This morning I had to get up at 6:15, which is practically unthinkable here in Spain. You see, for all of my efforts with the Spanish government's admirable attempt to recreate hell on earth known as the Spanish Consulate in New York, I was only able to get a three-month visa, though I will be living in Spain for a year. Students here for six months, however, receive a six-month visa. This, I am told, is standard practice. Because of this, it was necessary for me to go over to police headquarters last week to petition a visa extension and student identity card. A woman who works for my program and I tried one day, found that the line was too long and that they would let no one else in, and so we left. The next day, my program's director got into line at 7:00 AM, and we (myself and Cristina, the program's twenty-something coordinator) took over at 8, being number 130 in line out of 150. There were, of course, about 400 people in line, but no one after 150 was told that they wouldn't be entering the building, so they continued to wait. At about 12:30 we finally entered, only to wait at another window for another number, to then wait in line again at the window of the woman who could help process my paperwork. I signed everything I needed to, and was told that I had to come back the next week to have my fingerprints taken and to pay some "nominal" fee, which, being like the Consulate, I couldn't pay at the police station, which meant I would have to leave with a paper from the station, go to a bank, pay there, and get a money order to take back. This was after waiting in line to get into the building again.
Which brings us to today. This was a four day weekend for me, since I finished my exam on Friday, and I was the only student in the group who had Monday and Tuesday off, also. I thought about traveling, but no, they told me, it would be best if I went to the police station Tuesday morning to do my prints. "OK," I thought. I packed some fresh almond and lemon zest biscotti in my bag from my "mom" (there are some perks to living where I do), and set out. I thought about getting a coffee or a paper on the way, but then remembered that there is no coffee to go here, and that nothing is open before 7:15, so that was impossible. I had enough foresight to rent a movie for my iPod (Dial M for Murder, I'd never seen it) so that I could watch it in line. I got there around 6:45, and knew that they start handing out numbers at 8:30. One step in the process is to put your name on a list to get a numer to get a numer to get the final number, which I did, being 140. Remember, last time they let 150 in. The north African man behind me in line kept pressing up against me because A) there is no concept of a kinosphere here and B) he was trying to watch my movie. Also, it was about 35 degrees here this morning when everyday it has been in the 80's, which is why my sandals, my sweater and I were freezing this morning; I realized this as soon as I stepped out of my building, but I didn't have time to go back for a jacket. At 8:30, we were told that they had decided to let only 130 people in that day, so that there were no numbers left. They don't actually tell anyone, you must leave line to go ask this, which is why the rest of the people in the line wrapped around the back of the building are futilely there still waiting. I went up to ask one of the massive police officers if I could possibly get in just to do my fingerprints since I had already been to the station and missed the arbitrary cutoff by 10 people, and was told to get up at five next time. This coming from a man who doesn't get into work until 8:30, and probably can't function until he's had his steroid-laced espresso in the morning.
So, I called the program coordinator, who told me that it wasn't really necessary that I go today anyway, and that she would accompany me the next time when we get back from our break. "Oh," I thought. "I'm glad I didn't take advantage of this weekend." She also reminded me that I need to go back for a third appointment at the station, in order to pick up my ID. The DMV is a Caribbean resort compared to this place. I'd write to someone, but I don't think they'd care.
In other news, I was shaking so much as I walked home from the cold that I dropped my iPod onto one of the marble sidewalks, it broke out of its case, the case cracked, and the iPod went flying. It still works. The same might not be true of my new computer, which has started making a strange noise, and of course there are no Mac stores here where I could have it looked at. It was a lovely morning :o) We leave for Madrid tomorrow, and I must say, I'm very ready. The only thing to be seen now is whether I'll be allowed back into the country after Belgium, since my visa hasn't been extended. Ehh.
Tuesday, 30 September 2008
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Mercado Verde
I've had a strange two days. Fall has definitely arrived, and it's been in the 60's and rainy all week - this is fine, since I like this type of weather, and should probably move to England at some point in my life. Yesterday was very low-key, and I went out to the cinema with some friends to see a British movie (produced in cooperation with BBC) called "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas." It is a recently-released Holocaust film with a heart-wrenchingly simple and tragic plot (go see it!). The most interesting part of the evening, though, was that the movie theater was completely full! I have never in my life been in a full theater, unless it was for the premier of a Harry Potter or Star Wars movie, but there were so many people yesterday that we even needed to move to find our assigned seats (yes, assigned seats in a movie theater). I can't tell if it has to do with the fact that the Holocaust took place in Europe and therefore Europeans identify more with it, or that Europeans are more likely to want to see an intellectual, thought-provoking movie, or that the movie was recently released and has received quite a bit of press coverage (it's probably all three), but it seems to me that if the film doesn't have explosions and computer-generated graphics, many Americans just won't be interested. The biggest letdown of the evening was when we realized that the movie, whose opening credits were written in English, had been dubbed into Spanish. Dubbing has become one of my pet peeves, even in the US, where I would just rather watch something with subtitles. I can see it now: I'm not going to be able to see the new James Bond film when it comes out, because it will be in Spanish, and frankly, the British accents make it. Fortunately, "The Boy in the Striped Pajamas" was easy to understand and powerful even with the dubbing.
After the movie and the entire carton of popcorn I ate, I went home, had dinner, left the house to meet some friends at our neighborhood's carnival, decided the carnival was awful, and went out for pizza at an Italian tapas place near us. The pizza was pretty good, and the mojito even better. I eat here every two hours!
