A couple weeks ago I started a short two-credit course called La España franquista a través del cine y la literatura (Spain under Franco through film and literature). Last week we watched Bienvenidos Mr. Marshall, a 1953 Spanish comedy film about the arrival of the Americans under the Marshall Plan. There's one scene in which an American flag is thrown into a river, and the professor asked the class how that could be interpreted.
The Spaniards in the class weren't saying much, so the professor asked if there were any norteamericanos present. There were 4 of us in total, and we started giving our opinions. When Danielle and I explained that the flag holds a lot of significance for most Americans, and that when a flag touches the ground or is damaged, it has to be burned in a special ceremony.
The kids in the class were actually laughing and looking around like it was the most ridiculous thing they'd ever heard. Yeah, I know, us Americans go overboard with the whole soaring-eagle-red-white-and-blue thing, but respecting the flag is a part of our culture. It's not something to laugh at. I personally couldn't care less for "displays of patriotism," but I actually took offense to the class' reaction to this American custom.
Just my daily dose of culture shock, I suppose.
Showing posts with label UC3M. Show all posts
Showing posts with label UC3M. Show all posts
Friday, November 18, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
I got an 8.45/10 on my most recent sociology exam! This is one of my direct enrollment classes (ie., a normal university class not designed for exchange students), so I'm realllll stoked on this. Spanish schools don't use letter grades, but this is about A level work!
It's nice to have a small victory like this when you've hit the mid-semester slump and are getting stressed and discouraged.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
College is hard.
And it's significantly harder when all your classes are Spanish, and you're expected to have an extensive base knowledge of Spanish culture and history, but you really only know the bare minimum--Civil War, republicans vs. nationalist rebels, Franco's dictatorship...
I've been staring at this stupid journalism assignment for upwards of four hours now because I just don't understand the nuances of the language or the history enough to analyze what I think I'm being asked to analyze.
I'm going to have to write something eventually, and I'm going to hand it to the professor tomorrow and he's going to take it back to his office and look at it and shake his head in confusion at my awkward grammar and complete misunderstanding of the prompt, and probably wonder why I thought I could take an advanced-level, full-immersion university class in the foreign language of a foreign country.
Wish I could tell you why, professor-whose-name-I-don't-know-because-I'm-that-lost-in-class, but I just don't know.
I've been staring at this stupid journalism assignment for upwards of four hours now because I just don't understand the nuances of the language or the history enough to analyze what I think I'm being asked to analyze.
I'm going to have to write something eventually, and I'm going to hand it to the professor tomorrow and he's going to take it back to his office and look at it and shake his head in confusion at my awkward grammar and complete misunderstanding of the prompt, and probably wonder why I thought I could take an advanced-level, full-immersion university class in the foreign language of a foreign country.
Wish I could tell you why, professor-whose-name-I-don't-know-because-I'm-that-lost-in-class, but I just don't know.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
¡Hola, Madrid!
I'll spare you the grisly details, but I woke up on Monday morning--the morning of our departure from Santiago--feeling deathly ill. Nine days of eating Galician food had finally caught up to my American stomach. I really can't think of a worse combination than illness and airplanes, but I grinned grimaced and bore lugging three suitcases through Santiago's airport, paying an ungodly amount of money for my checked bags (damn this horrible euro-->dollar exchange rate!), and boarding an incredibly tiny Iberia plane. You know a plane is small when I, at not even 5'4", complain of not having enough leg room. The flight left half an hour late, but thankfully I was able to sleep for almost the entire flight, and I felt slightly less queasy upon landing...but that might be because the nausea was replaced by extreme nerves. In the airport I said goodbye to the people I'd been living with all week, and even though I knew I'd see them the next morning and probably every day for the next four months, it was bittersweet. I found the taxi stand, slid into the backseat of a cab, and was off to meet my host mother, Vicki. All I had was an address and her name. I really can't think of a more awkward situation than showing up at a stranger's house, 100+ lbs of luggage in hand, looking greenish and sleep-deprived, and saying "Hi! I'm going to live with you for the next four months! Please like me!"
