After an overnight train to Frankfurt, waiting around in Chicago all day, I've finally made it back home (with a sweet tax refund from the Spanish government to boot.) If you're heading to Madrid anytime soon, you might check out a few favorite places. And while you're at it, why don't you join the community as well?
If that's not your thing, then I have a few other choice links that may provide some sort of information and/or entertainment:
Vegan Foodism - Pretty self-explanatory, no?
No Good For Me - Witty fashion/pop culture blog.
Or maybe you want to read:
Or perhaps you'd much rather find the closest body of water and relax. In any case, thanks for reading, and wish me luck as I prepare for the next chapter. As a friend says, "Viva poor grad student life!"
So I've had my fair share of convivencia troubles, including getting ripped off on gastos, a windowless room, and having to withhold certain bodily fluids as my roommate got it on in her room. You see, I must traverse it in order to reach the facilities.
After a trimester or so of preparation, most of my second-years at my school finally took their Trinity spoken English exams today. I say "most," because there were a few kids who weren't prepared to even sit in on a first-level interview, who have difficulties even in Spanish, and stare at you blankly when you ask their name or their age. At the extreme end of the pole, there were a handful of children who took the level three exams. The rest sat in on level two's.
Although I still have a month left in the program, I've been preparing for my impending departure. I neatly folded the winter clothes I'm planning to put in the Caja Verde box I got from the post office, the very same one I'll get around to mailing once I figure out where to get packing tape. Of course, this should be a painless, stress-free errand but if like me you were unsure of the correct term (
By chance, I browsed through a copy of 20 Minutos, one of the free dailies handed out at the metro, on the way to work. It's sad to say, but I'm usually not alert enough in the morning to glance at anything but headlines succinctly describing faits divers. A crime here, a scandal there. There will be partly cloudy weather and perhaps yet another celebrity will adorn their child yet another ultra unique name.
If I'm running out of a select item--something easily portable--I usually stop by the Mercadona on my walk home from the metro station. Today was a slight change, as I didn't limit myself to just the necessities. After months of eyeing them in stores, I finally caved and bought my first package of Filipinos, mainly due to curiosity, but also, um, because of that publicidad featuring Mom and Dinosaur Jr. (not the band).
It's hard to be depressed when it's ridiculously beautiful outside. Since I've been kind of--natch, mostly--down on myself as well as my time thus far in Spain, I thought I'd do a complete 360 and attempt to cheer up a bit by presenting my scant readers a list of some of my personal Madrid favorites:
After work today, I headed to the airport to file a claim for a lost item through Air Europa. I went against my own will, let's say, and only because I had been given the telephone run around the previous night, passed on to one office from another. I must've asked for Lost and Found a million times, and was constantly referred to Luggage Services, who kept passing me to a different office. 
Semana Santa can't come any sooner. You can tell that everyone--from the staff to the children--are ready for a break. I don't doubt that there's some sort of sordid telenovela-ish tale going on at about every school, as there's definitely been a fair share of intrigue at mine. And everyone is painfully aware that, unfortunately, no drama is complete without preconceived notions, miscommunication, and outright exaggerations. An "us" against "them," and lately, "me" against "you" mentality that's slowly festering the halls.
Spring seems to have sprung prematurely, and as foul a mood as I have been in lately, it hasn't take long to desist. Indeed, I often feel guilty if I dare to do nothing, overcome with the concept of "wasting time." Why have I not yet been to Sevilla? Gijón? 
Being somewhat of a film fan, I thought that attending a festival would be one of the ultimate in cinephilic acts (besides making my own movie, of course). The ones in Cannes and Venice are both private, and though I lived in close proximity for many years, I had never made to Telluride or Sundance. Nor did I make to San Sebastian last year, having arrived in Spain only few a days after the festival closed. So when a chance to spend a long weekend at one of what the 
After giving myself a runaround in the S-Bahn, I finally made it to the hostel I'd booked for the night. A quarter to midnight is still early in Spanish for terms, but being on the plane for a few hours, schlepping my luggage up and down flights of stairs, I was quite eager to crawl into bed. I trudged sleepily to the hostel entrance a few doors down, only to be informed by the sign that if no one was at reception, I oughta backtrack and check with the folks at the corner cafe which had the same owners.
As much as I may appreciate "fashion" and "style," I'm actually quite afraid to go shopping. Afraid of entering the store, of clerks approaching me, of me approaching them, of the other shoppers, of trying on clothes. You get it; the whole experience makes me more nervous and paranoid that I usually am. And in the month since the rebajas (sales) have started, I've grown increasingly wary of jamming into high-street shops like Lefties, H&M, and Sfera, trying to stock up on last season's goods at sharply-reduced prices. Indeed, even when it's not rebajas time, the shops can be like almost as asphyxiating as going to 
Since 
Whenever someone asks which languages I speak fluently, I hesitate to respond. What is meant by fluency? What kind of communication(s) does it involve? Solely oral communication or literacy as well?
I spent the last weekend in Córdoba and when I came back, I had a room. I also had a last unpleasant (financial) surprise from my ex-roommates, but nothing could really hold me back from the thought of high-tailing it out of there. So, the apartment is at the opposite end of the city from work, and so, I have to walk through the roommate's apartment to get to the bathroom. The location is closer to places where I actually hang out, everything is new-ish, IKEA-ish, the walls are a cheery yellow, and the roommate herself seems clean-ish and responsible. Both she and the landlady agreed to let me move in a week earlier, so more points to them.
I've never pegged myself as a romantic--or as unbearably bourgeois, for that matter. At least, not until I found myself wandering around Plaza Santa Barbara and C/Lagasca, for example. There, looking at beautiful wrought-iron doors and up at soft glows from behind willowing textiles, I felt a tinge of envy for the imagined cosiness. There, my ideal place, my home away from home, a respite from the hustle and bustle in the city, still within the city.
