London Calling

We were originally scheduled to meet up with some of my sister's Yale SOM classmates at some bar but after lugging my giant suitcase up two flights of subway stairs and considering Cathy's general state of exhaustion, we cancelled.


The Hoxton is a chic, modern hotel just north of London's financial district.  Having travelled to London about four times in the last five years, I've seen the major tourist destinations and didn't feel at a loss to take it easy this time around.  Cathy obviously agreed and when we began our trip by canceling the first of our engagements, it was a no-brainer as to what came next: room service.

Midnight in Paris

…is supposed to be magical.  For those of you who’ve watched the film, you’d agree with me that Woody Allen makes it out to be this mysteriously beautiful time and place.  I was 16 the last time I went to Paris, at the height of any average person’s hyper-dramatic stage.  For many of us (and don’t deny it) it’s a back-and-forth dance between desperately hopeful romanticism and bleak fatalism, bossa nova in the sun and Elliott Smith in the dark.  So yeah, being 16 in Paris (Paris in the spring no less) is nothing less than magical.

What was Paris really?  We were tired, it was raining, our joints were aching, my sister’s feet were on fire, and there were throngs of tourists everywhere, just lines and crowds everywhere.  Our schedules were packed starting from 7 AM to beat the lines as best we could and we powered through sites and museums like fruit flies with only 24 hours to live.  Nevertheless, the charm of the city of love did creep in at unexpected moments and then I could really imagine saying, oui, Paris je t'aime.

La Despedida

And so the bittersweet farewell begins.  It's a long process and with my sister Cathy coming in this week, I started with the little things, like my favorite 1 euro snack at Picadero, patatas bombas, deep fried potato stuffed with meet served with garlic alioli and brava sauce.  

Patatas bombas

I also said goodbye to La Oveja Negra, a bar a lot of my fellow students frequented where they serve sangria and beer in "towers" with its own tap.  This farewell was not so sad.

La Oveja Negra

With my sister's arrival came the opportunity for me to experience a lot of Barcelona for the first and last time.  This was indeed bittersweet.

1 more week

My immune system decided to take some time off this past week and I've been sick since.  Really some great timing.  Nonetheless, I packed a little packet of tissues in my purse and was on my way.  The rest of my floor was off to Paris for the weekend come Thursday so I made other plans.  Like the Joan Miró Foundation.

Time is marching on without me

Without a big weekend trip to punctuate my weeks, the last two have just fused together without my noticing.  The lack of sleep certainly did not help.  I got back from the airport after my Rome trip at about 1 AM, did my presentation and slept by 3 AM, was in class and presenting by about 9:30 AM, and then had another 5 compositions/essays and a final exam to take care of.  Nevertheless, Monday was Independence Day and what is usually an extremely uneventful day for me became a day for me to sing "Americaaaaa, Fuck Yeah!"from Team America in my head for most of the day.  I felt proud to be an American for the first time in a long time and as momentary as it was, it was kind of nice.  To quote a friend on facebook (yeah, I'm going there), "hating America is so passé."  Is it wrong that I agree?  Am I getting old and jaded?  Can I no longer apply for membership to the great American counterculture?  Oh well, I never really wanted it anyway.

Roma, and not just the tomato!

And she's back from her week-long hiatus!  You'll have to forgive me but I've just had no time to update you all on my life and travels.  It was my last week of classes out here in Barcelona which meant handing in 4 compositions, 1 essay, 2 oral presentations, and 1 exam.  To be fair, I didn't study for anything so that didn't eat into my time but I wasn't getting any sleep and I still had to work for my internship.  But I'm complaining!  I'm finally done and I'm most grateful for my classes and my professor, Josep María, but more on that later.

Destinación: Roma, Italia.

First was the dilemma as to whether or not to go the weekend of July 1st when all the stores would go on sale.  I couldn't care less but the other Diana really did but we ultimately decided that the sales would still be there when we got back and the only other weekend we had left was the weekend of July 8th when we had only two days because of finals on that Friday.

Second was the plane tickets.  Tickets were supposed to be just 107 euro but prices jumped up 10 euro in just one day and then my debit card wasn't working on the site.  By the time I bought them with the help of the magical help of a certain Emily, the price had jumped up to 143 euro.  It gets worse.

Third was that there were no more decent hostels left.  It would be more worth it to just get a hotel.  So that's what we did.

Fourth, and this is the real zinger, I got to the airport only to discover that the ticket was under Diana V and not Diana Choi.  Excuse me but how many people do you know with one letter for a last name?  Not wanting to risk them not letting me on the plane, I had to change the name on my flight, price tag 353 euro.  The thing is that when I tried checking in online with my confirmation number, my name came up at Diana Choi and then it stopped working so I went to the counter when I got the airport at 4:30 am last Friday.  But then my debit card wasn't working so D.Lee had to lend me the money on her credit card.  

Less than a month left...

I know that most of you read my blog during your work week but I decided I'd post one more time before I go to Rome for the weekend.  Yup, no big deal.  Just gonna spend my weekend in Roma, Italia.

