Chrissy Goes to Madrid: 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.