FlorenciA

Ciao friends and family!!!

So for my final farewell to a life of 'would you like salted or unsalted peanuts' and 'how the heck do you say toilet in Catalan?' I chose to visit the one and only Ali Karsant in Firenze, the city of exploited male body parts from a certain statue and undesirable men chanting at you in their best version of an american dialect. Also the city where you can drop serious money on a designer purse and still not be sure as to its authenticity. While I had already been here before my memory resembles whatever the opposite of an elephant is, so it was like seeing it for the first time. Unfortunately I did something to piss mother nature off and apparently the universe in general because upon arrival the cobblestone streets were morbidly dark and taken over my rain. The beautiful blend of this unfortunate weather combined with both Ali and I's accumulation of the cold resulted in sleeping hours never before seen on a normal weekend vacation and a morning routine that played out like a day in the life of Paula Abdul in terms of drug consumption. I apologize if I'm a bit rowdy ( yes I did just spell check the word rowdy in my head with the sing along version acquired from LCHS cheer) today I'm hopped up on a large dosage of caffeine for finals and have spent the last few hours studying from the omniscient words of Chelsea Handler's "Are You There Vodka, It's Me Chelsea".

ANYWAYS I digress, so illness and drug habits aside Ali and I were reunited in Florence and were like two ADD children at Chuck E Cheese. Seriously, no thought or sentence was ever finished before another thought bubble burst the previous and I still don't know how Ali ended up sleeping on a stranger's couch two floors above her own loft. We played such commonplace games as 'Which country was your favorite?' and 'How far are you will to go for a Euro because I am flat broke'... everyday questions the average joe ponders. Assuming I could behave as I always have as her roommate and simply live off of her wardrobe closet that rivals the one in Narnia, I packed next to nothing and ended up wearing the same pink sweatshirt that will forever haunt me in every single photo... it quite literally looks like I was there for one day. Hey, at least i was comfy. Oh and note to self: riding boots are not the same as rain boots ... one is water repellant, the other is not. Lesson learned. Due to the weather which terminated all plans for Cinque Terre the Italian coast that will make even the most adamant atheist a God loving Christian, we turned the trip into a walking and eating tour of Florence, vegetarian style. Apparently Florence is famous for their steak? We wouldn't know. We passed by the Duomo on a regular basis seeing as it was practically in Ali's backyard ( if Florence had back yards) and I forced myself to try to focus on the importance of where I was, which proved rather difficult with the man behind me trying to sell me a device that both lights up and flies straight into the air. After passing by enough gelato shops to make any cardiologist wanna kill themselves and ironically climbing enough to stairs to make any human being cry for water we made it to a lookout of all of Florence whose name I forget already but whose view I will remember. Naturally we ran into a number of Ali's classmates exercising carpe diem by gorging themselves with cheap wine and taking in the view. We spent the end of the day meeting other study abroad students and bonding over wine pong ( messy and dangerous) a few floors down from Ali's place. I met a boy from San Marino who goes to NYU and couldn't help but admire the irony of being in a different country holding a conversation about LC v San Marino baseball with a complete stranger.

Ali and I along with her roommates Alexa and Sarah took a stroll over to the Roberto Cavalli cafe and let me tell you... not only is he good with animal prints but he makes a MEAN cappuccino. Seconds were ordered as we took in the scene of framed pictures of famous females donned in his pricey garments. After this we made our way to the Boboli Gardens ( not the Bambino as I deem it in the YouTube video, i really am shattering that American stupidity stereotype aren't I) which I only realized I had already been about ten minutes into the tour. The palace was home to the Medici family who had more money Bill Gates, Oprah, and the Trump combined with some left over to use as tissue. You basically just walk around the endless gardens and see the view that makes you want to work to have oodles of money some day. On the excursion home we crossed the Ponte Vecchio which looks like a pirate unloaded his loot of gold in the form of miniature shops and purchase two friendship bracelets mainly due to the silver tongued English speaking shop owner who assured us that she sells these to Nieman Marcus for triple the price. Mine lasted two days before it broke in my Art History class. RIP cheaply made but adorable red bracelet. Felling a bit like we needed to go somewhere outside of the two mile circumference we had been walking within we took a 25 minute bus ride up the hill to a neighboring city whose name we didn't have a shot at pronouncing correctly. The view was BEAUTIFUL at night only it took us until the bus departed on top of the hill for us to remember we had not a clue where we were and even less where to eat. We spotted an Italian place across the street that could have easily been located 25 minutes at the bottom of the hill nearer to where we were staying but went anyway. The food was delicious ( although they don't use salt in bread and I think that a travesty because thus is tastes not unlike cardboard) and it was even more fun teasing about our flighty waiter and anxiously awaiting what he would bring us and whether or not we ordered it. Ali and I made a superbed that night and it felt like Syc n Shaf ( which her roommates confused with the words Syc n Safe giving it a whole new meaning) all over again. I departed the following morning with no complication from that pesky Volcano Tlakdsfkjsdflksfdnsdlkfasdfkhlskdf or whatever that make believe name they gave it is.


