Travel Updates! Finally!

Sorry, fans, for not writing in such a long time. I have been travelling all over the place these past two weeks, especially since we just had our Semana Santa, or Easter Week, or just spring break. I haven't had time to even process all my journeys, let alone write about them. Talk about a hard life (Iamkiddingpleasedon'tkillme). Still, Beyonce would never be caught neglecting her supporters in this way and thus, neither should I. Raise your hand if you missed my sense of humor the most.

Actually though, I did not completely forget about my travel blog. I already prepared a list of all the stories I want to document here, and will begin doing so in the order of my travels. Where I've been:

Ireland (St. Patricks Day weekend): Dublin
Morocco: Tangier, Rabat, Chefchaoeun, Asilah
Belgium: Brussels, Antwerp, Brugges

Honestly, all the travelling has been exhausting. Not that I am complaining. My Life Experiences count has exponentially increased and I can't even begin to tell you how many incredible memories I've made. (Actually, I have to begin telling you. Because that's the whole point of this blog. Way to go, Jennifer). The main down-side is that if you add all the hours I've spent in subways/buses/airplanes/airports/stations it would probably amount to re-watching all of the Lord of the Rings movies 6 times consecutively. Approximately.

An unexpected take away I got from all this though, is a newfound appreciation for my youth. Because without it there is no way that I could have pulled off some of the crazy antics that I have pulled. Check this out:

• Catch a flight out to Ireland at 7 am (this is another story in itself...) on Saturday morning, 3/16
• Arrive back in Cordoba on Wednesday, 8:00 am. Go to class at 9:30 am
• Thursday night, hang out with Will and view some Semana Santa processions until 3 am.
• Leave for Morocco that Friday morning, 3/22 at 5:30 am

5:30 AM.

• Come back to Cordoba by 10 pm on the 25th.
• Flew out to Belgium the next day.
• Spent next 4 days exploring Brussels/Brugges/Antwerp. 
• Come back to Cordoba on Sunday, 3/31, by 6 pm.
• Resume classes next day. 

Kids, don't try this at home unless you are either >30 years old, or especially energetic and youthful, or maybe on crack. Which for the record, I don't do.

Hands down though, everything was well worth it.

Scraps of Turkish and Greek

Here is what I recollect learning from Turkey / Greece.

Let it be known that at one point in time, yes, I was able to ask someone in Turkey A) how much (the giant pretzel) cost and B) where is the bathroom, and solicit an actual response. Possibly out of pity, but we'll never know. 99% sure it's because I sounded that good.

Also, I'm writing the phrases phonetically, how I best remember them. They are probably not very accurate, but I would rather be honest than come off as some pretentious worldly douche who knows aaaaaalll the languages. If I did that I would probably have to start dressing in pink shorts and boat shoes, which I don't think I'd be able to pull off.

Turkish:

Thank you: tekkshem edereem
Thank you: sao
Where is the toilet?: tuvalet naredeen?

Greek:

Thank you: ehfaristo

Phrases in Portugese

Portugese is adorably similar and at the same time not so similar to Spanish. Here are some of the phrases I learned while spending the 4 day weekend there:

Vamos = Vamoosh ( my favorite! )
Bonita = Bonitish! 
Buenos dia = Bon dia
Bueno tarde = Bon tarde
Bueno noche = Bon noche
Gracias = Obligado 
Amigos = Amigish

Travelling has allowed me to start collecting handfuls of phrases from all sorts of languages. I'm sad I didn't write them down earlier, because already I've forgotten what I learned in Turkish/Greek. At least Italian was easy. I didn't expect Italian to actually sound like something out of a Chef Boyarde commercial. Which isn't offensive because literally, if you jokingly say things like "mmmmMMMMmm pastArIAaA!!" or "pIzZarIA!" people will actually think you're talking to them. Guess how I know this.

Maybe I will go back and relearn those old phrases and record them on my blog. I mean, every collection needs some sort of shelf.  Or in the case of my primary childhood collection (Beanie Babies ftw!!!), a nice giant cardboard..box? 

The ULTIMATE Make It Work

For dinner tonight, my madre made me my favorite salad but added cucumbers.