Today was another festival of the Virgen, and all week the local pastelerías (bakeries) have been advertising their Virgin Cakes (probably better translated as Cakes of the Virgin, but it's funnier the other way). I was supposed to go to Seville today, but I instead decided to stay in Granada, go to a flea market this morning (which basically consisted of lots and lots of people screaming at me to buy shoes for 4 Euros and an unnecessary use of 2.10E on the busride), and go to Mass at the Basilica (where the virgin lives) to hear the church's choir. A friend's host mother said to get to the church very early, perhaps an hour ahead of time, for the one o'clock mass, so we got there around 12. I have never felt so violated in my life, and, ironically, it happened in a church. My friend's host mom had neglected to tell her that there are about eight masses every day, and we were trying to get into the church in the middle of the 12 o'clock mass on a festival day. This involved a line for 30 minutes, getting pushed and prodded into the church, standing about a mile away from the priest, and not knowing what to pretend to say during the mass. The worst moment was probably when my friend shrieked a little because a man was grabbing her back, when he moved, and proceeded to rest his chin on my shoulder. Unsurprisingly, at that point we left the mass, another half-hour process, and decided to get lunch, since we had both told our "mothers" that we wouldn't be home in time. It's a shame I couldn't take pictures inside the basilica - it is stunningly beautiful. Check this out instead.
They've set up a huge fruit/nut/candy market outside of the basilica for the festival, and I decided to get some dried apricots and some of a mix of dried bananas, coconut, and berries for the Special K (!!!!!) cereal that I found recently for breakfast (now I just need 1 percent milk!). I asked for a half-kilo of each, thinking that that's about the least of each they would happily give me, thinking it would come out to around 7 Euro. 16 Euro later, I had some good food and much less money, and it was time for lunch. A Scottish English professor from the University told me of a local restaurant run by an English woman, which makes wonderful salads and runs a full English brunch on Sundays (roast beef, puddings, etc.) We decided to check it out and, as it was closed for some reason, went to lunch in a plaza, where I managed to get a salad and some grilled chicken - the first meat that wasn't pork I've had in over a week! After lunch, we just so happened to be across from one of the shops of our favorite little helado (ice cream) company, and since we're taking advantage of the fact that these places will only be open through October and therefore are required to eat there every day, went over for a chocolate-covered cone. These cones, apparently, are of a larger size than I'm used to, which resulted in my eating about half a pint of ice cream, which is why I'm now off to take a nap. One of my biggest problems with this country is the lack of space to "chill;" we were specifically told that we weren't allowed to have guests in our host family's apartments, so if we ever see our friends, we're out spending money. This cheap little morning by itself cost me about 35 Euro, which is a pace I just can't keep up!
After the movie and the entire carton of popcorn I ate, I went home, had dinner, left the house to meet some friends at our neighborhood's carnival, decided the carnival was awful, and went out for pizza at an Italian tapas place near us. The pizza was pretty good, and the mojito even better. I eat here every two hours!
Today was another festival of the Virgen, and all week the local pastelerías (bakeries) have been advertising their Virgin Cakes (probably better translated as Cakes of the Virgin, but it's funnier the other way). I was supposed to go to Seville today, but I instead decided to stay in Granada, go to a flea market this morning (which basically consisted of lots and lots of people screaming at me to buy shoes for 4 Euros and an unnecessary use of 2.10E on the busride), and go to Mass at the Basilica (where the virgin lives) to hear the church's choir. A friend's host mother said to get to the church very early, perhaps an hour ahead of time, for the one o'clock mass, so we got there around 12. I have never felt so violated in my life, and, ironically, it happened in a church. My friend's host mom had neglected to tell her that there are about eight masses every day, and we were trying to get into the church in the middle of the 12 o'clock mass on a festival day. This involved a line for 30 minutes, getting pushed and prodded into the church, standing about a mile away from the priest, and not knowing what to pretend to say during the mass. The worst moment was probably when my friend shrieked a little because a man was grabbing her back, when he moved, and proceeded to rest his chin on my shoulder. Unsurprisingly, at that point we left the mass, another half-hour process, and decided to get lunch, since we had both told our "mothers" that we wouldn't be home in time. It's a shame I couldn't take pictures inside the basilica - it is stunningly beautiful. Check this out instead.
They've set up a huge fruit/nut/candy market outside of the basilica for the festival, and I decided to get some dried apricots and some of a mix of dried bananas, coconut, and berries for the Special K (!!!!!) cereal that I found recently for breakfast (now I just need 1 percent milk!). I asked for a half-kilo of each, thinking that that's about the least of each they would happily give me, thinking it would come out to around 7 Euro. 16 Euro later, I had some good food and much less money, and it was time for lunch. A Scottish English professor from the University told me of a local restaurant run by an English woman, which makes wonderful salads and runs a full English brunch on Sundays (roast beef, puddings, etc.) We decided to check it out and, as it was closed for some reason, went to lunch in a plaza, where I managed to get a salad and some grilled chicken - the first meat that wasn't pork I've had in over a week! After lunch, we just so happened to be across from one of the shops of our favorite little helado (ice cream) company, and since we're taking advantage of the fact that these places will only be open through October and therefore are required to eat there every day, went over for a chocolate-covered cone. These cones, apparently, are of a larger size than I'm used to, which resulted in my eating about half a pint of ice cream, which is why I'm now off to take a nap. One of my biggest problems with this country is the lack of space to "chill;" we were specifically told that we weren't allowed to have guests in our host family's apartments, so if we ever see our friends, we're out spending money. This cheap little morning by itself cost me about 35 Euro, which is a pace I just can't keep up!
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