The Wal-Mart Blues

While my time here in Santiago has been great, and I have yet to experience gut-wrenching homesickness, (don't worry, Mom, I'm sure it will happen soon, and you'll be the first person I call crying) I find myself missing one very large, fairly priced, filled to the brim with the toothless place from Kansas.

Wal-Mart. I miss Wal-Mart.

There were some that thought I would never say this, but, Oh, the convenience and prices!! The selection! The checkers who bag things for you!

I'm in serious Wal-Mart withdrawl.

The best grocery store here is a 15-20 minute walk from my home. I still can't find sugar. As far as I can find out, it is only sold in tiny packets for coffee. The aisles are tiny, aka Katie and I being mauled by half-crazed Spanish housewives on a mission has become normal.

We're on the Santiago diet plan, better known as the "choose your food carefully, because you have to carry it, your school bag, and balance an umbrella: Do you really need those cookies?"plan.

But, we're being very health and money conscious girls and making most of our meals, saving that money for the exorbitant prices of hard alcohol. I think that last part of the sentence may have discredited the first, but whatever. We're getting quite a reputation in our house for being good cooks, after the especially popular chicken fried rice night. Don't worry, we took photographic evidence.

Sadly, we do this for almost every meal we do that is borderline acceptable. I think we're starting to weird out our Spanish roommates, but Juan uses a little soccerball placemat whenever he eats, so I just dare him to comment.

I think we'll be going out to eat tomorrow night, though. We have no classes on Fridays, so we'll be starting the weekend early. We also didn't have class today. As you can tell, the schedule here is really beginning to be overwhelming.

I hope all is well at home, and that you're all remembering not to take Wal-Mart for granted as I did as a young woman. I have indeed learned the errors of my ways. I will return to the States a reformed woman, standing in the flourescent-lit aisles of Wal-Mart, one large tear of joy slowly making its way down my face...

God has it in for me.

These past two days have been bad. By bad, I mean EPIC BAD DAY.

Yesterday, I went shopping. I looked out the window, saw it was raining (like always), considered not going, but thought to myself, "No, Allison. You need to go. You're in Spain. It's always going to rain, you can't spend your time here waiting for weather to clear up. GO!" You know how people say to listen to what your inner conscience is telling you? Well, I smothered mine, duct taped its mouth, and merrily continued on my way.

I had a successful evening of power shopping and stopped at my friend Jen's place to leave my bags before going out to eat. It was then that I noticed my pocket where I keep my wallet felt disconcertingly light. And empty. I began a frantic search of all of my bags, Jen's room, the stairwell, but nothing appeared. My trusty friend Katie Cook headed back outside with me to retrace our steps, going to every store we visited previously.

It's at this time that I would like to mention that apparently a hurricane was forming off the coast. While my city isn't close to the ocean, it's close enough that the weather is severely affected. What this meant to me was during my hour long scouring of the city, gale force winds were thrashing my coat against my legs and neck, roofing tiles were crashing down onto the street around me, and my umbrella, my poor poor umbrella, sucuumbed to the wind in a tangled, tortured mess.

So, now I'm in the middle of a hurricane-like rainstorm, umbrella-less, and have not found my wallet with all of my credit cards and drivers license inside. I am told I need to go to the police station to make a report.

Good 'ol Katie and I valiently stumble off into the darkness again, to find the police station. We arrive, looking the very picture of someone who's just been robbed: eyes frantic, hair plastered haphazardly across my face, gasping out broken Spanish. They tell me I need my passport. I don't have my passport with me. It's warm and dry in my house 15 minutes away. DAMNIT.

We go home, order pizza, collapse.

The next day, I wake up sweaty and aching. SURPRISE!! I have a fever, possibly from wandering for hours in a rainstorm! But, I still have to go to the stupid ass police station.

Katie drags my lifeless corpse to the station, where I have the pleasure of filing a police report completely in Spanish. This would be scary in English. Also, sidenote, apparently all of the good looking young men of Santiago work for the police force. In addition, there's not a lot of crime, so they had nothing better to do than lurk around, listening to the feverish american girl spluttering in Spanish about her little red wallet. How fun for me.

That was my last two days. I'm exhausted now. Going to go back to bed. But, for the record, despite being robbed, running around in a hurricane, losing my umbrella and my mind, catching a fever, and having a police record in Spain, I'm still glad I came!

I thought I would take a brief moment this post to elaborate on the actual history of Santiago de Compostela. Santiago is the ending for the famous Camino del Santiago, a pilgrimmage that many people still complete today. The famous Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela is the site where the pilgrims finish, and I have the joy of walking past it every day on my way to class.



Here's a picture of it at night:











Located behind the cathedral is a nunnery, often times you'll see little old nuns in their robes wandering the streets. In front of that is a plaza where our professor tells us hundreds of dead Roman soldiers are buried. Naturally, we sensed a photo op...










In a completely unrelated note, I have internet in my apartment now! If anyone wants to send me an e-mail, send it to alubarsky88@gmail.com, I would love to hear from everyone.

Hasta la proxima vez que escribo....

I'm practically a local.

As my assimilation into Spanish society continues, I have learned several ways to avoid being labeled a tourist.

#1- NEVER EVER SMILE IN PASSING. This is for you, Emily, lover of being friendly to complete strangers.
#2- Limit your wearing of color. Think black. Maybe gray on a sunny day.
#3-Use the absolute minimum of words to get by in situations. The more you talk, the more people catch on that there's something slightly...off.
#4- Nod when you are completely lost in a conversation. Spanish people love to talk, they'll steamroll through your lack of speech with gusto until you find a point that you understand what's happening.
#5- NO MAP. Wander with a purpose, even if you're completely, totally lost. Maps=bright, flashing sign that says, "I don't belong! Please take advantage!!"

By following these rules, I've become pretty comfortable so far in Santiago. Minus the fact that right now I'm in a cafe and have no idea how I got here, or how I'll get home. I'll think about that later.

Anyways, here are some pictures of my awesome piso (apartment) that I share with 11 other people from the United States, Colombia, Spain, Germany and even Kazakhstan. We have individual rooms, but share a kitchen, bathrooms and living area.

My room. Soooooooooo cold. While that window is beautiful, it lets in cold air and allows me to hear literally everything on the street below as I go to sleep. For example: A leaf blowing across the street. I'm not exaggerating, that happened last night.

The view from my room. I live in the Old Zone, which is much more picturesque and quaint than the the busier New Zone.

WE HAVE ARRIVED!!

After fighting through the absolute hell that was the Madrid Barajas airport, I have arrived in Spain. Arrived without luggage and clean clothes and deodorant, but arrived nonetheless!

My group and I had the great fortune of making history in the Madrid airport, taking part in the ONLY TIME IN HISTORY that the airport had to completely shut down, thanks to a freak blizzard. Trust me, it was less cool than it sounds. We spent 24 hours waiting in line, sleeping on linoleum and generally traveling like a nomadic tribe, forming group circles on the floor as we traveled from terminal to terminal.

Here's a picture of our tribe, hunkered down for winter:

Also, there's a good chance we are now famous, as we were interviewed and filmed by multiple crews. Apparently large groups of Americans sleeping on the floor of an international airport is strange...

But, I'm in Santiago now, and it's absolutely beautiful and charming. The whole "24 hours in an airport, 4 days without clean clothes" really bonded the group together. We have luggage now, so tonight will be the first time we see each other in different clothes and makeup. Honestly, I hope I still recognize people...