...

Lots

of 

cucumbers.

Cucumbers.

If you know me at all, you won't need any further explanation. But just for context, a bowl of cucumber is more horrifying to me than if I was presented with a bowl of worms/intestines/brains/maggots/poop/chicken fetuses. Combined. 

Let it be known that I actually tried. Which is a serious testament to how much I love my host mama. I actually ate about half of the cucumbers in my salad, using the "swallow pill" and "drown with water" strategy.  It was so painful. The taste, the contamination of my other beautiful vegetables...everything. If I had it my way, I wouldn't even have eaten any of the vegetables that touched the cucumbers because I can taste the cucumber on them. But I had to make it work. How you would feel if you were forced to eat a bowl of rotton fish vomit is how I feel when eating cucumbers. 

I couldn't finish.

Which is another serious testament to how much I hate cucumbers. 

I am a respectful eater. What do I mean by that? It's easier to explain in examples. For instance, I am a "vegetarian," but when our Istanbul couchsurf hosts made us an entire home-cooked dinner on our first night of meeting them, I didn't blink twice when I saw that the main entry was chicken. I ate that entry without a single word of complaint. Yes, I would have preferred not to have eaten the chicken if it were in my control. But I am not the type of person who could go out of her way to not eat something that was so generously made for her. And the idea of how uncomfortable that would have made our hosts feel makes me uncomfortable. It's just not how I was brought up. Or, when I went hiking with Will and some friends last week and Will's mom generously made "bocadillos" (sandwiches with chorizo or sausage)  for all of us. I would never bring myself to say "thanks, but no I can't eat these sandwiches you prepared for us kids who you never even met before because I am vegetarian." I am not saying that if you would do that that you're a bad person. People are vegetarian for a lot of reasons, a main one being religious. No judgement at all, I'm just talking about me personally. I've even eaten two pieces of  cucumber in middle school once I was visiting my grandparents in China just to make them happy.

But this was just too much. There were too many cucumbers in this salad. 

You have no idea how stressful this entire experience was. How hard I tried to get myself to finish all the cucumbers. How horrified I was at the idea of wasting the food. I didn't want my madre to think I didn't like her cooking, or that I'm a brat. I may sound like a complete nutso right now, but that is how much I hate seeming rude or ungrateful to elders. It's also just how much I love my host mama, because I know that when she adds extra vegetables in my salads it is because she just went grocery shopping and wants me to have the biggest, most complete salad possible. At one point, I was literally considering sneaking the  cucumbers into a napkin and then going outside to throw them away later. But I realized that if I didn't speak up then my madre would think I like cucumbers and keep giving them to me. 

Thank god my host mama had to get up for something and saw my cucumbers (after not being able to force down anymore cucumbers without literally having to throw up) in my bowl. She was so nice about it, of course. But still, I felt kind of bad. I'm just really glad my host mama was so nice about it. 

So okay, maybe making it work would entail that I either A) grew a pair and told my madre myself that I don't like cucumbers or B) ate all the cucumbers. But at least it worked out in the end. 

I'm going to stop this post now because even the idea of the cucumbers that are sitting in my stomach right now makes me feel kind of sick. 

Gran Hermano

Gran Hermano time is silencio time.

Imagine two 20-30-year-old mothers jumping, screaming, and singing during the opening credits of a television show. It's quite a sight, I promise you.

Gran Hermano is a reality show featuring a group of 20-something people living together in a house. The house has a "big brother" robot voice that tells them things (that I don't quite understand). And of course the majority of the group is young attractive and super hormonal Spaniards. One of the girls is from Córdoba! Apparently, we have something like it in the States, but I never even watched MTV before so I really wouldn't know (Am I the only kid who grew up on Disney Channel? Lizzie McGuire, anyone?) It's funny because the title, "Gran Hermano," or Big Brother, is named after the George Orville novel, who I actually have heard of because I read his book 1984. Clearly the point of this is that I was, and still am, the coolest kid on the block.

