Hello from my new Home

Yep. That's right. Hello from my new home. I've changed host families.

How to explain...
When this change became definite, about one month ago, I thought it would be very important to say that this was not my choice. I was somehow conditioned into thinking that choosing to change host families is a bad thing. That it translates into giving up. That it means you didn't try hard enough, and the things that didn't work out were your fault. Now I have completely changed my point of view.

AFS reccommends that you tough out any discomfort with your first host family for at least a month. Even after that, they're iffy about letting you change. If you're really really unhappy, or your family isn't feeding you or something (never happens), of course they'll let you go. However, new host families aren't always the easiest to find.

First off, recall that my old host family initially signed up to host me only for three months of my ten. Three months are up. Now, take note that I'm going to write this blog with a bit of bluntness. I remember when I was little and read student blogs I would be really confused when a post popped up filled with obscurity and lack of details that mainly said 'I live here now.' I believe that AFS students should know the hard facts about this process. They should be aware of the strong likely-hood of this occurence.

I'm not going to lie and say that the only reason I changed families was because of the end of my time limit. My family and I, we just...didn't get along. At the beginning, our main problems were lack of communication by both parties, the resistence to not appear perfect at all times, my lack of language skills, and the fact that basically the only reason they chose to host me was to learn English. We did stupid things that grew and grew and finally, a month later, when we didn't address our problems, exploded.

For example, I always arrived at breakfast fully dressed. I didn't know if I should wear my pajamas or not. I didn't ask. After awhile it got awkward. Honestly, my Spanish was so bad, I don't thing I could have gotten the question across. But my mind was set on always speaking in Spanish for learning more quickly. My host family always wanted to speak English with me. I didn't. When I joked my way into making them speak with me only in Spanish, they stopped talking to me all together. That was weird.

Later on, I tried and tried and tried to salvage our relationship. Asked how their day was. Made them Brownies. Even spoke in English with them (my Spanish suffered).
It didn't catch. The kids and I weren't friends, and our views and lifestyles were too different to mingle. My second month they sat me down and said, 'look, you're going to leave next month.' And that was that. We had sort of been talking about me maybe staying longer, but there were all these complications that are or are not excuses. I will never know.

My last week was--remember, I'm not holding back--pretty awful. We yelled and fought a lot. No one was happy. I was waiting to go.

After about a month of hard searching on AFS's part, we found a wonderful new family. That's where I am now.

I'm living in Las Rozas, a well-known little shopping town twenty minutes outside of Madrid. I have a Mother, a Father, a Sister, 23, and a Brother, 18. I could not be happier here. I love my host family so much. I arrived a little more than a week ago, but I feel like I've know my family my whole life. They are the most caring, sweetest, most welcoming people I have ever met. Thank you so so much for taking me in as your daughter. I cannot stress enough how comfortable I am here, and this time for real. With my first family I sort of tricked myself into thinking that I was happy so I wouldn't complain, but here, I am fenomenal. We are the host-family ideal. And even my new grandparents have already seen me in my pajamas.

I still go to my same school, because I couldn't bare to leave my awesome friends. Everyday I wake up at 6:45 and leave the house at 7:45. (Waking up before eight is considered ungodly here. In North Carolina, I woke up at 5:30.) It takes us about 25 minutes in car to the metro stop Moncloa. From there I take three different trains for about 17 minutes to my school, or, if there's a strike in the Metro, my father can drop me off in his car. I arrive with minutes to spare until the school doors close at 8:28. For the return home I run and take the same Metro route back to Moncloa and catch the bus. The bus takes about 45 minutes. I eat lunch with my host brother at four, two hours after school gets out. The commute doesn't really bother me. I'm proud to say that I take at least three modes of transportation each day. And I always carpool!

I'm settled in well after my change, but, that said, there's still one question that is left to be answered: does changing host families ruin your exchange experience?
I'd say no. Now I believe that changing is always for the better. Just look at how much I have improved. If you're not happy with your family, try. If you've tried, change. There's no shame in it. It's not always your fault. At least you tried. That's the important part. If my host family hadn't 'kicked me out,' I probably would have asked to leave.

Does changing host families change your exchange experience?
Hell yes. If you're in a foreign country right now, and the biggest problem you are having is the language, you're the luckiest kid in the world.

If your life at home isn't good, you're whole year won't be as good as it could be. Sure, you may really enjoy school. But school only lasts for seven hours. It's possible that you love your friends. But they're not with you when you're with your HF. The people who you are living with have a huge impact on your life. But that doesn't always mean a bad thing. Obviously I have enjoyed these last three months, but not for the reasons that I should have. Your family may have good parts about them, but if they're not the parts that should be good, there is something going on that's not...good.

For example, with my old HF, I had a lot of independence. It was sort of like living on my own. If I needed to get somewhere, I'd better figure it out on Google maps. If I needed to apply for my visa, well, someone's gonna be doing a lot of paperwork! Need shampoo? Plan your scheduele after school to give you time to do that. Make mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving? Better go buy some potatoes and learn how to chop things. Oh, buy a Monthly-Metro-Card, you say? Don't speak Spanish, you say? Only five tries and two weeks. I did my metro card using only hand signals and the word 'gracias.' My time with them in the center of the city taught me to rely on myself and my abilities. At age fifteen I didn't have the help of my parents, who were 4,000 miles away. With this new family, however, I'll let them take care of some of my paperwork. It's good to be babied :)

Of course your experience will also change in the way that you see two different ways of life. Two different groups of friends, school, or, if the move is big, different cities. Does this ruin your time? No. It just toughens you up a little bit. I promise you'll come away from it a little bit wiser. A little more mature. It's actually fun. Change and different points of view are always good things.

To be perfectly truthful, about 8 of the 18 in the Madrid area have changed, are changing, or are going to change host families soon. It's a lot more common than we thought. Now you know. The host families in America are usually really good. Sometimes, though, in all of the world, things don't work out. It's just how it goes.

Now I'm glad that I changed. If you're thinking about changing, I'd say go for it. Also, chicos at home who are going abroad in the following years, please keep in mind that this doesn't always take place. Sometimes you get matched perfectly. Sometimes you don't. You shouldn't worry, but I know that this is a FES's worst nightmare. There will be a lot of things that don't go as you imagined. And there's nothing you can do. But that's life for yah.

There's nowhere to go but forward. I'm happy here in Las Rozas. I'm better, and I'm ready to make the best of the seven months that I have left.