WARNING: THE FOLLOWING GETS A BIT SENTIMENTAL AND SAPPY AND IS FOR MEMORY PURPOSES...


All in all my adventures have been so amazing even Rick Steve's would want to tag along. I am sooooo thankful for the experience and maturity ( if there has been any?) that has taken place over these past four months and as I go into finals eating the end of my pencil like it was chewing gum I will consider myself one of the luckiest people alive. I can't wait to return to my friends and family ( with gifts, don't worry) with perhaps a slightly tighter grasp on reality. I've never lived anywhere else or even moved houses before (Orange aside) so it's a weird feeling to consider Madrid like a home to me. I will miss the overly affectionate natives and the gross smell of the metro. The comfort of knowing a two euro glass of wine in just across the street and that world famous museums are a short stroll away. I will miss my roommates from Boston who are always down for anything even if you ask them if they wanted to get a tattoo of a hot pink dragon on your forehead. I will miss pretending to understand Veronica the residence mother for lack of any parental authority who I think half the times hates us for making so much noise and stealing bread from the kitchen. I will miss ordering my coffee with soy milk in Spanish rather than english and taking it to Retiro park only to sip it while being forced to watch overly PDA couples be too affectionate for anyone's comfort level. And I might even miss the idea that going out at 3 AM is considered early and getting up before 1 pm unthinkable. I've had the time of my life not to sound too much like a that guy from American Idol and in fifteen years I'm sure I will look back and think " didn't I go to Madrid at some point?". That's when the blog comes in handy.

¡BarCelOna!

¡HOLA!

I write to you from a computer lab full of students in denial that school continues beyond spring break. Phrases such as ´the paper is do WHEN?!´ and ´the coffee machine is back and running SCORE!´ echos the hallways of a very vacant campus. While homework load is plentiful and work accomplished scant, most of the student body boasts glowing tans that push them farther into the category of potential locals.

This past weekend I made the pilgrimage all the way to Barcelona ( it took me all of three John Mayer songs before the stewardess told me we were preparing for landing) to stay with Erika Gates a fellow Aphi and visit with Taylor O´Sullivan another phi bear abroad. Aside from the morning dose of emails I receive via cell regarding the need for additional Skit rehearsals or if anyone found the lost pair of Tory Burch sandals someone left at retreat I have been so removed from Alpha Phi that it was both surprising and astonishing how quickly I went back into ´the fraternity did WHAT at their formal?!´ alongside endless OMG accomanying squeels. My IQ likely dropped a few points but it was worth it to feel right at home in a very foreign country. Anyone who has ever made my acquaintence should be only to well aware of my affections for laying out and beach runs so when Erika promised the weather to be sunny and hot I all too quickly obliterated any previous schedule and directed us to the nearest beach. We spent the next two days tomabamos el sol and since my precious ghostly complexion had not be introduced to anything more than partly cloudy fine lines were drawn red against white. I looked like an american flag minus the blue. Each day after we faced hours of shameless vendors asking us if we would like 5 dollar massages, cerveca, or illegal substances we would make our way to the open market adjacent to Erika´s apartment. For one euro you could purchase a pineapple coconut smoothie that would change your life and if you didnt grope the fruit to see which ones were best ( i was scolded in many a foreign language) purchase a weeks groceries dirt cheap. This treasure along with the discovery of a raw nut vendor was etherial bliss in my book. We ended the day with a viewing of the Magic Fountain in front of the Royal Palace where time stood still as we waited for it to get dark enough to see the florescent colors cascading through the shooting water accompanied by an amusingly poor cut remix of songs from the 80s and early 90s including ¨I Gotta Get Through This¨ followed by ¨Bootylicious¨. Destiny´s Child is not dead in Spain.

On the second night I had the pleasure of accompanying Erika to one of her plethora of jobs as the shot girl at a local Irish Pub called George Paynes. Essentially I should receive compensation for that night because from the hours of 11 to 2 am i was Erika´s wingwoman in convincing barely english speaking customers that although they already had consumed numerous beers and had little idea what we were saying they should buy some unrecognizably labeled vodka. Erika did very well that night.

