My Top Five Moments Watching NFL in Spain

5. A week after moving into my apartment in Madrid, I got to watch the Baltimore Ravens murder the Pittsburgh Steelers at the James Joyce Pub on October 3rd with Devon Jayne (my roommate who can now name at least five of the Ravens and the positions they play). I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my first full month of living in Madrid!

4. Realizing how small the world has become as I watched an American football game at an Irish pub in Spain with Alli, my friend who had flown in from America.

3. Traveling back home from the Madrid airport after a delayed flight from Dublin, I was tired and knew the Ravens game had already started. It was late, around 8pm, and I figured I’d have to really beg Devon to come out and watch the game with me on a Sunday. We had to teach early the next day, after all. When I finally walked into my apartment, Devon was already waiting to go out with me. “Where have you been?” she asked. We took the Metro to Dubliners where Jack and Sarah were had been watching the Ravens v. Chiefs game since the kick-off. There’s nothing like a pint of Guinness and watching a game with friends to fight travel-fatigue!

2. Standing in a crowded Madrid pub on January 15, 2011, a day that will live in infamy….just kidding, I watched helplessly as my team was defeated for the second time in one season by Pittsburgh. After the game, we went to Melocotton where Pedro, the bartender, asked my friends, in Spanish, why I looked so depressed. I could have died. That was the last night I got to pretend I was at home in an American sports bar watching American football (real football, the greatest sport on the planet). :(

1. Watching Superbowl XL-V at TGI Friday’s Madrid, Sarah commented on an incomplete Roethlisberger pass: “That looks like a pass a rapist would make.”

Best line ever in sports commentary.

No comas el pollo verde.

In October, once I had moved into my apartment and gotten settled into my position at work, I started exploring the city with my roommate, Devon. One Sunday we took a walk through El Parque del Oeste, just a few blocks from our apartment. Another Sunday we went to an English-speaking church, a twenty minute walk away from the Arturo Soria Metro station.

I absolutely loved the church. It was such a melting pot of people from different countries and backgrounds. The worship music was phenomenal with a mix of traditional hymns and contemporary songs. There was a piano, guitars, and a saxophone. I particularly enjoyed the rhythm section composed of three African men on bongos.

On the way back to the Metro, it started to rain. Having left our umbrellas at home, Devon and I decided to stop into a little café for coffee and brunch. I absolutely love the café con leche here in Spain. They serve one part espresso with about three parts scalded milk. Azúcar, or sugar, comes on the side.

After ordering our coffees, I took a look at the menu. One traditional and very common food here is tortilla española, or Spanish tortilla. It’s very similar to the concept of my Dad’s ‘Hillbilly’s’. On Saturday mornings or on Sundays after Church, he sautés wedges of potato with scrambled eggs and adds whatever leftover meat and vegetables are sitting in the fridge. Though ‘Hillbilly’s’ have never been my favorite meal, I appreciate the way no ‘Hillbilly’ creation is ever the same, highlighting my Dad’s inventiveness and culinary prowess. Anyway, a tortilla española is essentially a Hillbilly in omelet form; sliced potato and sometimes meat and vegetables are baked into a very thick layer of wisked eggs.

On the menu at this café, I found three types of tortilla española. It was listed plain, with salsa, and with callos. I didn’t want to have it plain and I don’t like salsa. So, I decided I’d try the tortilla española con callos. I didn´t know what callos was, but I figured it would be an interesting twist on the traditional dish.

What came out of the kitchen was a pan of tortilla española covered by bits of mystery meat in a sizzling-hot reddish-orange sauce. Devon laughed and told me it was intestine. Swept up by my fearless decision to try something new, I told her it couldn’t be and took a few bites.

Devon waved over our waiter and asked what type of meat it was. He responded, “Es de vaca.” (It’s from cow.) I shouldn’t have asked what part. He answered with a word I hadn’t heard before. He motioned to his stomach. I could have lived my life without knowing I’d just eaten cow guts.

My Spanish lesson of the day: callos means cow entrails, or tripe.

One of my Dad’s favorite things to say in Spanish is “No comas el pollo verde.” (Don’t eat the green chicken.) I’d like to insert my own little piece of advice: No comas algo si no sabes lo que es. (Don’t eat anything unless you know what it is!)

Murcia y Cartagena: Mi primera vista del Mediterráneo

El viaje de cuatro horas de autobús a Murcia no parecía muy largo. Durante todo el tiempo, Devon y yo charlábamos y bromeábamos, llegando a conocernos. Era el primero de muchos viajes en autobús , lo habíamos cogido en la estación de Méndez Álvaro, la Estación Sur de Autobuses de Madrid.

Íbamos a reunirnos con un amigo, se llama Caleb, trabajaba como auxiliar de conversación en Murcia. Cuando lleguamos a la estación en Murcia era medianoche, fuimos recibidas por Caleb. El tenía una copa de vino tinto en la mano, y una chica en cada brazo.

