Sí, que ella baila el flamenco

With just a few days left in Spain (and most of my work done) I´ve started thinking about what this whole study abroad thing has done to me, if anything. You always here about people going way to some foriegn place their junior year and coming back a completely different person or having made some great revelation about life. I guess I´ve been wondering what that´s been for me. I don´t feel a whole lot different. I may dress better, and I have a new haircut. oh, and I can speak spanish now. All of which count for something, I guess. But really? I´m still Niki.

There is one thing I´ve learned here, or at least had reinforced. Funny enough, she meant it as a joke.

In early November I was still taking flamenco classes (I´ve stopped now because I ran out of money and time). Pretty standard stuff - warmup, learn some technique, add some more on to the choreography we were learning. Our teacher (I never did learn her name - horrible, I know) was this tiny little spanish woman with jet-black hair, tattoos, and piercings all over the place. Intimidating, but friendly once you got to know her. Wonderful dancer.

She had this eye, though. This bulging right eye that always made her look a little crazy when she would glance around the room. Nothing grotesque, nothing to write home to the medical journals about. Just that her right eye opened further than her left, giving her a lopsided appearence. But watching her dance, you never noticed it. That eye would be bulging and glaring all over the place, and then someone would put some music on, the woman would start dancing, and the eye would magically disappear. She´d lose the crazy look and gain this sexy, dramatic aura that gave you the impression that she could clap and stomp her way through anything you threw at her.

Early November, she told us her secret. Someone in class had been complaining about how, at home, she felt confident and could put on that flamenco look and dance around like a pro, but that in class she felt awkward and stupid and lost it every time. Laughing, la maestra looked in the mirror and said "yea, well I´ve got this funny eye that always stays open weirdly, but every time I dance I just arch my eyebrow and close my left eye a bit more, so it looks like I´m doing it on purpose. I even do it when I´m walking down the street, so when I pass people look at me and say 'oh yes, she dances flamenco.' Works great."

Sí, que ella baila el flamenco. I could see it working, because I sure as hell had been fooled until then. And even though she ment it as a lesson on having confidence, I also saw something else: work with what you've got. Rock it, play with it, until it becomes your best feature, your best trait. Then suddenly you don´t have to worry about whether or not your eye bulges, if you can speak spanish well enough, what kind of walk you have, whatever.

Seems doable. Even if I don´t come back with anything more than some nice shoes from Spain, I think I´ll hang on to that.

It's beginning to look a lot like christmas...

It's officially Christmas in Malaga. Once you get out of the city center it's not as obvious, but for about a square mile section every available surface is covered with lights, wreaths, and poinsettias. The streets are littered with gigantic figurines...tree ornaments bigger than people, a bell I could stand under if I wanted, a five story high Christmas tree. Anyone who says that America is the only country of excess has clearly never been to southern Spain during the Christmas season.

Having no Thanksgiving to act as a buffer between this holiday and Halloween, the decorations go up quite a bit earlier. That's not to say that they do anything tacky, like stick the trees up the 1st of November. No, they wait at least two weeks into the month, to give a little breathing room between decorating sprees, and then jump back armed to the teeth with holly and fake snow. Even the palm trees get some attention. The stuff also stays up later here, since the traditional day to exchange gifts is actually Three Kings Day, which I believe falls on the 6th of January (I could be wrong about this of course - there are heaps of religious festivals, and I haven't quite gotten them all straightened out as of yet).

Seeing all these lights reminds me that my time here is running out. I now have 13 days left in Spain, 14 before I'm back in DC. It's gonna be a packed 13 days, but in a good way. My field research is underway, and Keon is coming on Monday. I turn 21 on Tuesday - a bit of an anticlimax, since I've been legal here since I was 18. I still need to do my Christmas shopping, and I'm applying for jobs so I'm not poor when I get back to MN.

on that note, if anyone wants to hire me, I make a great coffee-runner :)

Spain has been amazing and enlightening. I don't know how much I've grown or changed as a person (I hear you're supposed to do that on study abroad) but I'm happy I came here. It's given me opportunities that I wouldn't necessarily have had in other places. Like this research project. Or easy access to the boyfriend. Or amazing, cheap flamenco lessons and a host mom who's a semi-professional chef.