On my last day in the beautiful beach town we strolled around looking at the art of Gaudi in such locations as La Sagrada Familia. My only knowledge of the landscape and culture of the city came from a bad viewing of Woody Allen´s ´Vicky Cristina Barcelona´ in which both me and my friend Molly passed out leaving the ending a mystery and our highly acclaimed review two thumbs down. I´m sure if I saw it again I would pay attention this time because when youre not looking at the art through the eyes of Woody Allen and rather your own its quite breathtaking. The buildings resembled underground sand castles similar to those found in The Little Mermaid and scary Nightmare Before Christmaseque skeletal detailing that went up into the sky forever. We ended the night with a Rachael Ray impersonation of on my part, attempting a home cooked meal of veggies ( the only thing I can make) with barely any ingredients. Erika and the roommates devoured it but I think they were happy to see anything other than pasta on their plate. Even though I only had minimal time in the laid back culturally drenched city of art and music it wasn´t hard to see why people flip when they talk about visiting BarTHelona. Woody Allen didn´t do it justice.


The W Hotel



The Magic Fountain



La Sagrada Familia by Gaudi

FUNdon & PariS!

Bon Jour friends and family!!!

I write to you from Madrid still in denial that my much anticipated desperately needed wonderfully glorious two week spring break is over and I have to attend that school thing tomorrow. Let's not talk about it, it seems less real that way. While spring break generally induces thoughts of tan lines, margaritas in the sand, and questionably safe trips to Mexico, I chose the less tradition more rain prone route. While you ordered that second Pina Colada asking the bartender if they could turn the air conditioning up, I dedicated a solid outdoor fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to reverse my umbrella after the wind storm had made it a casualty. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't trade places for the world.
Call me a product of my grandmother but when it comes to flying there is no such thing as arriving to the airport too early. Unfortunately the day I flew to London I found out there is. After breezing through security and check in I found myself so early that even the departure gate wouldn't tell me where i was going. Two and a half hours and two almost boarded flights to London ( not my airline) and Ireland ( still not sure how that one happened) later I made it safely on the flight and was greeted upon arrival with a dozen red roses-- always so dramatic-- by the one and only Patrick Strapazon. For those of you who don't know Pat there isn't a description to save my life that could do his ridiculous personality justice. All I can say is hope you havn't just chugged a few liters of water during a two hour plane flight because you very well might pee yourself from laughter. One unpaid for train trip and a pricey taxi later we arrived at his "flat" number 18 on Bloomsbury street. I was Julia Roberts in Notting Hill already, minus Hugh Grant and add a pack of USC students. Naturally we finished off the night reciting lines to Legally Blonde and dissecting Reece Witherspoons love life. The following day I had two choices: attend a three hour lecture at Pat's school or venture the neighborhood with the Disneyland wannabe map mother had given me. Seeing as I had already slept a decent amount of hours I passed on the presumable snoozefest and true to form located the nearest Starbucks. Not trying to figure out how to translate " what direction is the closest Urban Outfitters" from Spanish to English I already felt right at home. The entire city looked like a more accurate version of the Universal Studios back lot, it was adorable. Cute parks, quaint book stores, this was the least manly city I had ever been to. My first stop was to commemorate the trip with London Flag boxers and unnecessary souvenirs that friends from home will look at and then toss off only to find again in about ten years. The majority of the day was spent leaving various clothing stores with a look of disgust at the current conversion rate and trying to figure out how to use my scarf as a head umbrella without looking like a Russian grandmother.
The sloths have nothing on Pat, the kid can sleep like it was his major. So at the crack of 3 in the afternoon the following day we made it to the London Eye, a national landmark I kept referring to as the Red Eye or " the big carnival ride". Unlike its amusement park counterpart however, this thing moves at the same rate I do when getting ready in the morning. Pat was making a documentary of decade long event for a class of his, interviewing me on my knowledge ( lack there of) about London and I have no doubt I will make a FABULOUS gag reel. Unaware that I wouldn't be able to afford a pencil at the decadent department store, we made our way to Harrods. Now why anyone would ever want to spend 300 pounds on a dog collar is beyond me but I guess when you just dropped 700 big ones on Chloe baby jumper its a small price to pay for man's best friend. You know you're in the big leagues when the 1st floor is entirely dedicated to the art of tea and chocolate. It was a diabetic's nightmare, I spent the majority of my time on this floor wiping up my drool. Pat and I danced our way through the pistachio gelato and plethora of Godiva to land on sampling my first Dim Sum. Why wouldn't there be an elegant sit down Chinese Dim Sum bar among the edible paradise? The little boiled bags of deliciousness put me over the edge and Pat was forced to gurney me out of the infamous department store. We ended the day with a late run to Pizza Express with the Curtis twins Melissa and Lauren, a perfect La Canada reunion in London. It's the simple things in life like being able to order without pointing to the option on the menu that I relish now. We reminisced on scandals of our teen years reporting break ups and expulsions like it was the front cover of US weekly and Lauren drank her first foreignly legal red wine.