Update! Strictly Positive

So! As a foreign exchange student, I have had the chance to implore my fiercely aggressive positive attitude almost every single day. (Like right then, when I didn't know if 'everyday' was one word or not, I fought off the climbing anger and was excited to use 'every single day' instead. Isn't life FUN?
Here are some quick--just kidding, elaborating is one of my favorite things to do. You'll thank me, World, when there's an apocalypse and the new alien race knows a bit about our mundane human thoughts--updates that will be STRICTLY POSITIVE because complaining is bad. Take a look:

I dream in Spanish. I don't always understand what my dreams are saying in Spanish, but at least it's Spanish. I feel like my mind is playing a trick on me, letting my subconscious know that I speak so much more than I think, dangling it just out of use. I also can think in Spanish if I force myself to, but it makes my mind a significantly boring place. I understand songs and jokes now, which is a major accomplishment. I understand everything, after three months, but I don't comprehend it in a conversational tone. For example, if you're talking with a person I can get that there's a woman named Sandra who bought a green dress at this store next to this landmark, but it doesn't read out in my mind like "Oh! The other day Sandra and I were at Berkley's on Serrano..." Conversations with me are a task, depending on the time of the day and the place. If I'm tired, or if I've been speaking consistently for three hours, my grammar does not have well at. When I'm in school or speaking with friends my language skills go down. However, on the couch, relaxed, casually chatting with my liason and her son, my Spanish is almost flawless. I think I've figured out every verb tense.

Thanksgiving in a foreign country! After days of calling it the wrong thing, a Spanish friend was nice enough to point out that it's actually Acción de Gracias not Día de Gracias. This is a positive thing because I looooove it when people correct my language. For the holiday (which I have realized is the most stupid and racist thing in the world) I bought a twenty Euro pumpkin pie from the American store here for my host family. This comes out to about twenty-six Dollars. Story of my Life. The Saturday after, we nifty AFS kids in Madrid planned a party with all of us from around the world. It was fun, I got to wear my heels for the first time in Spain, and I managed to transport large yogurt containers full of Mashed Potatoes, two cans of Cranberry Sauce, and salad for twenty people on the metro. Yay for memories.

I live IN Madrid. Not twenty minutes outside, not on the outskirts, IN the city. Like, walk outside and there are skyscrapers. A major Metro stop. A tourist attraction. A 300 Euro restaurant and a famous hotel. The area I live in is like the West Village of New York, and is a really nice residential zone. (More on comparing Madrid to the Sacred Land later.)

I have had an eye-opening experience about the hidden American Mentality. It all started when, for whatever reason, I was being a typical teen and making fun of Canada with my friends. They were confused, because I kept on refering to my country as "America" instead of "The United States," which is what America is always called here. Somehow I explained to them that we never say the U.S.A. in America, and that, to me and the countries surrounding us, we are the America. My friends did not agree with me. I said that someone in Mexico or Canada would not consider themselves 'American.' My friends said that, qué sí! a South American person is from America, no? This is when I kind of started to see my faults, but I kept on fighting, intent on being right. I explained that for me SA and NA are two different continents, so that is also a different way of distinguishing us. In Spain, the western side of the world is all one thing. We went around the school and asked our South American friends if they were Americans. To my extreme disbelief, they responded, que sí! and moved on. I finally asked my friend from Canada here with AFS (really, America! Canadians aren't so bad! Not everything on South Park in true!) if she would identify herself as an American. She blushed, looked away, and said that yes, of course she would. She explained to me that only United Stateons have this idea that only we are America. That is one of the reasons the rest of the world thinks my country is so stuck up and self centered. I went through my week in a daze, unable to overcome this incredible shock as I realized just how true some stereotypes are. This is on the positive list because I'm here on this journey to experience theses types of things.

Watching the Presidential elections from another country. The day after in school everyone came up to me excitidly and said "Vivian! Obama won!" I just nodded and smiled with them. I think they hoped they'd each be the first one to tell me. (Like I didn't stay up until four in the morning to see the results and blow off my homework the next day to research more in-depth analyzations. Pff.)

THE OTHER DAY A NATIVE CAME UP TO ME AND ASKED ME FOR DIRECTIONS. I WAS ALBE TO GIVE THEM TO HER. IN SPANISH. ACCOMPLISHMENTS!!!!!!!!

I have a few teachers who are really really nice to me. The other day my Geo professor came up to me while we were taking a test that counts for most of our grade, saw that I was struggling, and said "YOU TAKE HOME AND DO IN ENGLISH, OKEY? YOU THINK THAT BE BETTER?" I responded "yes." "OKEY. BUT YOU NO LOOK AT BOOK OR NOTES, YES?" Of course not ;)

I enjoy writing this blog. I know how much I relied on them when I was little and foreign exchange was a dream for years later, and how much they assisted me when I was pre-departure. It helps me get my thoughts together in a way that my private journal can't, and I like to trick myself into believing that other people read what I say, too. (Hey reader. Yeah. You.) I look forward to updating, even though it means English, but I see, from looking back, that I have a lot of things that I'm actually happy to relive as I document.

American Ambassador to Libya Christopher Stevens was an AFS student to Spain in his high school years. He was brutally killed while serving in Libya on 9/11. Nationally renond actress Gwyneth Paltrow went to Spain for the year when she was blond and 15, the same age as I am now. She married Chris Martin, lead singer of the band Coldplay and had the courage to name her child Apple. She speaks Spanish perfectly, learning while she was here. In what direction is my life going?

Pictures are coming soon!

The Three Stages of Exchange

Dear Future Exchangers, please please please try and listen during the AFS orientations. They do actually offer some helpful advice.

I remember, not too long ago, lounging in my chair, freaking out about what my monthly budget would be as I excitedly planned which host family gifts I would stuff into my suitcase, when a lady in a neon colored AFS tshirt lectured me about something called the 'three stages of exchange.' I toned in for a little bit, got the general gist, then went back to daydreaming with my fellow silly, ignorant, sweetly oblivious students awaiting departure. Basically, the lady said something like this: "so, you'll be really upset in November. And the holidays will be hard. But I promise! It'll get better!" I just looked at her and thought "yeah, yeah, sure. My exchange is going to be perfect. I've got it all planned out. Don't you worry about me." as I innocently imagined that sticks full of honey for my new family would survive a 4,000 mile journey across the ocean.

Now, thanks to this awesome recourse afswiki.org I have been able to refresh myself as to what the volunteer said. It is all so true.

Stage One:OMG I'm in another country! Finally! I've waited and waited, and I did this extremely long application all for This. Moment. Right. Now!
This is called "the Honeymoon Phase," named after that post-wedding fantasy vacation. Everything is great. You think that as you try your first churro, or you visit the Prado Museum, you are learning about culture. Each day is new and exciting. You just met your Host Family, there's a rainbow in the sky, you're hopeful that your year, or your marriage, will be great.
Hahahahaaha, ohh, me oh myah, I was so stupid. We all were. Marriage is a commitment. It's hard. You'll see. You'll see...