I hope I get to come back here someday.

But for now, school isn't over. I still have 8 pages on the society of Al-Andalus left to write by tomorrow night. so let's go, shall we?

last weeks and Madrid

Ok, yes, I realize that it's been awhile since I last wrote anything. Bad Niki. I really don't have any good excuse except that, as most of you know, I just really suck at writing letters and such. And blogs fall into that category, so I don't come near mine very often.

Anywho, it's been an interesting few weeks. A lot of it has been a standard schedule of dance class, real class, research, etc. I cooked dinner for the kids on my program once, went through two seasons of six feet under, and have broken out my jacket because it has (relatively speaking) gotten cold. Which means that the highs are now in the 60's instead of the 80's. Such hardship.

The most exciting part of the past weeks has probably been the program trip to Madrid. We left last Friday morning and came back Sunday night - both ways on the bus. NEVER do that. It's a six-hour one way trip, and if you've never traveled by bus before in Europe, TRUST ME, it's worth it to pay the 5 euros more and take a train.

Once we actually got to Madrid though, it was pretty sweet. Our hostel was right in the center of the city, within walking distance of every palace and museum one could think of. We toured the royal palace and the contemporary art museum (I got the see Guernica, which was a really moving experience). No Prado (classical art museum) because of some mix up with our tickets, but a huge open air market instead.

Outside of the program activities, the nights were pretty cool. Friday night was chill, I just tagged along with Irene and visited a Spanish girl she knows that lives in Madrid name Laura. Saturday night was way more intense. Remember, everything in Spain starts roughly 4 hours later. So dinner (at a Lebanese restaurant) got going around 11pm. By the time we made it to the club, it was after 2am.

And what a club that was. El Kapital is one of those places that justifies a 20 euro entrance fee. 7 floors, each with a different type of music or theme. The ground floor is a huge techno/house-driven sea of people, with live dancers, drummers, and special effects out the wazoo. There was a rock floor, and oldies floor, a karaoke bar, a movie theater, a gift shop. There was probably a restaurant, I just didn't look hard enough. I ended up on a floor that had a great mixture of reggaeton, hiphop, and dancehall. Haven't danced that much outside of Mac. We ended up just staying in the club until we could catch the 6am metro back to the center - and the club was still packed when we left. I don't know if I'm cut out for Spanish nightlife on a regular basis.

Needless to say, Sunday was a loooong day.

Since then I've been back into the regular swing of things. Trying to get all of my work done before Keon gets here on the 10th, so it's a lot of study time right now and not much else. Next week is already my last week of classes, then a week of exams, and then Keon comes and I'm done. dang.

Mmmm, yes, Oxfordshire sir...

Today is my last day in Oxford. Last day of not being able to feel my feet because of the cold, last day of having my funds sapped by the exchange rate. Last day of watching the sun set at 4:30pm. Thank God.

Or not, because I've been praying to God to extend my ticket just a little. Because it's also my last day of Keon's company. Last day to see his face, enjoy his kisses. Last day to cook for him and laugh with him. Last day to hold his hand. As much as Oxford drains me of warmth and money, it's been worth it to get this time with him.

Aside from the pure pleasure of his company, this trip has been a crazy mix of work, fun, triumph, and relaxation. Work because both of us are knee-deep in research (he more so than I), class scheduling for next semester (just me), and study runs (just Keon). Fun because since arriving I've been on Keon's arm for the annual Rhodes and Marshall scholars' Google party, a Halloween salsa party, and a wonderful dinner date. Triumph because I got to see the result of an entire year's work by the Black Association of Rhodes Scholars when President Kufuor of Ghana gave the inaugural address for the first celebration of Black History Month ever held at Oxford. Keon gave the introductory speech. Relaxation because, despite how busy we are (and especially how busy Keon is) we've managed to squeeze in time to just be with each other, to enjoy each other's company. And, to be honest, that's been the best part of this whole trip.

He's coming to visit in early December. We're spending Christmas together. I shouldn't be so sad to leave. But really guys? When you've got something this good, it makes getting on a plane damn hard. No matter how many palm trees are waiting for you at your destination.

On with the research

Friday, Oct 5, 10:55am.