If you are thinking this post is revolving entirely too much around food you would be right that seemed to be the glue that held the entire trip together and thus I continue... the following day Lauren, Melissa, Pat, and I scoped out Borough Market. This puts any previous farmer's market I have been to to SHAME with cheese from france, homemade pesto from heaven, and a vegetarian and nut stand that should be retitled " Chrissy's idea of perfection". Sampling was free so basically lunch was on the house. I don't think it can be called sampling after one comes back four or five times but what the vendor doesn't know won't kill them. Pat purchased some Turkish Delight, a dessert I thought only existed in the world of Narnia. To me it tasted like a plant and I was forced to find the nearest trash can. Melissa, Lauren, and I continued on a walking cliche, signing in the rain with our umbrellas all the way to Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey, and Trafalgar Square. Gravity pulled us to London's Topshop after a long day of sightseeing, a four story haven for any grunge or vintage aficionado where you could leave with nails done perfectly and eyebrows threaded to perfection. Few stores can boast that much.
I apologize that this blog is turning out to be longer than the Civil War, I'm very long winded. So I quite literally ran into my family at the airport looking scarier than Morticia Adams from my lack of sleep or makeup, I could tell by the look on their faces that ' wow you've let yourself go' was running through their heads... they welcomed me with prolonged hugs and kisses anyway, gotta love family. A run to the hospital to check for broken ribs is not at all uncalled for given the strength my dad used to hug me. We settled into our hotel in Madrid and mom spent the majority of the night commenting on the opulent chandeliers she coveted and if we had confused our hotel with the royal palace. They did have a Rolex store in the lobby and a gigantic stain-glass dome in the dining area... understated elegance. I focused my energy on a shower that didn't result in internal bruising from storage of space to move and hot water that didn't revert to its opposite after the extended duration of five minutes. Having lived in Madrid for some time now it took some arm twisting to get me to leave the hotel room. I spent the following day showing them around the Palacio Real, Parque del Retiro, Sol, and other tourist hot spots where there are no shortage of pickpockets and bizarre street performers. Mother held onto her purse like it was her child and dad walked two feet behind at all times to scope for potential suspects.. it was great. I wasn't embarrassed at all. Judging by their shock at how beautiful they found Madrid the clearly thought I was living in some dump in the middle of no where. I took them to my favorite tapas at Lateral for dinner where dad's disgust of the surrounding smokers could be seen miles away and ordering in english provided a challenge. We determined not telling dad what he was eating and force feeding him with a spoon was the best way to go. Blake stuck to chicken being the adventurous eater he is.
We finally made it to Paris and our hotel next to the Tuilleries gardens, as usual Blake and I received the more spacious of the two rooms so the parents took to relaxing at our place often. We went to lunch at a local brasserie that mom and dad had come to on their last trip to Paris and died over the cheese plate and bread. It took about 30 minutes into the lunch for them to realize that we were not in the same place the came to but being too lazy to move, we stayed. We walked around the Tuilleries gardens and Place de la Concorde and even under a comatose of tired the city was incomprehensibly beautiful. There could be lightening and hail and the architecture and landscaping would still take your breath away. For dinner we went to Le Coup Chou which was a redone hole in the wall former residence so authentic France the waiter didn't understand a thing I was saying. There were drapes, fire places, book shelves, and winding stairs that were a health risk to walk down, it was GREAT. Before coming to Paris I thought I had tasted good food... I was wrong. Maybe it was part sustaining off of power bars and coffee all day but every plate we ordered was the meal you would want if you had one day to live. I hadn't the slightest notion of what I ordered, only that i was meat free. The appetizer was a tomato and garlic number with.. wait for it.. whipped cream ( i took it off, I'm not that crazy) on top. Call me old fashioned but I don't combine my meal with my dessert. In overtly American behavior the four of us could be found delving over plates to sample each others dinners and ordering bread baskets like it was water. We left full and with the acquired knowledge of how to say "how delicious" in french.... I think.