Stage Two: Culture Shock. The things that were fun and eccentric last month are now dumb and unfuncional. You are doubting your experience here, problems begin to arise, and your lack of language skills isn't cute anymore. It's hard. Going in to month number two, I knew to prepare myself, so my month wasn't as bad. The feeling of being aware that you are slowly slipping out of the honeymoon is terifying. Like seeing the wave before the Tsunami hits. (Okay, it's not that bad, but you get the idea.)
The stage that I am in now is...challenging. Somedays I don't want to get out of my bed in the morning. Somedays I can't wait to get my shoes on and go exploring. The attitude that I have is: What right do I have to complain? I'm living in the center of Madrid. I like my friends, my school, I have three meals on the table, one of the best AFS liasons in the world, a family back home who loves me, and, come on, tell me that 'foreign exchange student at age fifteen' won't look good on college applications. There are people in the world who have it so much worse than me. I'm living a fairytale.
Returnees told be to keep an open mind and to expect nothing. I thought I had. It's like with birthdays: expect to get no presents, so if you don't get anything, you won't be upset. If you do get something, you'll be even happier.
I expected to have a hard time making friends. It was easy for me. I was pleasantly surprised. I expected math class to be a piece of cake. It isn't. Now I'm failing. I expected a relationship with my host family to be effortless. It wasn't. Now I'm working extra hard. Sure, I did a good job with not expecting stupid things, like what time we would eat dinner and if I would have my own bathroom. But those don't matter. They were the things I was stressed out about pre-departure and surprised by in my first month, but now they don't matter. You cannot be prepared. But the fact that you signed up to subject yourself to these challenges shows that you will get through them. Not every teenager can do this, you know. Semester Arrivals in December: everything will work out in the end.

Stage Three: Acceptance than Departure. Great! I'm happy here. I speak the language. I overcame the trifles of the first two stages. This is my home, this is my family. These are the people who I call my friends. And now it's time to leave. Whaaaaaat?
I am not looking forward to leaving. I can tell that my return in America will be hard. How can you live life normally, like a stupid American Teenager, when you just survived a year as a cultural barrier-breaker!?!?!?!?!

What to take away from this? I wish I had paid more attention. I wish that I had stopped planning my fantasy for long enough to embrace reality and prepare for it. I wish that someone had sat me down, smacked me in the face, and forced me to stop fooling around in my Honeymoon and work on setting good foundations for my new life. I also want to be reassured that it WILL get better. I know that it will.

*A note to everyone*
If you are interested in hosting or going abroad this year, you should definitely start the application now! Sometimes the paper work can seem a little overwhelming, but it is worth it in the long run. Don't worry, AFS always extends the application deadline by two weeks, anyway. (Oops, they'll be mad at me for saying that. Hi to the Volunteer who stalks my Blog to make sure I'm not posting profanities!) I'd be happy to help in any way that I can. Good luck! Go for it!

*A note to my Spanish Friends*
If you all really read my blog like you say you do, and you do actually understand all of the English, prove it to me at school tomorrow by coming up to me in Recreo and saying "Sally Sells Sea-shells by the Sea Shore" so that I know you are not lying.

*A note to fellow bloggers*
Does anyone know how to indent paragraphs? Really. I can't figure it out. I'll share my secret about bullet points. Thanks bye.

Two Minor Epiphanies

I'm sorry for posting so often, but I think that what I'm about to say is important. I have had two (minor) epiphanies this week.

Epiphany 1)
I am like a baby. Everyday I'm exposed to news things. I am constantly learning language, society rules, and mannerisomes. I mostly copy what to do from my parents and siblings, and everyone around me is quick to correct if I make a mistake or if I can do something better. It's amazing that I'm absorbing information at every second of every minute of every day. The whole world, and things that more experienced members of the population find mundane, are innately fascinating for me. I can't talk very much, and sometimes it's hard to get my message across, but I just need to wait a little longer for it to get better. I know that what I am learning--right now, without even realizing it or meaning to--will prepare me for when I've been in this life for a little bit longer and I can communicate and behave as an adult. Some day soon, I will be a full-grown Spaniard.

This one isn't major enough to be a minor epiphany, but it deserves to be mentioned. The other day I was in English class, laughing my head off because my teacher can't make the hard 'x' sound. So, she'll go like: "Okey, classs. Turn to paje twee for ey-er-size A!" and I'd just crack myself up from the corner of the room. Then I realized that I can't always get the hard 'g' sound. Heh-neral probably sounds pretty funny to my English teacher, too, but no one in Spain has ever laughed at me before. Needless to say, I hung my head for the rest of the day and felt very humbled.

Epiphany 2)
The second one hit me as I was walking home from school. I'd made a routine by then--get out from colegio, walk to the main street, take my three cross-walks like clockwork, walk a bit more, arrive at home. One day, for no reason in particular, I decided to make a tiny change in my route. It was a minimal alteration: instead of walking under the cool shade of some building on the right side of the street, I decided to cross over to the left side of the street, and see what it was like to return home in the sun. I am so glad that I did. I was strolling along, looking at the path that I had obliviously taken countless times before, when I saw the faces of the buildings I had been walking next to.

There was a beautiful cathedral, just right there, just out of view. It would have been impossible for me to look up and appreciate the spectacle from my normal direction, but just from one little change I was able to see my daily life in a completely different, better way.

How does this tie in? You guessed it. Those who change their lives at a young age like mine will gain a wonderfully different view on the world. I'm learning a culture and a language--a whole culture!!! I can boast that I have friends not only from America and Spain, but from around the world with AFS. I have been connected with opportunities and outlooks that I never would have had access to if I had stayed in my small routine life in North Carolina, and I just know that somehow this will benefit me later on.

AFS has enabled me and more than 370,000 students around the world to share in this life changing experience. For that, I will forever be grateful.

15 Things I Have Been Asked Repeatedly...Since Arriving in Spain

Sorry for posting so often. I didn't think I would make this one, actually. It didn't occur to me that I would have a list of the same (ALWAYS THE SAME) questions I have been asked after I arrived in Spain, too. So, before I forget, here they are:

1) Have you been to New York? Europe sees America through the eyes of MTV, small town life, and Nueva York. They love it there. All of my friends have been, or want to go, or plan on (without doubt) living there when they are older. When I say that yes, I have in fact been to New York, they continue to ask me for how long, what did I see, what would I recommend. I swear they know the landmarks better than I do. NY isn't even our Nation's Capital, but that doesn't matter to Spain.