Caminamos hasta su apartamento. Caleb nos sirvió las sobras de su cena. Las dos amigas de Caleb se fueron y nos mostró donde dormiríamos (en su habitación en dos camas). Caleb dormiría en el sofá, ¡que caballeroso!

Al día siguiente, cogimos un bus a Cartagena, a una hora de Murcia. Cartagena es una ciudad muy pequeña situado junto al Mediterráneo. Paseamos por el paseo marítimo del puerto. Aquel día, el sol brillaba y había palmeras a lo largo del paseo. Aunque era otoño, parecía más como el verano. Sentía el suelo de Madera caliente bajo mis sandalias.

Hicimos un picnic con vino y fruta en el campo bajo el sol, respirando el aire del Mediterráneo. Vimos las ruinas de un teatro romano. Fueron descubiertas en 1988 y se piensa que el teatro fue construido en tiempos del Emperador Augustus. El teatro (ahora reconstruido) es uno de los más grandes y ricos de toda la Hispania romana.

En el último día en Murcia, fuimos a una plaza donde se veía La Catedral de Santa María, más conocida como Catedral de Murcia. Jaime I el Conquistador tomó la ciudad de Murcia en 1266 tras sofocar la sublevación islámica. El monarca la consagró a la Virgen María pues tenía por costumbre ofrecer una misa a Nuestra Señora siempre que conquistaba una villa. El edificio de la mezquita fue dedicado al culto cristiano desde ese momento y no fue convertido en Catedral hasta 1291.

Aunque no entramos en la Catedral, aprendimos que en la Capilla Mayor se encuentra la urna sepulcral que contiene el corazón y las entrañas de Alfonso X el Sabio. La mayoría de las catedrales europeas tienen una capilla mayor con los cuerpos enterrados, los huesos, y otros restos de líderes políticos y religiosos. A mí me parece muy extraño y espantoso.

El viaje en autobús de regreso a Madrid fue durante el día. Vimos las sierras donde se concentran una de las mayores biodiversidades botánicas de la península ibérica. Finalmente en Madrid, viajando en el metro, sentí por primera vez que nuestro piso en la Calle de Torija era mi hogar.

Toledo: Day Two

Toledo is so rich cultural and religious history. In one day, we visited a cathedral, a mosque, and a synagogue; many of the sites dated back to the thirteenth century.

It is definitely worth at least a day trip from Madrid to see at least the gorgeous Catedral Primada Santa María de Toledo and a few works by El Greco scattered around the city. We could have stayed a second night and had plenty to fill the next day.

But make sure you have a very detailed map. The maps in our guidebooks labeled only main streets and navigating our way through the labyrinth of Toledo proved more than difficult. The buildings are set very close together and street names on the elaborately decorated street signs are only legible once you are already on top of them.

Be warned: Asking for directions was rarely helpful. While we were greeted with warm receptions, we were always given the same directions: “Sigue la calle y es la primera izquierda.” Follow the street and make the first left. Since we never found what we were looking for down the street and to the left, I wonder if Toledans use that line to send away all of the lost tourists that bother them ten times a day.

Toledo: Day One

As Devon and I trekked our way through the streets of Toledo, I felt as though I had been transported to a medieval time. Our first objective once we stepped off the bus was to find the Puente de Alcántara (Bridge of Alcántara). The views of the city from across the Tagus River were breathtaking. Our hostal, a legit castle, was only a short hike from the bridge.

After leaving our bags at the castle, we walked back into town for dinner. We had authentic Spanish paella and gazpacho with delicious mojitos. Walking back to the Puente de Alcántara, the view of our castle lit up was stunning. Toledo was without a doubt one of the most unique cities I have ever visited. While you can expect heavy tourist traffic around the main sites in Toledo, every inch of the town is authentic and rich in history.

Bring comfortable walking shoes. Inside the walls of Toledo, there is no grass, only brick and stone. Wearing heels for a daytime stroll or a night out would be an epic disaster. Nearly every street in Toledo is on a steep inline and the town is overrun with awkwardly laid steps. It felt like every street was an uphill climb, but the awesome views of the tremendous cathedral bearing over the city was worth the sore feet. Plus, we had to work off that paella anyway!

My Jersey Shore Themed Madrid

Beat Dat Beat

Meet the Situation

...Bringing the Jersey Shore to Madrid

Props and Drops

Props to currency exchange in an American airport.

Drops to delayed international flights and spending eight hours at Dulles International.

Props to the cool kids I met at the hostel.

Drops to the super-lame/semi-useless/uber-long orientation for the teaching program.

Props to my Jersey Shore-themed first week in Madrid.
Drops to all the euros that ate my dollars.

Drops to not being able to flush toilet paper down toilets.
Drops to living in a hostel…period.

Props to the ridiculously fab bartender at Melocotton.
Drops to the outdated American music Spanish bars like to play.

Props to churros and mojitos on a foreign city street
Props to the shweet Spanish bakery one block down.
Props to my awesome new apartment and fabulous roomies!
Props to the start of a European adventure!!!