To work off some of the food intake I unknowingly was recruited to a FOUR HOUR bike tour of the city starting at Notre Dame and end, well I won't know where because... well I'll get to that. Blake, Mom, and Dad had done this same bike tour in previous years so they knew the guide better than I know some of my closest friends. On a first name basis, I quickly learned all about Christian, where he lived, his daughter, and where he grew up. Mom makes friends easily and treats them like family even easier. Penguins could have waddled by at any moment the tour was so frigid but thank goodness I was easily distracted by the beauty of the various arrondissements. We biked the river Seine and Christian repeatedly wounded us with phrases like " when it gets warm..". Unfortunately Blake felt the need to go and injure himself on the tour by removing one of this fingernails and a whole bunch of gross I don't want to know about. The Penidos ditched the tour early in search of an American Hospital and some painkillers. After bbming Nick with this news he responded with sincere concern " man he's a bad traveler". Dad flipped into paramedic mode and took Blake to go get stitched, x-rayed, and injected while mom and I took our minds off the accident with some retail therapy while the male's couldn't complain. I saw the extravagant Opera House as we proceeded into department stores of endless levels and stain- glass ceilings complete with corinthian columns. Shopping back home will never be the same. After returning to the hotel to find Blake heavily sedated and Dad watching him like if breathed wrong he was going to call the ambulance, mom and I were on our own for the Louvre tour. My previous awareness of the Louvre was what I had seen of a glass triangle in The Da Vinci Code so I was blithely unaware of the MASSIVE size of the previous home to the royals. Mom and I got lost so many times that I think we past the egyptian art section at least seven times. We made it to the Mona Lisa who looks more like a man that I had ever imagined. Everyone and their mother surrounded it so I didn't get a great look but from where I was, I was thinking 'thats a dude in a dress with a wig'. We saw Napoleon's crown-- man did he have a small head-- and numerous jewels all of which I was tempted to take off their hands. Mom and I stopped by a brasserie on the way home for some traditional French food and wound up at Welcome Cafe where hot dogs came right before crepes on the menu and nothing but American classics played in the background.
In attempts to salvage the food we brought home for an unconscious Blake we took drinks out of the overpriced minibar and shoved the steak in. This is without prior knowledge that each item has a sensor on it and is considered purchased upon lift. It took some time to explain to the concierge what we had done and how we didn't want to pay the hundreds of euros we had racked up on our bill. My bad. Our first day without injury and all of us in tow we set out for Notre Dame, the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs-Elysee, Luxembourg Gardens, and the Eiffel Tower. The Eiffel remains one of my favorites despite the fact that upon reaching the top I dropped a souvenir in the gift shop, breaking part of it, and I am entirely convinced that If we were not as high up as we were the store lady would have thrown me out. I won't be going back any time soon. The whole city was like a movie, I honestly couldn't find a piece of trash or unmanicured tree anywhere. I don't care if the French are snobs, as they should be. For dinner we went to Le Fontaine de Mars a French place mom had been talking up for months thanks to the Obama's visit there during their stay in Paris. Naturally I was obscenely overdressed but did not let this stop me from pretending cocktail attire was the order of attire. I think my dress was a bit too short seeing as a borderline homeless man grunted ' ahhhh sexxxyyyy' with a heavy french accent later that night. My family was beaming over dinner I had no idea that all it took was was nice red wine and very expensive french food to make them ecstatic. They ordered a roasted Daffy Duck for dinner and I opted for some fish I couldn't pronounce. If I'm giving out awards here this one takes the cake, no competition. The cost of the plane flight to Paris would be worth it just to try one of their green beans. Again maybe the power bars came into play but really the French are just so much better than us in every way. I even like their accent more. We sat for hours and talked about grown up things, I played along. If only Nick and Holly had been there it would have been a Penido vacation to rival all those Chevy Chase family vacation films. We booked it out of there to catch the end of the Eiffel Tower light show which looked like a real life version of every girls desire to glitter and bejewel the world. So basically the city of lights stole my heart and I plan on taking up residence there as soon as possible. I promise I'll write...