2) Do you watch Jersey Shore? At this question I have to resist hitting myself in the face. If you aren't familiar with it, Jersey Shore is a show on MTV that takes place on the shore of Jersey. A bunch of thirty-year-olds who are the bane of our society live together and talk about how much they party. Another big one is if life in the show Gossip Girl is anything like real life in the States. If you have ever watched the show Gossip Girl, you should be scared. I remember that I've read some sad statistic that MTV is broadcasted in more of the world than the national news. If all I knew about America was that we get pregnant at sixteen and cry if we don't get ridiculously expensive cars for our birthdays, I'd be a terrorist, too.

3) What, you're a Cheerleader! Are you in love with the Quarter Back? Can you do a flip? Were you Prom Queen? This is reality to them. No, we don't go to school to learn, we go for the football. Really, truly, all cheerleaders are beautiful and mean. I was Prom Queen (as a freshman) and the QB points to me while I'm on the top of the pyramid and then asks me to go steady with him. C'mon, America, get it right. Gosh.

4) Do you always eat and buy food on the streets? Jajaja, I've never actually been asked this one, but apparently this happens a lot to my American friends in Spain. I guess in movies Americans (usually played by Canadians) buy hamburgers from a street vender then refuse to sit down and eat like a civilized person.

5) Where are you from? "Los Estados Unidos." "While, obviously, but where in the States?" (I always get these mixed up. I'm actually really excited that people care enough to question me, but it takes a few tries for me to understand.) "Oh! Carolina del Norte." At this point they nod, like I have answered correctly. They like that I live somewhere where Spain has occupied. The only way I possibly could have answered better is to have said California or New York.

6) How long have you been here? Now I know that they're judging my Spanish. I think they get their answer from me confusing "how long WILL you be here" with the real question even after I finally say "one month."

7) How long will you be here? "A year." "Oh. No biggie. It's not that long." When I said one year in America, the person I was speaking with would grasp their heart and cross themselves. In Spain? A year? Meh.

8) Do you like Madrid? People really like asking me this in their broken English. I laugh and reply in Spanish to coax them into the other language, or, if I'm feeling generous, I'll grace them with an exaggerated Southern accent.

9) What kind of music do you like? This is important to them. I'm not sure why. Just answer "all kinds" then say yes to the bands they list so they think they have something in common with you.

These are things that I say often.

10) Where are we going? Donde Vamos? Eventually I learned to just go with it, my host family wasn't going to abduct me. "Hey, look! The Royal Palace!" "Yes, we're buying tickets." "...I knew that." I didn't. Buy, hey, the Royal Palace!

11) Where are we? "We're in a bank to pay the five dollars for your school." "...I knew that." I didn't. But, as I grew up a Girl Scout, I am always prepared with my purse to pay for my school and other random expenses. I think school is giving me a t-shirt.

12) What's your name? Quick, say your names as rapidly and slurred as you can! Okay: Garisidhwsa, Mercdhba, Johunodeuh, Quilsjs, Baniwetfo. It's okay. I wouldn't have remembered them, anyways.

13) What are we doing? This is reserved for school.

14) No, Gracias. No, Gracias. I would not like a fifth serving of pasta. No, Gracias, I do not want to smell your sandwich. No, Gracias. I don't care to decide if every boy in my grade is attractive or not.

15) Sí, Gracias. What else, really, can you say? Would you like a glass of wine with dinner?... ;)

Are you sure?

Oh, how quickly time passes! I've been here a month? Are you sure? But, when you think about it, one month isn't too long. I only have nine more.
Just want to remind everyone, I'm in Madrid, Spain as a foreign exchange student for the year with a program called AFS. Okay, good, got that down.
Some quick updates:

My Spanish is getting better. Yesterday I saw some friends of my host sister who I hadn't seen since my first few days, and they asked me if I thought my Spanish had improved. It made me realize: Well, yes. Actually, it has. I can speak with more confidence now, and I understand a lot more. I also get more of the accent, because I had been used to Spanish from South America, which is very different. Just don't count on an answer if you ask me a question. I'll probably laugh and say "Sí."

My English grammar is going down the drain. I spek...like dis..and I can't spell anymore. I'll be writing in English for no particular reason and I'll get to a word like 'surprised' or 'ticket' and I'll just stop and stare for literally a minute. What do you mean, sur-prised has an 'r' in front of the 'p?' Is it ticcet, tiket, tickit? The other day I misspelled 'chemistry' wrong about five times (I just did then, too) because in Spanish it's 'quimica' so I'm thinking that in English it's quimistry, then later than it's chememstrey. I'm scared for my grades when I get back home.

Being a foreign exchange student? Not really a big deal here. Everyone is more impressed that I'm from America than anything. Most of my friends have spent a month in England, or gone to camp in Germany or something like that. This is another of those 'maybe it's just because you're in Madrid' kind of things, because the citizens are used to foreigners on every street corner with all of the embassies and international schools. It's a pretty big city.

I can take the Metro. Alone. And walk around by myself at night. Today I walked the fifteen minutes to Sol to buy my books for school. Without the help of my parents. City Kid=Check.

Not everyone here thinks that Franco was such a bad guy. I don't really know why yet, but they seem to be in disagreement with the rest of the world's history books.

Everyone loves President Obama. I watched the first of the presidential debates on YouTube (it was on at three A.M. here,) because, yes, I know, I shouldn't be exposed to English for an hour and a half, but it's just one of those things that I had to do. I miss my campaign session TV. Until Governor Romney said in his schtick on the economy that he did not want to become as bad as Spain, no one knew who he was. Now the general public is pretty upset. All of the news papers absolutely slammed(took me four tries to spell 'absolutely' right) him in the International Section this morning. It was story after story about how much Romney messed up. If he is elected, his relationship here will not be a good one.

El Clasico was last night. For those of you who don't know, it's a soccer match between Real Madrid and Barcelona. The match, on top of being very important for fans, holds a lot of political tension because Real Madrid (my favorite team) represents the government and the crown, while Barça represents the capital of Catalonia (a district of Spain) and how Catalonia wants to separate from Spain and become its individual country. This is a big deal here, and it is very controversial for all. I watched with my very enthusiastic host family and their cousins. I think a tie (2-2) was the safest result for the stability of the country.

Returning to politics, you may have seen on TV some of the crazy protests going on throughout Spain recently. I don't pretend to fully understand everything yet, and maybe I'll post on it when I do, but I know that the Izquierda (left) party is mad at the Derecha (right) government and all of the cuts that they're making to public funding. If you have seen them, you know that La Policia beats the crap out of the protestors. I had joked with some AFSers about going to one, just because it's officially (three tries) part of the Spanish culture. I mentioned this to my host brother while we were hanging out with some of his friends in a park, and suddenly we were headed to La Plaza Neptuno to see a protest.