The awkwardness only got worse when I arrived at my apartment building and realized I had no idea how to "call up" to the apartment to be buzzed in. They make it look sooo easy on Seinfeld, but it's actually really confusing. Do you hold the button to talk, like a walkie talkie? Or is it connected once you press it, like a phone? (Turns out it's the latter, but I just kept jabbing and stammering until I heard the door click.) Vicki, my host mom, met me downstairs, and we somehow managed to fit both of us and all my suitcases in the tiny elevator. She lives on the seventh floor (which is technically the eighth, because the first floor is counted as zero). It's the top floor, something I found extremely exciting, as I've lived in single-story houses all my life. The apartment is small but homey and cozy, filled with souvenirs from Vicki's travels. She showed me to my room, which is small but has two big windows, and is connected to my own private bathroom! This'll be the first time in my life I haven't had to share a bathroom with smelly boys. The toilet seat will always be down, and there will never be stubble in the sink. Seriously, this might be my favorite thing about the country so far...but anyway, my jaw absolutely dropped when Vicki took me out to la terraza (the terrace), which stretches the length of the apartment. Half of it is in the sun, and Vicki grows judiasverdes (green beans), pimientos verdes (green bell peppers), and tomates (tomatoes...that was a real hard one to guess, huh?) The other half is covered and has a couch, a table, and chairs. That's where Vicki and I eat dinner every night, and breakfast when it's not too chilly. But the best part of all this is the VIEW! If you stand in just the right place on my back porch at home, you can kind of see the mountains (but you mostly see a huge, ugly, white engineering building.) But here in my Madrid apartment, THIS is my view...
I'm obsessed with it. Vicki laughs at me because every time I go out there, I immediately walk over to the railing and just look at the view. A night shot will be coming shortly...
Tuesday morning was our first day going to la uni (short for Universidad Carlos III de Madrid). It's a loooooong commute. In high school, I'd complain about the 15 min drive; at Vassar, I complain about a 10 minute walk. But my commute here takes almost exactly 60 min. I leave my apartment, walk a block to the metro station (and I'm lucky it's only a block), then take linea 1 to Atocha-Renfe station (yes, the one that got bombed in 2003), where I catch el cercanías (the commuter train). I take el cercanías to the Las Margaritas stop in the suburb of Getafe, and then walk about half a mile to the UC3M campus. Thankfully, I have an abono, a pre-paid pass that allows me unlimited rides on all public transportation in Madrid. Also thankfully, the metro system here is insanely wonderful! The slogan is "Madrid Metro: uno de los mejores metros en el mundo. Usálo." (The Mardid Metro is one of the best in the world. Use it.) It's clean, usually not foul-smelling, totally devoid of homeless people, and it's almost impossible to board the wrong train or get lost because all lines run through at least one major transfer station. The signage is excellent, and every line runs in both directions (you just have to make sure you get on the right side of the track). Everything about it is completely unlike the NYC Metro, which never ceases to leave me stressed and broke after accidentally boarding an express train to Queens at 10:30 pm...but let's not talk about that.
Day 1 at UC3M consisted of lots of waiting, since like everything this program organizes, the day was poorly scheduled. We split up into groups to take language placement exams--one written, one multiple-choice, and one oral. Despite sleeping through most of the multiple-choice exam (getting back into school-mode is really rough for me, okay?!), I got placed into the second-highest language group, Avanzado Alta A--so I'm pretty happy about that! For lunch, the monitoras took us to this absolutely unreal sandwich shop. I wish I had pictures, but there are signs everywhere asking for no photos to be taken...what killjoys! But anyway, the interior of the shop is entirely covered in pieces of brightly colored construction paper reading "El de ____": "El de Olivia, El de Katie, El de Pedro," etc., meaning "Olivia's Sandwich, Katie's Sandwich, Pedro's Sandwich," etc. I ended up ordering "El de Nech," which was chicken, caramelized onions, avocado, and brie on pan integral (wheat bread). I almost fainted from happiness as I watched one of the two ladies who work there--angels in aprons, for sure--pick up a perfectly ripe avocado, slice it in half, pit it and peel it, then spread an entire halve onto the freshly toasted bread. The whole sandwich only cost €5, less than half of the €11 we're allotted daily for lunch. I have a feeling I'm gonna be going back to this place a LOT. And by a lot, I mean multiple times a day. (This is my inner Liz Lemon speaking...)
After we finished at UC3M, we did a brief spin around a couple of Madrid's barrios.
The awkwardness only got worse when I arrived at my apartment building and realized I had no idea how to "call up" to the apartment to be buzzed in. They make it look sooo easy on Seinfeld, but it's actually really confusing. Do you hold the button to talk, like a walkie talkie? Or is it connected once you press it, like a phone? (Turns out it's the latter, but I just kept jabbing and stammering until I heard the door click.) Vicki, my host mom, met me downstairs, and we somehow managed to fit both of us and all my suitcases in the tiny elevator. She lives on the seventh floor (which is technically the eighth, because the first floor is counted as zero). It's the top floor, something I found extremely exciting, as I've lived in single-story houses all my life. The apartment is small but homey and cozy, filled with souvenirs from Vicki's travels. She showed me to my room, which is small but has two big windows, and is connected to my own private bathroom! This'll be the first time in my life I haven't had to share a bathroom with smelly boys. The toilet seat will always be down, and there will never be stubble in the sink. Seriously, this might be my favorite thing about the country so far...but anyway, my jaw absolutely dropped when Vicki took me out to la terraza (the terrace), which stretches the length of the apartment. Half of it is in the sun, and Vicki grows judiasverdes (green beans), pimientos verdes (green bell peppers), and tomates (tomatoes...that was a real hard one to guess, huh?) The other half is covered and has a couch, a table, and chairs. That's where Vicki and I eat dinner every night, and breakfast when it's not too chilly. But the best part of all this is the VIEW! If you stand in just the right place on my back porch at home, you can kind of see the mountains (but you mostly see a huge, ugly, white engineering building.) But here in my Madrid apartment, THIS is my view...