MISS YOU ALL!!!!!!!

xoxo

Chrissy

p.s. I will be SHOCKED if anyone gets through all of that

ValenCiA y laS faLLas

HOLLLLAAAA!!!!

So despite my enthusiasm toward the general idea of my blogging I have come to loathe it. Really I dread it more than the phrase "I found another cavity" but I guess its essential seeing as I forget my own name at times to my recollection of my adventures so here i go...

I enlisted in the second school 'field trip' by bus to Valencia this past weekend with the rest of my fellow unconscious classmates at the ungodly hour of 8 AM. The ride there was so quiet the bus driver could have heard me cough from twenty rows back. An 8 AM wake up call in Madrid is the equivalent of 4 AM one in America: humans become mute, eyes are at half mast, and the idea of walking seem father fetched than getting me to eat meat. Four and a half uncomfortable hours and unforeseen sleeping positions later we arrived in the land of oranges. If Madrid, Sevilla, and Barcelona had a child it would look like Valencia but less clean. When we first arrived at Expo Hotel ( at first mention of the hotel name I was convinced we were taking up residence in a Costco) I could have sworn I fell asleep and the bus drove us to Vegas. Not Bellagio fountains and amusement parks Vegas but the off the strip kind.... yeah. Naturally there was a Hercules size Corte Ingles surrounding it on all sides just so you remember they own the country. Thank goodness it turns out that where we were staying was the eye sore calle of what turned out to be a beautiful city.

My thought process regarding the trip went as follows: southern spain, beach town, TANNING! and it ended there. I had little to no intention of absorbing more Spanish culture or getting off my beach towel for that matter. I can thank my failure to check the weather report for my complete and utter incorrectness. So after I divorced myself from the idea of seeing this supposed "sun" people speak of, I decided that exploring the city for 20 out of 24 hours of each day was a good backup plan. Now I don't know if any of you have traveled with my friends Alicia and Rachael but if you have, you know they mean business. Groggy wake-up calls at 7 AM demanding I come down to the continental breakfast before we hit the local produce market were made. A trip to the aquarium and Arts and Science center was made in which I learned things about blue whales I never wanted to know. I even went to the Falleras museum of Las Fallas where I viewed paper mache art pieces that looked like a satanic Walt Disney had designed them.

Once a year the city puts on a festival/parade/fireworks show/mob scene called Las Fallas. They spend 500,000 euro each on artists to create styrofoam and paper mache floats that could rival the Empire State Building in grandeur. Then on the final night of a week long Mardi Gras type celebration they burn all of them in the street as a cultural screw you to how short and fleeting life is. Sounds like a good use of time and money to me. Call me ethnocentric but I also fail to grasp their love of fireworks. They treasure explosives with the same enthusiasm that Americans have for their dogs. Baby pyro Spaniards still in diapers can be found taking delight in putting their own fireworks show with other Rugrats while the mothers laugh and smoke off in the distance. I get nervous if I light a candle and I'm twenty-one. The boys in our group took to the prevalence of the unnervingly loud hobby famously, one boy even lighting one off in his mouth and charring his nose. I really am among brilliant minds here. The whole weekend was and endless noise of what sounded like cars backfiring, at one point during an outdoor lunch I yelled " the Redcoats are coming, the Redcoats are coming". Now theoretically when the option of a three and a half hour bike tour came up I thought, 'count me in!' and also a bit of ' will there be training wheels?' While the bike tour was one of the best blatantly tourist activities we agreed to, I havn't walked right since. Throw me a cane and I could pass for a patient in the geriatrics department. I also took a blow to my self esteem when the bike tourguide asked if we ( Alicia, Rachael and I) were Canadian due to our matching plaid flannel shirts ( result of an impulse buy due to cheap prices and lack of a jacket at the time).... we said sure. I havn't worn the shirt since. Now that I look back I guess we did look a little too much like Paul Bunyan fans.

All in all the trip was one of the best I've taken and the paella and bunelos will be missed. From this point its off to London, Paris, Barcelona, Florence, and Greece, oh my! Until then.... MISS YOU ALL AND LOVE YOU!!!!!!! xoxoox

un besito

Chrissy




A Falla




expressing my love for the farmer's market



Arts and Science's Museum




proud to be Canadian

Fast Times at Suffolk HiGH!

You´re probably wondering (or not)why I have taken to blogging an unusual amount recently and there is a simple and logical explanation: midterms. That wonderful time of the year where people get edgy from caffine libations and showers are scarce or nonexistent. Seeing as the immaculated well dressed professors of Spain only believe in resting the fate of your existence on two exams it is wise to at least open a book. Take off the plastic wrapper at minimum. My solace from the nightmare came in the form of a phi bear named Erika Gates.To no ones surprise she brought the sun with her under some alliance with Mother Nature for the weekend all the way from Barcelona. Upon her midnight arrival and the departure of my roommates for an endless parade of feathers and face paint they call Carnival in Cadiz, Erika and I made it our mission to explore without plan or agenda. Our carpe diem mentality lead to the most memorable weekend to date.