The Adventures of Harold and Harold and Their Tribe of 17

Last week went by in sort of a blur.  I'm not even sure what I did Monday to Thursday afternoon and I feel like that's a glimpse of what my life is to become with a 9-5 job.  Realistically, I will probably have a 9-5 job in my first years of full-time employment but let's hope it doesn't last.

Sorry Stepfather, that wasn't Spanish...

I've been M.I.A. all weekend because my parents were in town which meant that my Mom got me a roll-away cot 10 times more comfortable than my own bed at the Hotel Arts, one of the defining features of the Barcelona shoreline.  So no surprise that I willingly let her kidnap me and feed me some of the most delicious food I've had while in Barcelona.

First stop then was Arola, one of the hotel's many high-end restaurants.  I insisted we go out and find a nice tapas bar but my mother, having just gotten off a plane, needed to eat and needed to eat NOW.

Another week in food...

And yet what week do I not measure in food?  The answer is none.  If I had to write a Rent spoof (although I would never desecrate the memory of Jonathan Larson's life and life work like that), it would have to be Seasons of Food and not of Love..in cheesecakes and waffles, in prime ribs and bites of toffee...


Anyway, this week was a short one.  It was a día de fiesta or holiday on Monday so I had a chance to recuperate from the weekend shenanigans in Sevilla.  More beach and then, to bring the day to a close, one of the most delicious sandwiches I've ever had from Bo de B.  I didn't have my Iphone with me so I have no pictures so I'll just have to return and take some photos.  It's that good.

Sevilla--¡Olé!

I woke up from 2.5 hours of sleep at 3 AM Friday morning to get ready and catch our 5 AM Ryanair flight from Barcelona to Sevilla.  There was 11 of us kids on this trip, seven of us girls from my apartment buildings and four other boys, all of us on the internship program with IES.

For those of you who don't know Ryanair, it's known as "the low-cost airline".  There are a number of ways they obviously cut costs:

1.  They don't assign you seats.  The seating is first come first serve so all passengers line up at the gate up to an hour before boarding so they don't have to choose from slim pickings.

2.  They don't serve beverages or snacks and don't even have tray tables on which to place such comestibles.

3.  They definitely don't have any entertainment systems

I just hope that they pay their employees fair wages because it would be just a little too ghetto if they didn't.  I wasn't convinced that they were even fully license pilots considering that our landing on our return flight felt like the plane was crashing.  They obviously didn't go to the same flying school as Korean pilots who land their planes so smoothly it's like the plane-tarmac equivalent to slathering margarine on toast.

It comes as no surprise that after just 2.5 hours of sleep, I along with the others on the plane passed out for the 1.5 hour flight from the northeastern coast to the arid south of Spain.  When we got to Sevilla, we took one bus to a train station and then wandered around lost for a bit before catching a second bus to the city center.  Upon first look, there was nothing impressive.  It seemed like a smaller, dusty Middle American city.  Little did I know...

A Week in Food

Monday:

The final project for my advanced Spanish writing seminar is a magazine featuring articles written by us students.  There were four categories of articles to choose from that were supposed to have between 2-3 students per category.  The magazine is all about Barcelona so one of the sections is dedicated to food and restaurant critiques and I naturally jumped for it but so did three other girls.  This perplexed our dear professor with so many on just one category and I was so afraid I was going to have to move to a different topic...like festivals and holidays (hell no).  I wanted to grill the other girls into submission with my piercing black holes for eyes.  That girl with the fake blonde hair..what did she know?  I am a baby gastronome; I worship Platt and Bittman enough to want a double-t in my last name too; among the things on my Christmas wish-list are a mini blow torch and a whipped cream canister; I started making cocktails when I was fourteen for God's sake!

La Costa Brava

Riding in an obnoxiously large tour bus, listening to my iPod, drowning out the din of sorority girls chippering about nothing in the background = recipe for a blissful catatonic state of sleep.

All 100-something of us IES students rolled out of bed on Friday morning, cursing the 7:30 AM departure outside the Hard Rock Cafe in La Plaça Catalunya and the fact that we had to tote our bags on the metro to get there.  But was it worth it?  Yes, especially after konking out on the bus, definitely yes.

It's a Kind of Magic

I haven't updated in a while because it's been a busy first week of work and classes and my schedule's been turned inside out throughout the last few days.  More than anything though, I got five mosquito bites to swell up my feet earlier this week and it put a major damper on my mood.  My shoe choices had much to be desired because everything I own would agitate the bites which were strategically located right between the spaces my sandals didn't cover.  Those sneaky bastards...


Thanks be to God, I will not be returning to the studio where I got those mosquito bites but will be doing that work independently and updating my boss via e-mail.  Kind of a bummer only because I love my boss.  But more on her later when I have photos and more substantial things to say about my work.

Hola. Soy Diana, su profesora de inglés.