No, but this show is really funny because it is clearly the trashy reality tv show of Spain. And my two sisters Merchi and Ana love it. They silence the boys whenever it is on and refuse to talk to them until comercial time. I'm in the living room with them when it is on, but honestly I don't think I would like it even if it was in english. But it is the one show that the kids immediately shut up and surrender the remote control for. 

And even without spanish fluency, I see the exact same trashy reality tv drama that is mirrored in all the Kardashians-Go-Shopping-With-Teenage-Mothers-Who-Are-Obese shows we back in the States. Is it still considered a common ground if the common ground is cultural travesties?

Don't mistake me for hating, though. I love Gran Hermano now too, but more so because I like observing the viewers more than the silly people in the show. 

IMPORTANT UPDATE ABOUT BRAINS

Turns out I didn't actually eat goat brains.

After talking with Inma about what we did this weekend, she assured us that the waiter was joking with us and was just trying to scare us.

Well, he definitely succeeded in that.

Also, apparently he said sheep brains, not goat brains. Not that that matters anymore, because I am BRAIN-FREE!

Wait, that came out wrong. Language problems...

Teaching Things

Tomorrow is my first day of volunteering! I am teaching english to a group of immigrants in a 1.5 hour class, once a week.

To be honest, I've had a lot of experience in the teaching/tutoring realm. Ever since middle school through college, it has been study buddies, summer camps, teaching piano, TA for PH116, Peer Health Exchange...etc. And I think it is fair to say that I've done pretty well in all these extracurricular activities.You know what all these have in common though?-youth, english and structure.

My class is going to be a comprised of immigrant adults taking english classes in order to try and find work in the U.S. This makes me nervous because I feel a lot more pressure as an instructor. Not trying to pass off elementary school education as unimportant, but at least if I royally screw up with kids (honestly, my math is so horrible I don't know if I am qualified to teach adolescents skills I barley have) someone along the way will help them learn what they need to learn. And it's things like adding and subtracting...totally not that fundamental to life, right? These immigrants are relying solely on me, Jennifer Zhang. To learn a completely new language that is essential to their future lives. This feels really important and I, having not even met them yet, already feel a very serious obligation to deliver my very best teaching service. My volunteer coordinator tries to assure us that anything we teach will be useful no matter what, so maybe the pressure is coming mostly from myself. But still. I already feel personally invested in supplying these immigrants with the best, most useful skill set of english needed to help them succeed in the States.

Which brings me to problem dos:

How am I expected to be the best educator I can possibly be when I have to teach in Spanish? A language that I am currently in the process of learning? Madre mio... 

And finally, every past tutoring or teaching job I have done came with some sort of structure. Usually program directors give us a relative schedule or at least a precedent of what tutors did in the past. In PH116, the class I TA for at Berkeley, we have lesson plans from all the students in years past. And, all the TA's meet once a week for two hours to share lesson plans and brainstorm what activities or discussions we want to have for that week's class.

Here, I'm being thrown into the pool without floaties on. And for this hypothetical situation we are going to pretend that I wasn't on high school swim team and that I actually don't know how to swim. Yikes!!

No lesson plans.  No materials. No syllabus. No precedents. All I am given is a classroom, and a 1.5 hour block of time.

There were actually a few other volunteer options I could have selected, including tutoring younger children, but I selected this option because it is something different and more challenging than anything I've done before. Okay, also because on the first day of orientation, I thought I was just going to "check it out" but then ended up signing up. Language barrier problems for the win! But no pasa nada, I am actually really glad I ended up with this group. There are four other students from my program teaching their own classes too, so at least we can sort of plan together and share stories about how our classes went...or how horribly I have failed. We'll see.

And SPEAKING OF TEACHING, today I got a job!!!! Our program director Inma emailed us this morning about an opportunity to privately tutor a family's child for 10 euro an hour and that whoever responds to the email first gets the job. SCORE! So glad I decided to check my email during our snack break. Starting next Wednesday, I'll be getting paid to spend an afternoon with a 4 year old girl and play with her while speaking english. I don't even have to teach! I guess the mom just wants to give her daughter early exposure. I think is wonderful because I know from taking chinese school back in the day, that learning a language at a younger age is the least painful way to become fluent. Compared to my volunteering, this should be much easier I hope! I'm excited to get to know new people, and I love kids a lot, but honestly I am just so gosh-darn-happy to be earning some money. All I do these days is withdraw withdraw withdraw.