I began by showing her all of the must sees of Madrid: our kitchen, the museum of jam, and the place where a psuedo Chubacca almost attacked me. Naturally she was very grateful for my extensive expertise of the historic city. A postre and about fourteen unfamiliar blocks later fate led us to the Palacio Real ( also known as where the royals used to reside). All of a sudden the White House looked like an apartment. My attraction to the big and gaudy led us to tour the 3000 room crib, a location I kept referring to as my summer home to Erika. I was entirely amused with the siblings in front of us in line who tested our patience by having a face off on who would pay the entrance fee. The posh female´s argument lay in her payment of the taxi and the male´s that if her addiction to Burberry would dissolve there wouldn´t be a problem. Gotta love family. After Sid caved to Nancy in submission we finally made it to what my Aunt Marcia would deem Mecca. Now I have seen ¨The Tudors¨and mastered the tale of Christopher Colombus sailing the ocean blue but you just don´t get it until you have five feet from the royal throne that the hideously wealthy and equally ugly Ferdinand sat so many years ago your head hurts to think about it. Each room was themed something that had to have been picked out of hat: porcelain, silver, gold, wood, tapestry, wallpaper, The Simpsons, and even one dedicated to Cristiano Ronaldo. Okay so I was making up the last two. I acquired a neck strain thanks to whoever decided to put a masterpeice of art work for each ceiling in existance. There also appeared to be more chandelliers than chairs, and lets just say there was no shortage of places to sit. I left feeling about as wealthy as the homeless man that had made a pass at me the day before. We spent most of the rest of the day strolling down streets pretending the backpacks and blonde hair weren´t dead give aways we didn´t fit in. We came across a beautiful church that practically forced you to pay tithe just for looking at it, many parks all named El Jardin that make Memorial Park look like a sandbox, and due to my magnetic pull to that black cup of bliss, ended at a coffee shop.

In Madrid there exists an outdoor (indoor by way of glass enclosure)marketplace called El Mercado San Miguel. If you are a fan of bread, cheese, chocolate, or any form of food it is a must see. If the 45 minute wait for a gourment platter of cheese I could not pronounce is any indication of it popularity, it lives up to the hype. Since you had a better chance of solving world hunger than finding a place to sit, we took cover under a heating lamp that Erika had to later physically remove me from. Naturally I dragged her for my 238573463859474 trip to the Prado after, the likelihood that the security guards will anticipate my arrival during free hours is good. The one that takes the tickets name is Carlos.

Me, Erika and a long lost Alpha Phi named Michella who is a teacher in Madrid had a farewell dinner at Lateral, ones of the few places you can get a recognizable salad in Chueca. Setting a personal record for longest dinner at three and a half hours, we talked about everything from our futures (eeeepppp!) to the theme for Skit this year, don´t worry I wont write it : )It was an ideal end to a quintessential weekend.

On Wednesday upon finishing a poorly constructed midterm, my roommate Julia and I decided we would navagate our way home via walking, an ambitious attempt. A few Zara and Mango pitstops later we were almost home when we discovered a mob scene infront of a theatre showing the musical appropriately named "El Musical". In a moment of sheer genius we decided to buy a ticket to the musical that looked like it was directed by Baz Luhrmann. Half an hour later squeezed into the fire hazard that was the nose bleed section, the three hour entertainment began. It was a collection of popular songs in English and Spanish (renditions of Britney Spears and Celine Dion took place) were put to a soap opera inspired plot line. This is Spain mind you so they were forced to push the risque limits and mixed things up with a DJ and disco ball combo in the lobby at intermission. Best three hours of my life. The audience seemed to be in a karaoke competition with the performers and the audience was winning in terms of volume. This was not a group of middle aged women singing to Abba at Mamma Mia. This was a Guns N Roses concert. An unusual and unforgettable reward for surviving torture week.


El Palacio Real




El Mercado San Miguel


El Formagerie



Walking without purpose


Phis Around the World

BonJOUR Geneve!