Today was my first day of internship.  I work 16 hours a week: 2 hours Monday and Wednesday at Casal Uruguay teaching English; 1.5 hours Tuesday Thursday at Centro Peruano teaching English; 3 hours on Monday doing administrative work with my boss María Elena and 2 hours on Tuesday; 2 hours at some undetermined time during the week to follow-up with my other boss and prepare lesson plans; 1 hour independent prep.  This is in addition to the eleven hours I spend in class.  I end work every day between 7:30 and 8:00 PM so my Monday to Thursday work week is pretty packed.  In preparation for the next two months of this glimpse into real life, I spent yesterday doing this:

Honey Badger Don't Care...

...that it's 6:45 AM and sleep has still yet to come.

It's pretty badass.


I'm currently waiting for my roommate to get back.  We had to split up because the cab couldn't take more than 4 passengers and we were 5 so two of us stayed back at the Port Olímpic.  But we'll get to that.


To pick up where I left off, I went to dinner with the girls after my nap and finally got over my fear of squid ink.  I'm almost afraid to post the picture because it looks so unappetizing but it was in fact delicious, even if it looked like dementor vomit.  What got me over my fear actually was some wise words from my dear vegetarian friend Monica Landy: "I drink milk and eat cheese and eggs so I figure I can eat squid ink" (paraphrased)  So if I just think of the ink as squid milk instead of the stuff that jets out of their bodies as a defense mechanism that makes me think of poop...

As American as Apple Pie and as Spanish as Sangria

Building bonds of friendship over 3.5 liters of Sangria takes a lot of work.  Especially when it involves racing with the kids at the next table.  If you know me, you'll know that my food baby gives me little room to develop a beer gut.  So I wasn't carrying the team but I was that jerk peer pressuring the two kids that were smart enough to back out of the race from the beginning.  Nonetheless, drinking just a few glasses of cheap and sweet red wine sangria like Moses out of the desert would drink water isn't good for anybody.  Which is why when I got back past midnight last night, the first thing on my mind wasn't this blog but my toothbrush and my bed, in that order.  But we'll get back to that.

The Mediterranean: it calls to me

10:45 AM Advanced Spanish Writing Seminar
12:45 PM Massive stomach ache and meet and old business associate and friend of my mother's simultaneously
1:30 - 3:00 PM Buy a black skirt and sunglasses for 10 euro at H&M while walking home from class and bum indoors before...
wait for it...
bumming OUTDOORS!

How to overachieve in a scavenger hunt

Today was orientation.  29 of us students participating in the 8-week intensive internship program here met at the IES Abroad Barcelona center just off the Plaza Catalunya this morning.  It was a typical orientation except for our safety activity.  We were given case studies derived from true stories from prior IES students and the one my group had to mull over was about Kate.  This is Kate's story:
Kate was really drunk but her friends were really tired.  Kate's friends wanted Kate to come back home with them but Kate met a guy she liked at the club and wanted to go back to "listen to music" (my quotation marks) with him back at his place.  So Kate's friends left Kate to go home with mystery man while mystery man's friend also professed that he was too tired to listen to music and got in his own cab to go to his own home.  Kate and her mystery man made it back to his apartment and then...PLOT TWIST!  He held a knife to her throat and forced her to do cocaine and made her have sex with her.  When she woke up, she was disoriented, hung over, and a rape victim.  "Kate was very, very upset" (quote taken from original case study).  Oh, Kate...
Moral of the story: Barcelona has knife-wielding, cocaine-toting, dancing and club-going rapists. So does the rest of the world.  So listen up lady-folk: don't go home with creepy strangers.  The stranger danger assembly from the first grade applies NOW.  Let's put that to good use and make our parents proud.

Por ti seré la gaviota de tu bella mar...

"Baaaaaaarcelooooooona"
Freddie Mercury belts it like the only way the name of a city this beautiful should be sung.  And yes, the only way to do this city justice when uttering it's name is by singing it like the late, self-proclaimed "gay-as-a-daffodil" diva Freddie Mercury.  Montserrat Caballé provides her operatic complements, my favorite line being por ti seré la gaviota de tu bella mar (I will be the seagull to your beautiful sea).  What it would be like to fall in love in Barcelona, to want to be la gaviota to your amante's bella mar...

Home.

It's been a full day since I've been back and I'm already indulging in the comforts of home: the marble tiles and my silk bedspread, silverware and those new sharp-ass knives my mom just got for Mother's Day.  If you didn't know me, you would assume from the previous sentence that I was some sort of real housewife of ________ (anywhere because every variation of that show is essentially the same i.e. they all suck).  But that's not really what's important here.  What's important is the relative heaven-like quality this place has in comparison to the dorm I just moved out of. Bathrooms smelling of the sin of shit and alcoholism, littered with little trimmings of ironic moustache/beard (screw you hipsters!) and the stench of rotting beer at the bottoms of PBR cans wafting out of the garbage disposal as you step out of one hell and into the next.  Don't even get me started on the kitchen.  The kitchen in my building was to ants, cockroaches, fruit flies (and whatever little creature dearest Dalí would have incorporated into his works of art if he weren't already so taken with his hormigas) as this apartment is to me; heaven on earth in other words.  So it's been like reaching safe haven after fighting through a zombie apocalypse for 3/4 of a year.  I can sleep when it's still dark now and my skin's cleared up in just one night.  I can't blame me for wanting to soak it all in.  Neither should you.