 |
| The clouds are INSANE here. |
Tuesday morning was our first day going to la uni (short for Universidad Carlos III de Madrid). It's a loooooong commute. In high school, I'd complain about the 15 min drive; at Vassar, I complain about a 10 minute walk. But my commute here takes almost exactly 60 min. I leave my apartment, walk a block to the metro station (and I'm lucky it's only a block), then take linea 1 to Atocha-Renfe station (yes, the one that got bombed in 2003), where I catch el cercanías (the commuter train). I take el cercanías to the Las Margaritas stop in the suburb of Getafe, and then walk about half a mile to the UC3M campus. Thankfully, I have an abono, a pre-paid pass that allows me unlimited rides on all public transportation in Madrid. Also thankfully, the metro system here is insanely wonderful! The slogan is "Madrid Metro: uno de los mejores metros en el mundo. Usálo." (The Mardid Metro is one of the best in the world. Use it.) It's clean, usually not foul-smelling, totally devoid of homeless people, and it's almost impossible to board the wrong train or get lost because all lines run through at least one major transfer station. The signage is excellent, and every line runs in both directions (you just have to make sure you get on the right side of the track). Everything about it is completely unlike the NYC Metro, which never ceases to leave me stressed and broke after accidentally boarding an express train to Queens at 10:30 pm...but let's not talk about that.
 |
| The blissfully peaceful metro station |
Day 1 at UC3M consisted of lots of waiting, since like everything this program organizes, the day was poorly scheduled. We split up into groups to take language placement exams--one written, one multiple-choice, and one oral. Despite sleeping through most of the multiple-choice exam (getting back into school-mode is really rough for me, okay?!), I got placed into the second-highest language group, Avanzado Alta A--so I'm pretty happy about that! For lunch, the monitoras took us to this absolutely unreal sandwich shop. I wish I had pictures, but there are signs everywhere asking for no photos to be taken...what killjoys! But anyway, the interior of the shop is entirely covered in pieces of brightly colored construction paper reading "El de ____": "El de Olivia, El de Katie, El de Pedro," etc., meaning "Olivia's Sandwich, Katie's Sandwich, Pedro's Sandwich," etc. I ended up ordering "El de Nech," which was chicken, caramelized onions, avocado, and brie on pan integral (wheat bread). I almost fainted from happiness as I watched one of the two ladies who work there--angels in aprons, for sure--pick up a perfectly ripe avocado, slice it in half, pit it and peel it, then spread an entire halve onto the freshly toasted bread. The whole sandwich only cost €5, less than half of the €11 we're allotted daily for lunch. I have a feeling I'm gonna be going back to this place a LOT. And by a lot, I mean multiple times a day. (This is my inner Liz Lemon speaking...)
After we finished at UC3M, we did a brief spin around a couple of Madrid's barrios.
 |
| This is the symbol of Madrid...the statue is tiny and super anticlimactic, pushed all the way to one end of the Puerta del Sol |
 |
| La Plaza Mayor |
 |
| Plaza Mayor |
Thursday, June 23, 2011
On what to expect.
 |
| A building on the UC3M campus...and a random old shirtless man |
There are alarmingly few Google image results for "Universidad Carlos III." Either they don't have cameras in Spain, or I'm accidentally enrolled in one of those internet scam universities. I guess being stranded in Madrid could be a really fun adventure--right? I'm just going to hope that UC3M is a real place, and that there are lots of creepy, shirtless, middle-aged men walking around outside the campus. (See that dude in the picture?! I thought Vassar was the only "clothing-optional" campus I'd have to deal with during my college career...I guess not. Sigh.)
It's pretty thrilling not knowing what to expect when I get to Madrid. I have this image in my mind that Europe consists entirely of super old, tall buildings all crowded together along a cobblestone street. And that cobblestone street is filled with men wearing capris and small children drinking beer (or is that just in Germany?) I mean, up until a few days ago, I thought all of Europe drove on the left side of the road like those crazy Brits do. So in addition to the obvious things--the 9 hour time difference from California, drinking unrefrigerated sodas, and having absolutely no idea how to use the vosotros verb tense--I'm going to be in for a total culture shock. I should probably start memorizing how the euro system works, otherwise I'm going to be broke in approximately 3 days. (They do count time in days there, right?)
But they do say ignorance is bliss, so I think I might just dive into this as a (hopefully charmingly) clueless American. 57 days!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)