The Alps



Bonjour family and friends!!!! So my reputation has preceded me not to sound too smug and obnoxious but I am now being scolded if I wait longer than a week to update my blog, they like me they really like me. So as most of you know who stalk my facebook, correspond with me through email, or have ever gotten your teeth cleaned by my mother, I recently went to the land of Swiss Army knives, Toblerone, and the Alps. That´s right I went to Portugal. Only kidding, I had the privilege of going with other hard core backpackers like myself Rachael, Alicia, and Christa Lee to Geneve, Switzerland (fact: the details are not for your benefit but for my memory or lack there of). My first flight on a discount air Easy Jet went less than smoothly thanks to my genetically inherited paranoia. I spent the better part of the flight cutting off the circulation in Christa Lee´s hand and probing her with questions like ¨do you think the flight was so cheap because its the pilot´s first time flying?!¨ There wasn´t even turbulance.
Yes my inner nature girl was truely let loose with morning trips to the coffee machine conveniently located on the first floor of my hostel and using the above ground metro system any time the idea of walking was brought up. In my head the word hostel evokes images of PE locker room changing areas and Dodger Stadium bathrooms. I was prepared to sleep cuddling my purse like a safety blanket. If my stereotypical notion of a hostel is indeed accurate then City Hostel Geneva is the Ritz Carlton of the cheap accomodations world. They had flatscreens playing MTV, they had an internet cafe, they had private rooms, they even had heat (something my residence in Madrid cannot boast more times than not)! Granted we were the only guests checked in under the age of 80 making it somewhat of a geriatrics hot spot but my dismay was quickly quieted by the discovery of Switzerland´s greatest creation: museli. It looks like granola but the resemblance ends there, the taste is far superior. The hazelnut flavor was quite literally my life support sustaining me after it was made apparent that something as lower tier and repulsive as a McDonald´s burger costs as much as 12 franks (roughly 12 US dollars).

Spending four days there our trip was virtually a what NOT to do guide of Switzerland. I could make a living being the antithesis of Rick Steves. Somewhere between booking our flight and scanning tourist websites we failed to read that if you come to Switzerland before March or April bring a good read because nothing will be open. April is when tourist season ( thats not just an expression) begins so don´t expect to see the Jet dau fountain, take a tour of the United Nations, take a gondola up the Alps, or go wine tasting. We should know, we tried every one of these without success. But when youre in Switzerland its hard to complain and there is no such thing as an off season for shopping, eating, and frequenting parks. Not even the unfamiliar falling snowflakes could stop us from spending the day about the quiet town. Against our will we were forced to leave on Valentine´s Day, a holiday I discovered was universal when I was flooded with flowers on the street and an offering of two heart shaped chocolates was made to me by the coffee barista at the airport. The simulated hospitality was all very romantic. All in all the food was good but don´t expect to have money to go on living after youre through, the french incomprehensible and most likely tied to the holier than thou attitude of some locals, and the mountains too beautiful to explain without pictures. Until next time I miss and love you all!!!!!

un besito

carmen san diego




Making My Political Mark



Neutral Pride

Manana No Salgo

HOLA friends and family!!!! I know you have been agonizing over my absence from the blog world so youre entertainments back!! Shout out to Lauren who took to rereading the previous posts out of boredom. So we are in our fourth week here which means according to the counselors and staff we should be throwing ourselves off buildings and crying in supermarkets anytime now. Don't worry aside from tearing up at the sight of a much needed morning coffee I'm doing just fine. Your very own Carmen San Diego has been taking in the local sights the Madrileno way: in an overbearingly large firecracker red double decker tourist bus. Which wasn't ALL THAT embarrassing till I fell down the flight of stairs that takes you to the top and snuck out the back exiting a round of applause. Other fanny pack worthy outings I've made include the famous flea market El Rastro or as I've affectionately deemed it: the rat race. You are surrounded on either side by items no one should ever buy from a vender in a Led Zepplin t-shirt. You have no say in the matter of what direction you are going in, the herd moves you as they see fit.

This past Saturday my roommate removed my covers and yelled in my ear enough to drag me to the quaint town of Segovia about an hour and half outside Madrid by bus. Wondering what it looks like? Open up a picture book from Sleeping Beauty and check out the castle, there you go I saved you a trip. I've tossed around the word 'moat' before but never have I actually almost fell down into one. Also home to the first aqueducts which they still use as their water system, sure beats Brita. In the end I thanked my roommate for waking me up and apologized for hitting her.

So since my brain works in an organized choas manner I will proceed to list the youthful knowledge and sage advice I have gained thus far:

1. the phrase "Spanish Internet" is an oxymoron. I have a cellphone that works on higher speed connection. This has also been a determining factor in the frequency of my posts... lo siento
2. the invention of elevators or escalators is lost on the Spanish, I've taken to repeating the mantra "only five more steps" and 9293405729 steps later I'm there
3. dinner time in an all girls boarding house resembles that of the running of the bulls in a place not too far from where I am... it is eat or be eaten, the suggestion of snacks has come up
4. wearing a t-shirt that reads "I LOVE NERDS" is equivalent to asking the locals to mock you.

Ok I was planning on writing more but the Starbucks employee is making eyes that scream I want to go home.

I leave this weekend Geneva Switzerland so until then...

Besos

Chrissy


Roommates at The Rastro


SOL


Retiro Sundays