Now, let's clear some things up. Las Manifestaciones are not violent or dangerous until really late at night, and the news channels purposefully show the bloodiest parts. If the police is going after you, it's because you were stupid enough to provoke them. It's not a full out battle-field everyday.

Something that surprised me was that they're not organized at all. It's not like the Executive Vice-President of the Committee for the Wealth of Public Education and the Security of Democracy sent out a Facebook message and was like, "Hey, everybody! Meet up at La Plaza Neptuno on the 25th of September from five to ten. Memorize this chant and don't forget to pick up your signs at the fountain!"

It's more like "We're mad. At the Government, at the world, Romney, the economy; we heard that there are some people at this place and we think we're going to go."


There are a LOT of police as you approach the Plaza. The flashing blue lights, black padded policia, guns, everything. The plaza square was packed full of people, but we stayed on the outside of the crowd where it was safer. Basically you just stand around, chant things, take pictures, maybe climb up on some windows and tie up a sign or two. I'm glad I got to experience it, and I felt super bad-ass for being a local protester in Madrid. Enjoy.

Protest

Man, do I feel bad for the tourists staying there.

Climbin' on some windows.

Hey to Perth, Australia!

Spanish, School, Sports

I have been in Spain for two weeks. I don't want to count down my time here like I did for my departure, because I don't want to leave. This is one instance where the phrase "YOLO" could possibly be justifiable. Everything here has been great! I can't think of anything, really, that hasn't been fun, or interesting, or at least new. Of course, each day would be a lot better if I spoke better Spanish. My Spanish is not very good. I still have trouble with the difference between "mayor" and "mejor" and simple things like that. One day in my first week I mixed up the verb cargar "to charge," with the verb "cagar," and if you know what "cagar" means.... I ran around the house yelling "I need to cagar my phone! I need to cagar my phone!" I quickly learned the meaning of the verb. My host siblings thought it was very funny.

I know I'm strange in this, but I don't really get frustrated at my lack of language skills. Like when I'm helping my host family set the table and I can't remember the word for refrigerador, and I'm standing there going "ummm, ummmmmmm" and everyone is staring at me and the person I was just introduced to is thinking that I'm stupid and the teacher is about to call on someone else because I've been racking my brain for five minutes now, I'm not upset. I'm not embarrassed. I know some students who hate this part of exchange and are hitting themselves for not being able to do it. I don't mind. If I got frustrated every time I hit the language barrier, I would always be in a bad mood. Just imagine how hard it would be.

Everyone in Madrid speaks at least minimal English, so I have been able to get around. I feel like I'm speaking way too much English for my 'total immersion' method to work, but it's just the first couple of weeks. My host father put it a good way: we are using the swimming pool complex. You know, you throw the kid into the water, and they ether learn to swim or they die? Well that means that I'm drowning. I plan on cutting off my English life-lines at school and home this week or the next, but I can say I'm not looking forward to it.

School has been good. I wake up at seven, an hour after I would have in the states, get ready, leave the house at 8:08, lock up behind me, walk, ALONE, to school five minutes away and wait outside until it's 8:20. I feel courageously adventurous when I walk to school by myself. The first couple of days my host parents walked with me, but after that I figured it out on my own. I got minorly lost a few times, but it was fun to bravely trudge my way through the identical streets whose names I do not know. School starts at 8:30 and ends at 2:15. I like most of my classes and teachers, and all of the students are commendably helpful. I've heard that some people are having tough times in school, and I'm sorry for them, but maybe it's different in Madrid? Like, everyone stares at them and laughs and the teachers don't acknowledge that they don't speak Spanish. For me, literally everyone will offer to translate, explain, or elaborate. They say that I can study with them on the weekends, or barrow their notes if I want to. It's fantastic. They couldn't be better.

Here's my time table. The gym teacher came in on our first day of school and read through this confusing list (in Spanish) and we were supposed to copy it and figure out our classes. It was hilarious. The twenty-five kids in my class yelled at him to slow down and argued with colorful cursing. Class is a big fiasco in Spain. You call the teacher by their first names, and nothing is very formal. It's great fun. My new friends Elena and Manu helped me with figuring out what classes I had, and eventually just stole the paper from the teacher and wrote it on the board so the class could see. I was informed that this teacher is a little off his rocker.

Can I just say I love the fact that I have an actual complex schedule like in Harry Potter? It makes me feel very cool.

Here are my classes:

Mathematics: This is my main class. Try not understanding something in math class. Now try having it explained to you in Spanish. It's hard. In Spain, you choose a 'track' like math, language, or humanities, and you take set classes based on your choice. You don't get to change around like you can in America, which is different, and you have most of your classes with the same group of people. If you are a language major you may never meet the students on the math track, even if you go to school together for six years. Muy interesante. I'm on math track, class 4B. Four because I'm in 4 de ESO, B because B is more difficult than classes A, C, D, and E. (...what?)

Biology and Geology: The teacher for this class is great. He comes in then pulls his chair into the center of the room and we all crowd around him, sitting in each other's laps or on top of desks. He talks for the whole forty-five minutes of class (in America my classes were ninety minutes, and there were only four a day) and may crack open a book if we don't understand something. I really like the way he teaches because the students are engaged enough in what's going on that they are actually interested in what he has to say.

Classic Culture: I love it. How cool is it to study the Romans in a place that was influenced by them? Plus, I can actually understand what the teacher is saying! I know all of the myths from my childhood because I'm such a nerd, so I'm able to translate the words 'manzana' 'Persepóna, and 'Afrodita.'

Physics and Chemistry: I'm on math track, science focus, so this is one of the classes that I don't change rooms for, and the professor comes to us. I am so glad I chose to take Cultura Clásica instead of an additional course of deeper Physics and Chemistry. The profesora enters the class, settles down, and talks to us the whole time, very quietly and slowly. I don't understand anything. She gave us an evaluation test on the first day and I'm pretty sure I did not answer a single question. I did doodle a pretty mean looking solar system, though.

Physical Education: Jajajaja, this class is a joke. This is the teacher who's a little bit crazy, so at least the class is funny. Now, in America, the most athletic thing we do in gym class is run the mile and have free-time, so I'm not up on any high-horse. But we are a little bit better. I showed up on Thursday with my Nike gear, but everyone else was wearing tights and the clothes they would wear the rest of the day. We were sorted into groups based on skill, something that happens a lot in the first weeks of school here, and then we 'ran' around the courtyard. If you move your arms with exaggerated motions and breath heavy like you're tired, the teacher will think you are running. He is literally that crazy. The kids here totally know how to use this guy. It's impressive.