So yeah, lots of exciting things happening. I'm hoping too that these opportunities, especially volunteering, will help improve my spanish. Who doesn't like a win-win scenerio, right? 

Losses in Translation

Language barriers make the easiest tasks become hikes to Mt. Everest. For instance, trying to tell someone how you almost locked yourself out of your apartment becomes a 2 hour long Odyssey monologue. Painful, long, and really awkward to hear. Luckily, I haven't had too many serious mishaps yet. But language barriers can quickly go from something comedic to serious, especially if you're dealing with things like allergies, electronic malfunctions, or taxi/bus driver directions. So far, my language barrier experiences have been the "shake my head in shame" kind, and not the "crap, do I need to call the US embassy?!" kind. 

• In Cordoba last week, two high school classmates who are studying abroad in France and London came down to Córdoba for a day trip. It was really fun showing them around and getting tapas with them. While ordering tapas from Casa Santos, a tapas place well known around town, I tried getting myself a cup of vino blanco but ended up with fino, which is a wine unique to Cordoba. It has kind of a weird fishy taste and isn't my favorite drink. When I took my cup and took my first sip, I thought, god damnit, I got stuck with fino AGAIN!? This has definitely happened to me more than once. Sigh.
  
  

  

  This is what a NOT free "tapa" looks like

• In Granada this past weekend, I was getting tapas for lunch and was trying to figure out which ones were free to choose from with my wine. Accidentally ended up ordering a 9 euro entry somehow, while thinking it was a free tapa the entire time. Ouch for my wallet, but at least it was really delicious for my tummy.
  
• Again in Granada, I accidentally, not knowingly, ate brains. We were eating at a very well known and delicious restaurant called Casa Juanillo (It's in the Sacromonte district-up in the mountains by the gypsy caves and a gorgeous view of the Alhambra). There weren't too many vegetarian options, but I see "Tortilla de Sacromonte" and decide to order that. Tortilla is really common in Andaluz and is just eggs and potato cooked into a nice, spongy, cake-type thing. What I got though was different from any tortilla I've seen. It was much for thin, like the egg "bing" I was used to eating from my parents. No problem. I eat my tortilla thinking nothing of it. It is pretty good, nice and spongy and flavorful. I guess I never caught the part where our waiter jokingly told us "there is a surprise ingredient but I won't tell you what it is until after you eat the food." HONESTLY, if I had caught him saying that, I wouldn't have gone within 10 feet of the plate. Maybe it is because I'm chinese and I come from a culture of people who eat weird and disgusting things (I.E fish brain, blech!!!), but that sentence right there is the dead giveaway that you are about to consume an internal organ. But no, OF COURSE, I didn't hear or understand him saying that. Which is how I ended up eating goat brains in my tortilla.

Let me just repeat myself one more time for emphasis.

During my trip to Granada, I ate goat brains.

You know what, I forgot what the original point of this post was. Now I can't stop thinking about the goat brains again.

The end. 

Apple Skins

It's true, I never learned how to skin an apple, because my parents did it for me until the age where I could deal with eating the skin.

This past Sunday, some friends and I agreed to meet up at 8:30 am for a hike. Of course, I crawled out of bed at 8:06 am. Running on a very tight schedule, I rushed into the kitchen to grab an apple for breakfast and pack my water bottle. (Side note: living in a world without Berkeley Time has made me realize how horrible my punctuality is). It's cold and dark, and I am the only one awake in the apartment. Except for my little brother. I turn around from the sink and see Currito sitting at the table, staring at me with his big, wide, un-humanly awake eyes. 

"Manzana?"

I quickly hand him my apple and reach for another, when I hear rustling behind me. I turn around to see Curro grabbing a knife, in an attempt to skin his apple. Without a second thought, I took the knife from him and began butchering his apple. I would use the verb "skin," but that would imply that I didn't cut off more than 50% of his apple in my attempt to peel off only the thin, waxy exterior. Oops. I handed him back his apple, now completely cut up in different angles and barely recognizable. Still, it was without skin. By this point it is 8:40 am and I have 4 missed calls. But the usual, stressed out anxiety you get from being super late to somewhere, was replaced with a warm feeling accomplishment. For being able to peel an apple for the first time, and to be able to do it for someone else. 

