaniard she can find loitering in the halls to quiz them on vocabulary!  Then once in our new room the proctor would leave from some reason periodically during the audio recording and the whole group would take advantage of these moments to share answers!  A previous spanish professor here had explained to us – well, mentioned as she wasn’t aware there was anything really abnormal to require explaining – that cheating is a regular phenomena here in Spain and even more so in Italy, but I’m still shocked.  She said it’s more common in highschools than university and hardly ever happens on more official exams (such as this one or for jobs), but I didn’t understand how there could exist such a difference (cheating is cheating and since when do cheaters draw lines?) and now I certainly don’t believe it exists.  How do people have the nerve to do that? And how is anyone so naive as to provide the opportunity for that to happen?!

I’m sorry for my rambling and ranting here, but it was just something I had to share.  Overall the exam content was about like I expected – lots of vocabulary I had never seen (despite doing about 40 previous exams), but an interview about 10 times easier than I expected (surprise surprise with a proctor who also factors in answer sharing into the ‘schedule’).  We’ll know for sure how I did though in well, maybe 6 months or so.  They say 3, but you know, as always, this is Spain…

Castle of Carcassone

This past weekend was Europe’s Labor Day so, much like the US version, it was a time of travel and enjoyment of no work on Friday (though, probably fewer barbeques).  I took the opportunity to go to Toulouse, France with the AEGEE groups.  AEGEE is the social component of ERASMUS (the European exchange program) that exists at many univeristies to plan activities and promote cultural exchange, social networking, and, in general, fun.  Our group of 5 drove there (about 5hrs +stops) this weekend and a group of French students will do the same to Santander in about a month.  This means a way cheaper and way more fun way to travel!

I thoroughly enjoyed France during my first visit, though I wasn’t sure if this was particular to the city of Anger or that I was visiting one of the awesomest families around, so I was very excited to get to go back.  Toulouse didn’t let me down: France is full of cool people, beautiful things, and (of course) tasty food and Toulouse has a large student population (3 universities!) which all combined give it a lively ”college-town” atmosphere I think I’ve been missing somehow in Santander.  My only regret is not knowing any French.  The Toulouse students were extremely good hosts and provided us comfy beds, breakfast, and a pleasant itinterary which included castles, restaurants, hookah bar, and a city tour. 

Highlights of the weekend include Saturday night’s dinner by the park and our stop in Lourdes during what happened to be the weekend of the yearly pilgramage.  Saturday we bought large quantities of a variety of cheeses, bread, and (not enough) wine and ate sitting in the park on the river front.  Pure heaven.  After an adventurous group bikeride back towards downtown we came across a spontaneous ”concert” in a park – where a band (consisting of a tuba, trombone, trumpet, drum…) was parked in the grass playing festive folk songs and some hundred people surrounded them spinning eachother and kicking their heels can-can style.  Of course we joined immediately and made ourselves dizzy dancing until the police came to cancel the music.  We headed back to the university early to catch the last metro, but didn’t miss out on anything since there was a discotech-fiesta on campus that night.  I never made it into the main attraction, though, as we spent at least an hour dancing to French folksongs played by a group of rather drunk students on acordian in the parking lot. 

View of the church from the castle in Lourdes

Sunday was a very difficult morning.  We stopped in Lourdes on our way back to Santander.  Lourdes is an old city in the French Pyrenees known for its miracle-giving power.  As if miracles, glorious churches, mountain views, and Holy Water weren’t enough we happened to visit on the day of the yearly pilgramage of the Order of Malta.  The city was filled with people from around the world all dressed in their uniforms of suits and capes – in addition to the usual crowd seeking divine healing.  They made a group march across town to the grassy area near the incredible mountainside church to begin mass.  Standing in front of the church was like attending a mass on an unimaginably large scale.  We had a view of much of the city nestled into the mountains as well as the procession of hundreds of members of the Order or Malta, many of them pushing disabled or elderly (presumably seeking a miracle cure) in blue carts, leaving the church plaza (I, therefore, have no clue where they were going).  All this was accompanied by the booming voice of the priest (in English) and music of the choir booming over a set of well-dispersed speakers so as their origin was obscured, but their message loud and clear.  I can’t say I was moved spiritually, but the sight was still incredible and difficult to believe.  I guess the American member of the Order of Malta with whom I had spoke before being aware of this event (I had been curious about his odd uniform) was right: we were lucky in a way to have visited Lourdes on that particular weekend.

View from the church including the castle and the procession