Catholic Religion: I signed up for this class because, when in Spain, you are Catholic. I didn't know that my other option would have been a free period with my friends. This class is sort of the class where you put the 'bad kids' who misbehave and fail every grade. The teacher didn't know I was American, so he started yelling at me, and there was no one to explain to him that I didn't speak Spanish because my friends had a free period, so I just stumbled along until he turned out to speak English. It's going to be hard to convince him that he should talk with me in Spanish. I know the basic information of the itinerary, but i'll have to be careful in this class. In an essay I started writing about how evil the Church was during the Inquisition, and I started justifying Luther, but then I crossed it out with pen and figured that probably wasn't a good idea here. My Religion teacher last year was a very firey Jewish man, so my view on the progression of history may be a little different...

Language: This is Spanish Grammar, same as English class in America. I don't want to talk about it. The teacher is nice, my friends can help me, but I asked my partner why I would ever need to know what an exclamative question was, and they were completely boggled. I have an exam on Halloween about a book in Spanish, so I should probably start reading it. We will not be going over the book in class. The exam is worth seventy-five percent of my grade. I do not speak Spanish.

Ethics: Philosophy. I might stay awake in this class as the profesora lectures about the true definition of past, present, and future when I understand what she is so excited about. Or when I know the meaning of life (there's a chapter in the text book about this.)

English: English! My school is technically a bilingual school, but that just means that English as a language is a required class. The students are pretty good in this class because they watch so much American TV, but the teacher is...not good. Her accent is hilarious. She sounds French with her English, her grammar ain't good, and she says "das reh" (that's right) after every student answers a question. She told me that I don't have to buy the book for the class or do the work, so I sit in the corner, far away from the others and read my Language textbook as I try not to laugh. I just have to take the tests. Tell me, what is the opposite of a quiet (person)? It was in a crossword, and it starts with C. Not loud, noisy, or even unquiet. Chatty.
...what?

Information: This is a computer class. I don't want to take it, but it was required with my track. It's on the sixth floor of my building, which is a lot of stairs, and it's all in Spanish. Luckily the class is easy, and my partner is nice.

History: Another one I don't change classes for. I'm not sure what the class is like, because the teacher has never showed up. We just hang around and talk during this time. The authorities know that we're in here without a teacher, the principle even came in once, but so far no teacher. No one knows where he is. No one cares. I don't see an immediate future.


Sports here are weird. We have a recess at school, where everyone goes outside and we eat snacks and the boys play soccer or basketball. The girls don't play. Girls only play 'soft' sports like vollyball. I actually have a friend, a girl who plays soccer for Atlética Madrid, which is amazing, but even that is just because she is so good. I can say I knew her when.

The only sport I could play with my school is vollyball, which does not interest me in the least. I may look into Flamenco classes or joining my host family's pool, but I live close to a great park that is beautiful for jogging. I'll need to run off that Foreign-Fifeteen.

Hey, guys. What does AFS stand for? No, not American Field Services. Another Fat Student! Jajajajaja.

So, to return to sports, I was at my brother's Rugby match last Saturday, which is not a regular game here either. My host father took me around and introduced me to all the Rugby-moms and Rugby-dads. There was a mom named Viviana! First off, everyone always says "que guapa!" when they meet me. They are literally calling me beautiful. It will go like this: "Hi, blah blah blah, meet Vivian!" "Ohhh, que guapa! You are so beautiful!" The first couple of days I sort of just bit my shock and nodded. Old people and my friends both. I know that they're not lying, because if they thought I was ugly they would bluntly say "Dios, you're ugly" and if they thought I was average the Spaniards wouldn't think it rude to say "Oh, you're not very pretty. I'm sure your host family was hoping for a prettier daughter." I guess they don't see blue eyes, blonde hair, or pale skin very often.

Anyways, I was at the Rugby match chatting with a mom. She pulled out her iphone and started showing me pictures of her sons who were playing at the moment. I thought this a very motherly, sweet thing to do. Another mom came over to us and exclaimed that I was just the most dazzling thing she had ever seen. "You will find a boyfriend in no time!" Seriously. They say this a lot. No one else here finds it creepy. I don't think Spain knows that I'm here as a student to learn, not to find a boyfriend.

The idea was sparked in the mom's head. Next thing I know she is taking a picture of me with her iphone. I was distracted by a Rugby-dad as I explained to him the lacross, the sport I play, is best seen in the film American Pie, so I couldn't stop her. (Once I say that they always know what I'm talking about.) She showed me a text message bearing my picture to her sons that literally, no joke, said this:

Hola! Te gusta? Ella es una chica
Americana y ella es muy linda! Quieres?

Hello! You like? She is American
and she is very pretty! You want?

Yep.

And now for photos!

This is a McDonalds. WHAT THE HECK.

SOl!

Yep, I live twenty minutes away.

Fivish major streets all lead to Sol.

I thought this was very typical Spanish-looking.

At the market with my host mother. The guy is laughing at me.

Quieres?

At a rugby match twenty minutes outside of the city and, bam, mountains.

"The Sky is different in Spain"-my host mother.

Yes, my host family has a bidet, and they use it.

at McDonalds with girls from School

Three story H&M. Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

Newspaper

Yo estaba en el periódico en mi casa de Durham.
Allí está.
http://heraldsun.com/view/full_story/20042920/article-Trading-Places

First Few Days

Wow. I have been in Spain for...five day? First off, it's really beautiful here. Like, super duper "muy bonita." Sorry I couldn't write sooner, but I have not had wifi/I have been really busy. Let me account the last few days.

I left Durham at eleven on the fifth. I actually did sleep really well due to my glass of celebratory champagne from my parents. I bet that they planned for that. I'm sure my emotions were a lot different then, but I remember that I cried. I didn't think I would, but I did. I'm not really a crying type of girl. I wasn't really upset because I was leaving, I was crying mostly because everything that was happening was a big deal. Like it or not, leaving home is a little overwhelming. You will cry.

It was incredibly hard to leave my cat. Why does everyone cry when they leave their pets? I got to the airport, and my darn suitcase was to heavy. I had to take out some shoes and clothes and gifts for my host family right there on the curb. I wasn't expecting it because when I weighed my bags at home they were all perfectly acceptable. But then at the airport, the stupid bags had a difference of like, ten pounds. It was crazy.

Anyways, somehow, in the process of taking out shoes, I ended up here today with only one of two boots...my family will send me the other one.

My father got a special pass and went to the terminal with me. Boy, am I glad he did.
I had about five delays. I would have had no idea what to do with delays. For a while, it looked like my flight would be canceled due to bad weather in NY, but, three hours after I was supposed to board, I was on the plane...so I could wait for one more hour on the runway.