I've never been a big sister before. I'm an only child and in my entire family, I am the baby. So skins get peeled for me without me even having to ask. How else could a girl get away without knowing how to skin one herself for 21 years? But for some reason, this small random incident sticks with me because it reminds me that for the first time in my life, I am not the baby. In fact, someone else is instead of me. 

I'm not trying to imply that I deserve a marching band and ten gold stars for taking the time to skin an apple. This is what should be done. I'm only reflecting on this very nuanced but noticeable change in my lifestyle, because it really is a unique and interesting experience for me. I am happy to say that I'm enjoying the role-reversal though. I just hope that I'm playing the part of older sibling correctly, and not letting my Only Child show. 

Blisters, Best Friends and Things

Haaaayyyyyy, sexay laaadayyy

Mmmm, check out all that yummy goodness. You might be wondering what the point of this post is, but no, it isn't something really disgusting or fetish-ey, I swear. And what does this have to do with my best friend David? Because he is gross? Small and red? Painful and annoying? Moist all the time? Why don't I just pull an Annoying Teacher moment and respond with All Of The Above. 

Jokes! I should try being nicer because this is supposed to be a special birthday post! 

David Lin is the best best friend anyone can ask for (but no one else can have him. ESPECIALLY not youknowwho. This kid is allll mine, suckahs!). And the reason why my most recent bloody addition to my body reminds me of him, is because David is also my go-to-doctor (If you are reading this, UCSF, this guy is like, the next Greys Anatomy, but smarter and way sexier than Sandra Oh. No offense). David never lets me get away with just letting my scabs fester and sore like the 5-year-old-me wants to do. He holds my hand (lets me practically BREAK his hand), applies that god-forsaken-painful-as-bloody-mary-giving-birth alcohol swab, gives me a new band aid, and makes sure I don't get my sore infected. He is seriously just the bees-knees.

Well, this new blister came from my stupid new flats that I tried to break in. (Fck you, flats). And of course I recently ran out of bandaids and haven't been doing anything to actually take care of this blister. If David were here, then the blister probably would have healed by now. But today, I finally got down to business and bought myself alcohol swabs and new bandaids. I'm a Big Kid now! (PS DAVID after you read this, can you email me the name of that cream stuff you always use on my injuries after you use the alcohol swab? And possibly how to say it in spanish? THANK YOUUUU <3 )

Before I stray too far...the point is, I really miss my best friend. Not just because I have a really painful wound on my foot, either. I miss him when I see a beautiful person in the park. Or on the street. Or pretty much anywhere because, lets be real, this is Spain. I miss him when I see something that annoys me. Or when I am eating. When I am craving indian food. When I'm tired. Basically, all the time. This kid is literally the 2nd half of me. 

And I wanted to make this specific point on my blog, because I don't want my blog to just be flowers and rainbows like a My Little Pony episode (DESPITE the name of my blog...oops). Studying abroad is definitely one of the best decisions I've ever made in my life, but that doesn't mean it's always easy. This past week, I started to get a little homesick. Except for me, homesick namely ties itself to people more than locations. My family...my friends...and I just want people who are reading this, as well as myself, to know that it is okay to have these feelings. To not have every second of every minute of your travelling experience feel like you're taking shots of Felix Felicis (if you don't get that reference, get out. My blog has a special anti-spell for your kind. Oh and Alvin, *cyber-high-five* because I know you of all people appreciate this the most). It's okay to sometimes just feel ridiculously tired. After-all, we may want to, but we don't actually have golden livers of immortal oxes like we think we do. Unfortunately. So if you stay in one night, you aren't completely wasting your experience abroad. You can still be having a good time over-all. Everything is balance. After-all, there is a huge difference between taking a vacation abroad, and living abroad. 

Oh yeah remember that time you were a muddafuqqin PRINCE?! 