I jump off the bus and dash madly into the Facultad de Derecho. I have a meeting at 11am (I think) with my research advisor, Prof Rafeal Durán. I have no clue where his office is. Nor am I sure what department he´s in. Crap. Crap Crap Crap. And some choicer words than that.

Ok, calm down. ask the porter.

"On the first floor, go to your left. His office is in something something something."

What? No time, it´s now exactly 11am, which means I have about 10 minutes if he follows spanish time, 0 if he doesn´t. Run Run Run. Upstairs, left. Ok. "Department of Social Work." Er. Maybe. After checking every office in the department, I work up the courage to ask one of the profesors hanging around.

"Rafael Durán? Constitutional Law. Wait, let me check. Yes, that´s right, constitutional law. Political science." I ignore the fact that he just gave me TWO departments to search in the negative 5 minutes I think I have, thank him, and skedaddle. the Dept of Constitutional Law is locked (of course) and political sciene is a no-go. My new shoes are giving me blisters the size of quarters and I´m now 15 minutes late. Ok. Maybe the meeting was at 11:30? Please God.

Either way, I´m now convinced that Prof Durán is on his way to the department of constitutional law, so I cool my heels for a few minutes and try to figure out a way to keep them from developing more blisters. Ouch. Five minutes later, I limp downstairs to double-check that I´m waiting outside the right department. Nope. Turns out that spanish mumbling I didn´t get earlier was actually "Department of International Private Law." Argh.

Then low and behold, I see my advisor strolling through the door. thank god. my trials are over. hallelujah.

He´s a nice man, Prof Durán, and very clear about what I am and am not going to be able to accomplish in my time here (only 2 1/2 months left? Damn...). I´m going to have to write the actual report when I get back to the states, but my background research and fieldwork I´ll still be able to do here. Which means I´m legitemently doing a research project here. Which is awesome.

Niki´s a happy (and veerry busy) girl. Some things never change.

lata ya´ll

Getting it into gear

So real school starts this week, as in my class in the university. so far it´s been pretty chill. my Civilization of Al-Andalus class lasted for exactly fifteen minutes, and I don´t meet with my research advisor until fri morning. For now I¨m killing time before my spanish language class by doing things like writing in my blog :)

The last two weeks have been this crazy mix of orientation, meetings, getting lost, more meetings, grammer workshops, student exchanges, and program classes. Despite that, I´ve still managed to make it to the beach again, try to go salsa dancing (and fail, much to my frustration) and find a flamenco school.

At long last, my life is settling into a rhythm. I´m learning things like where to buy good, cheap groceries, how the drugstores work here, and where the good, non touristy clubs are. Of course, I still stumble sometimes. The different dining hours are hard to get used to, and that bottle of Febreeze has still managed to elude me. I have yet to figure out the Spanish reluctance to dance in nightclubs.

but at the end of the day, I walk down the street and feel at home here. I dodge traffic and dash madly for the bus like thousands of other university students here. I linger for copas, tinto de verano, and churros after class with other students. I look forward to tapas and bedtimes of 4:30am when the weekend rolls around. phrases like "vale," "pues, nada," and "eso es" have started to creep into my mouth even when I´m speaking english.

So yea, Spain is still hitting the spot, even with essays to write.

And on I go to Spanish.

lata ya´ll

La primera semana

So here we go. I´ve been here more than a week and am just now getting myself together enough to start this thing. In my defense, it´s been quite a week :)

I arrived at the Málaga airport on less than two hours of sleep. Since I didn´t come on the group flight, I sat around in the baggage claim area for several hours. I can now proudly say that I´m very good at napping while simulataniously guarding several large suitcases.

To be honest though, that was really the worse part of my experience here so far. The city is beautiful - right on the Mediterranean coast (wild guess as to where I spent the weekend...) and full of enough history to make my head spin. I live about five minutes´walk from the Plaza de Merced, a main entertainment spot, and about 10 minutes from Al-Alcazaba, an Arabic fortress that dates from the 1100´s. There´s a Roman ampitheater right next to it (which is built on top of a Greek theatre on top of a Phoenicean one...you get the idea). I´ll post some pictures soon.

More complete entries will follow, I promise. For now I just wanted to get this thing up and running.

Until then,
Ciao