Nevertheless, I arrived safely, but that was the least of my worries. I had called AFS when I thought I was going to get in late at five, but five was two hours ago. AFS is really nice about the travel aspect of exchange. They give you this bright yellow paper with clear instructions on "What To Do When You Get Off the Plane," but I had missed that time slot by a lot. I kindly referred to my bright yellow "What To Do If You Get Off the Plane Late" paper and saw that I had easy instructions getting to the hotel. If I had arrived on time, I would have met AFS staff at baggage claim. Since I arrived...not on time, I had to take something called the "SkyTrain." Don't let the name trick you. The SkyTrain is a full out Metro. I swear, I walked for at least a mile with my ninety pounds of luggage to find the thing, then I wandered around on it for a good thirty minutes, trying to figure out how the hell to get to my stop. By chance, I took a different train at random that ended up stopping at my station. From there I used the courtesy phone to have the hotel pick me up, and I was on my way, safe and sound.

I checked in with AFS at the Hilton JFK which, by the way, is very nice, and the helpful AFS volunteers in the lobby were very surprised with my mode of transportation. Apparently, even though I was one of the last seven students to arrive four hours late, AFS still had a volunteer to meet me at baggage claim....

Oh, well, it made me feel very brave and independent to navigate the AirTrain by myself.

I missed dinner since I was so late, but I was able to scarf down a few bites of Hotel Food before being ushered into an orientation.

Any fellow AFS students not in Spain who were at the orientation and are reading this, I am sincerely sorry. The Spain kids are loud and obnoxious, we know. We totally annoyed the crap out of everyone. We had all met each other on facebook and Skype and everything, so we were already friends and very excited to meet everyone. Again, so sorry.

The orientations in NY were pretty fun. They're incredibly exciting because omigod you are in Nueva York, but also because the AFS staff doesn't mention the rules once. Or, if they do, they're very sneaky about it. We had some time with two people who had been to Spain with AFS, and they were able to actually answer questions about what our life would be like. As Americans, we all found the question about how to greet people with a kiss very helpful. If you're going to Spain, you must know that you greet people with kisses. Women greet men with them, women greet women with them, kids greet teens with them, everyone except men with men. They just do it like shaking hands or hugging. You get in close, but you don't hug. You can sort of grab a shoulder if you need to, and you go left, then right. Remember: LEFT THEN RIGHT. If you get it wrong, the end result is very embarrassing. And it's different around the world, so try and let the other person make their move before you do.

Everyone has a roommate for this orientation. The next day we had a few little games and videos, including the speech by President Kennedy to the AFS students in 1963 with a toast of sparkling apple cider and a reading of our AFS Pledge. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7E_NWV7LGrw . After that the various Americans going to France, Belgium, Portugal, South Africa, some other place in Africa, Italy, other places, and Spain hung around and waited for their flights. The Spain Kids left at five P.M., the second to last flight besides Italy, and it was torture. At that point, you're so close to leaving, and you're so ready to be there that you are willing to trade flights with the France kids at six A.M.

It was really nice to meet the other Americans going abroad. We sat around for hours chilling, talking, eating, and sharing concerns. It was great talking with the kids who were going to Italy because 1) they were cool people and 2) I have an Italian host family. We did that for a while, then I met some other kids who are in Spain. I have a feeling I made some good AFS friends that day. It's fun to think that when I see them again in a year, we'll all be speaking fluent Spanish.

We finally went to the airport and checked in.

I would also like to apologize to the people at the airport and the hotel. They should get money off their tickets and rooms because the mass of teens in blue t-shirts is cripplingly loud and large.


I got by the weight limit with my bags, but I had to check my carry-on for free :( It had my favorite book (my entertainment) To Kill A Mockingbird in it, so that kind of sucked.

The plane ride to Zurich was...terrible. First off, it was like, ten hours long. We lose a night of sleep, because it is impossible to sleep on the plane. I would also like to apologize to the people on the plane who sat near our group of thirty-two AFSers. They probably didn't sleep either. They probably watched a bunch of free movies like I did.

Thank god for airport food. Not because it's good, it actually tastes horrible, and it carries a certain side of stomach ache, but because on long flights with Swiss Airlines, it comes every ten minutes. It is probably the only thing that kept me entertained, because Harper Lee Collin and Kristin Stewart's SnowWhite and the Huntsman sure didn't. Swiss Airlines also gives you free chocolate, which was probably the highlight of my day.

So, we land in Switzerland, which is so beautiful, and we get off the plane to go through security with our passports. My new friend Reece and I weren't the last ones in line for security, but somehow we ended up being the last ones to be checked. First, the alarm went off. I was led into a little curtained room and I was patted down. Really, they think I'm a terrorist? I tried to remind myself that it was a random check as I laughed and the lady looked down my pants.

Next, Reece had to empty her backpack for security reasons. I waited for her as the rest of the AFSers left for the terminal. We finally were allowed to go, a mere fifteen minutes later, when the AFS volunteer came to get us. I don't know what it says about my friends if they don't realize I'm missing for fifteen minutes. The volunteer took us on another AirTrain, something I never would have been able to figure out without him, and we were led to the terminal so we could wait for our flight to Madrid. Everyone was so tired at this point. We would have loved to sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen.

The flight to Madrid was...also terrible. It was impossible to sleep, and Swiss Airlines only gave us one piece of chocolate in that two hours. We got off the plane, said goodbye to our travel volunteer from America, and were greeted by the AFS volunteers in bright green t-shirts. We waited around the airport for an hour for some other kids from Norway or somewhere. Remember what I said in an earlier blog post about being in AFS and always having to wait for something? Yeah. There you go. Now I'm waiting for that awful day when I have to leave Spain.

During that time we asked the volunteers about the kissing thing again, and we actually practiced a bit. Everyone was red in the face. We also spoke in Spanish a little, and apparently my Spanish is really good? I do not think so, but that's what my friends said.

Mark: three days or so (the hotel, the night we lost in flight, the time we waited in Zurich) of no sleep, wearing nothing but those dirty blue AFS T-shirts, and uneatable hotel/plane food. We were all groggy and hungry.

After everyone was present and accounted for we loaded onto a bus and drove to the outskirts of Madrid for our orientation. Let me tell you about the youth hostel we were staying in: it looks like a prison. There are fences with barbed wire on the inside. You heard me, on the inside. To keep us from going out. It was right next to a theme park, so we heard the screams. It was right next to the Metro, so we heard the metro. It was near a zoo, so we smelled the zoo. And some wild dogs at three in the morning.

Orientation here was pretty great as well. I enjoyed meeting the teens from around the world who were also in Spain. They may not speak like you, act like you, or look like you, but they all know what you're feeling. They're in Spain, just like you are.

