In the Thick of Things.

Hey baby faces! This post might seem a bit scatter-brained due to the lack of computer access, but I expect you to get the gist of things.

As soon as I stepped off the plane in Madrid I could feel my eyes open wide as if they were trying to climb out of the sockets and explore for themselves. My legs felt weak at first step, due to the 6 1\2 hour flight from Philadelphia to Madrid and the inconsiderate female passenger in front of me who clearly had something out for my kneecaps, but they everntually re-gained their composure as I proceeded to customs. Customs was different than I expected. With all of the terror in the world today, I thought the over-gelled Spanish Police would pin my lengthy self against the wall and search every crevass imaginable. Fortunately, I slipped through customs like a fish in your hand and took my newly stamped Spanish visa to the baggage claim.

I thought my bright blue bag was one-of-a-kind due to its unconventional color. However, I was wrong. It seemed as though every person on flight 3461 decided on a bright blue bag for their venture to Spain. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and watched the lonely bags pass one by one as they sat on the carousal waiting to be picked like the chubby kid at recess (Charlie Roherty). Eventually, I said, "hell with it," and started flipping over blue bags like they were dead bodies on a battle field until I eventually found mine.

My new friend Isaac and I then headed, in what seemed like slow motion, to the door that led outside of the airport. Unfortunately, I let my imagination get the best of me as we walked. All of a sudden I found myself taking the form of fictonal literary characters. The first was Lemuel Gulliver from Johnathan Swift´s Gulliver´s Travels, in which I opened the airport door and found myself to be a giant, almost 30 times the size of the Spaniards. They all pointed in fear as I left my addidas shoeprint on the tops of local cafes and cervecerias (these keyboards are different so you will have to excuse my lack of an accento on letters). Next, I took the form of Lenny from Steinbeck´s Of Mice and Men, and everything I touched died. Dramatic? Perhaps, but you must always prepare for the worst (anyways that is what Isaac´s Traveler´s Guide told me).

Turns out, I had my imagination working for nothing. Beyond the doors were a long line of white taxi´s, and one dark-haired japanese woman frantically waving a sign that read, "La Fundacion de Jose Ortega." Isaac looked at me and wiped his brow because we both envisioned a more strenuous experience. His was probably more realistic than mine. Yuki, the woman with the sign and the coordinator of the Fundacion, herded us over (biblical style) to the other students that were huddled together.

I introduced myself in English to a couple of people in the group because I wasn´t ready to fully commit myself to the new language. All of the students were very nice, and most of them were from Minnesota. However, there were a couple of students from the University of Colorado, the University of Nebraska, and the University of Notre Dame.

Before we departed on the hour bus ride from the Madrid airport to Toledo, I made a quick $-€ exchange. It was defeating to see first hand how little the dollar gets you these days. Thanks corporate scum! Even my pockets were offended as I walked to the bus with a whopping €68 from my $100.

The bus ride over was extremely mellow because most of the students were jet-legged from the seven hour time change. However, one group of students directly in front of me were wide awake, and surprisingly jovial given the circumstances. There were four of them, and they were bundled up from head to toe in black. black hair. black sunglasses. black clothing. I wanted to ask if they knew Keanu Reeves, but I thought it was best to leave it in my brain. They were playing with a deck of cards that I had never seen before, and they were speaking Spanish faster than I had ever heard it. I could only make out a couple of words at a time, until eventually they turned to me, "Quieres jugar?" I told them I didn't know the game so they explained it to me (slowly). Before I knew it, I was deep into a game of "brisca," which turned out to be the Spanish equivalent of Euchre, but with a couple of different rules. My new brisca friends hailed from Puerto Rico, and they were coming to study in Spain just like me. However, their native language is Spanish so I'm sure they felt more comfortable than me.




From what I've seen so far, the puerto ricans are some of the nicest people I have ever met. It is amazing that all of them are also fluent in English. However, It makes me feel a bit incompetent.

They have turned out to be my good friends and my walking Spanish-English dictionaries!

I'm Here (for you!),

Coop



p.s. sorry this end was a bit rushed, but I have my first class soon! More about my host mom, giraffes, and Davy later. All different stories, all rediculous.


NOS VEMOS.