I was assigned a room to share with three other people in bunkbeds. Our room connected to another room by a communal bathroom. This bathroom was shared with boys.

I know, I know, it's not too weird. You can shower at different times, schedule when to use the toilet, blah blah blah. But what really got me was the fact that some people shared actually bedrooms with the opposite sex. Total Culture Shock. We would never do that in America. Sharing a room with a complete stranger is one thing, but sharing it with three big American guys when you're a tiny little French girl is...different. I guess it just isn't a big deal in Spain. I should get used to it.

But, once we settled in, we were called outside to do an icebreaker game, just to make the disbelief worse. Here's the game: "everyone hold hands and stand in a circle!" Okay, easy enough. The volunteers gave us each a number or letter, and they put one person in the middle of the circle. This next part was explained in both English and Spanish, but most of the orientation was done in English because everyone speaks it. "The person in the middle will call out a number and a letter. These two people must run to try to be the first to kiss the person in the middle."

...

We were playing a kissing game? This was dirtier than truth or dare. The game was pretty fun, but it was incredibly disorienting to see the Spaniard's casual attitude towards physical contact. I had to remind myself that it wasn't bad here, just different.

No one really slept well that night either. The volunteers came into my room at two A.M. because they thought I was from Germany and if you're from Germany you needed to have given over your plane ticket. I wasn't from Germany, and when I was able to explain this in my half-dead state, the volunteers shrugged and left.

Some students going to the far north of Spain had to leave at eight in the morning after we all woke up for breakfast. Others left soon after that. The Madrid kids, about fifteen of us, had no idea when we were meeting our host families. I heard at one point that it would be at five. Someone else told me we would take the Metro to the AFS office in the city and meet our families there. I also heard we would meet them in thirty minutes, which caused me to run to my room and retrieve my suitcase. A volunteer took us Madrid kids (that is the vernacular language in AFS--Madrid kids, Spain kids, American kids--it's the easiest way to keep us organized) to a field near the hostel where we played more games for a few hours. While we were doing that we actually saw someone practicing bull fighting. No biggie. Just your first day in Spain, and there are some shirtless guys stabbing a mechanical bull a few feet away, the most stereotypical thing you can think of when you think of Spain. We broke for lunch, which was the best thing I had eaten in a long time, and then a volunteer came in and clapped her hands. "Okay! Time to meet your host families!"

We were so incredibly nervous. Just think about it. You're led like a lamb to slaughter to the room where, it turns out, your families snuck in a few hours previous for an orientation while you were watching the death of a fake bull in a field. Go figures. We bunched up in two groups, students and families, and our names were called one by one as everyone watched us meet each other.

I aced the kissing thing. Score!

My host father, mother, and sister, Isabella were there to greet me. My sister was actually wearing a dress that my Mother had made me leave at home because "no one will wear that in Spain!" My host brother, Alberto, was to arrive home the next day from his AFS stay in South Africa! Our new family was growing in a precession of days.

I said goodbye to my AFS friends, promising to see them soon, and I went with my enormous luggage and my family to their car.

Madrid is so beautiful. "La ciudad es muy bonita!" We hadn't seen the city from the airport, but now I can tell you that everything looks like a postcard. The city is surprisingly clean, unlike cities in the US. Pictures are on the way.

My host family is amazingly nice and their apartment in the center of the city is fabulous. Calle Zurbano, if anyone is wondering. I have my own bedroom and shower, something that I wasn't counting on. It's so great. I am fantastically happy.

The first few days are supposed to be really hard, but for me they've been great. I met lots of family, including one of my host father's eight siblings who lives next door and his daughter, who is twenty-one. The first day we walked to a park and took a taxi home when it started to rain. I was given a map of the metro, which I have begun to study. The second day we went to the airport to pick up my host brother. I wouldn't mind if I never saw another airport again.

These last few days we've gone out for dinner to an Italian Pizzaria. The food here makes up for the stuff in the airport and hotels. It is so good. My host mother is an incredible cook, and I'm pretty sure she works at an Italian school for cooking. It tastes like she does.

Meal times here are really different, but I'm getting used to it. We eat breakfast (cereal with coco powder in hot milk) in the morning, lunch, the biggest meal, at four (yesterday it was a rice-stuffed tomato with bread and cake for dessert, the day before that it was pasta with shrimp) and dinner at ten or eleven (the first day it was the best omlette you've ever tasted split between four people with a dessert of any fruit you want, including fig, pear, and yogurt.)

Yesterday I walked with my host siblings to school in the morning. We definitely do a lot of walking, which is good with me. I start school at Fortuny on Thursday. I didn't get to skip a grade like I wanted, but I'm signed up for the most difficult classed in my math track. A schedule should be uploaded soon. When my host father and I went to Fortuny, five minutes away from our house, to sign me up, we spoke with the la directora. The principle. Not some random guidance councilor, the actual principle of the whole school. At first when she spoke she sounded adamant that I would have to appear before some sort of school board if I wanted to attend, and that it probably wasn't possible. A few minutes later she was laughing with us and I was signing up for classes. My host father thought it was hilarious. It's a good representation of how the system here works. The principle liked us, she saw that I was a good student, she said, what the hell, why not? My host brother has some friends at Fortuny, and he has said that they can help me on my first day. I am so thankful.

I went out with Alberto, who is sixteen, at seven to meet some more of his friends. We walked thirty minutes to calle (street) Goya, which is a good place for shopping. We casually met his friends, who all kissed me on both cheeks, Left then Right, and then walked around the city in a circle, just chatting and chilling. We got home at ten or so, and it was no problem. His friends were really nice, and it was cool to be out in the city at night. I shouldn't walk alone at night for fear of robbing, but I definitely like that I'm allowed to leave the house at ten without it being a scandal.

The only downside to this all is that estoy enferma. I am sick. I first realized that my throat hurt in the NY airport, and after that my nose has gotten progressively more runny and my coughs more violent. It has sort of sucked to be sick the first few days, but besides that I'm alright.

Well, okay. That's it. Sorry for the long post, but it's nice to get this all written down. My Spanish is mal, and no me entiendo mucho, pero me aprendiendo. My family speaks english if I need it, but I shouldn't rely on English too much.

Adios por ahora. Vivian.

My Luggage, a lovely assortment of black and blue

My Cat

AFS kids, doin' their thing

...I want to be at the airport

Switzerland!

"Quick! Everyone look tired!" "Why?" "It's for my blog. I want the pictures to correspond with what I write."

AFS!!!!

Shared Baño

That's a shower, if you can't tell

That's the floor of the shower

Our Room

Host Family!

Pizza :)

Pasta :)