So, David, back to you (sorry I always make everything about me because I am a self-centered bitch! #sorryimnotsorrywhuttttt). Happy birthday. I wish I could celebrate with you or at least eat a disgusting amount of junk food with you. I don't think it is possible to internationally ship ice cream though...but I am sure your day will be fantastic, because you are so fantastic. I don't need to list all the reasons why I actually couldn't live life without you. Because if I did that then there would be a long line of other bitches wanting to get at you while I am gone and you know I just cannot have that. Recall the self-centered bitch thing? 

(Oh, but what the heck. Maybe I'll show you off just a teeny. Just to make them other chics jealous. Haaaaa!)

Thanks for being you. Thanks for all the memories. Thanks for all the tear inducing laughs. Thanks for hearing me cry. Thanks for crying with me. Thanks for blessing me with a friendship without fear.  Aside from family, there isn't anyone else I trust more to stay in my life, regardless of what happens in the future. That's something not many people can say they have, and to think I've had you since we were six. Thanks for accepting me. Thanks for listening to ALL my things. Thanks for those old days when we talked on the phone for hours. Thanks for still being my friend even though I was really rude and gave you back your zebra stuffed animal that one time (I hope you still have it...).  Thanks for still being my friend after that other rude time where we flushed your poem in the toilet. Thanks for being my horcrux. Thanks for cooking for me. And being good at it too. Thanks for teaching me how best to shop at 99 ranch market. Thanks for letting me borrow your pajamas. More importantly, thanks for being the same size as me, you stupid skinnyass 6pack bitchhoe! I hate you! Thanks for being muy guapo so I can tout you around like a super handsome best friend chihuahua that makes other girls jealous. Thanks for sitting next to me on our future oneway flight to Hell. Thanks for all the things in-between that only you and I understand. To the moon and back, you are my best best friend. 

Happy birthday <3

Since I started this post with something so ugly, I figured I should end it with something the opposite. As in, DAYUM lookit those FINEEEEEE specimens. No one is as attractive as us because we are the MOST attractive. Like, aaaaactually though...<3

Important Things

I, being the technically savvy Steve Jobs protegee that I am, have added categories to my blog posts. Queu trumpets and confetti, por favor!

SO, if you are going through some sort of existential, midlife crises...or maybe you just found out your mom is a lesbian or are one infomercial away from running away to become a clown and/or nun? Or perhaps you've hit the lowest of the low and have become a vegan. I'm just throwing out all the possible reasons why you would be bored or scared or lost enough as a human being to want to read my blog. If any of those apply though, 1. I am sorry. And 2. now, if you scroll all the way to the bottom of the page, you can navigate my blog based on places I've been or certain subjects. Certain subjects being food. At least it's not vegan though!

You're welcome.  

Real Talk

The Spanish Volume

When visiting our other cities, Julie and I would ask our new friends/hosts what they thought about Spain, in order to prepare us for our upcoming semester. The first thing everyone says is that they love España. Which is always reassuring to hear, considering you've basically put your normal livelihood and academic career on hold to go live there.
The second thing we are always told, is that the Spaniards are loud.
Even during orientation, literally 40 minutes before we were going to put our lives in the hands of our new Spanish parents, our teachers warned us about "misunderstandings concerning Spanish parents yelling at you..."

Altogether, this was not looking like a very good situation. At this point I was expecting Spaniards to talk as if everyone around them was deaf or something.

Which is why it came as a little surprise when I didn't notice anything unordinary about the way my Spanish family talks. In fact, I really click with the way people talk here. The stories are theatrical, lively and much more entertaining to listen to. People talk with passion and enthusiasm, baring all emotions with their words. And needless to say, the futbol games are absolutely insane but in the best way. People should be allowed to shout and curse and scream when their players barely miss the goal, and not be regarded as psychopaths in need of treatment! I think deep down, I was always a little spaniard because I feel like I've always exuded this type of behavior.
Alas, I am finally with my kind of people.

Spanish on Crack

Being in a homestay with my spanish speaking skills as they are right now, feels like this:

My spanish is an obese 55 year old person who has lived his entire life eating absolutely nothing but McDonalds. He wakes up one day with a gun to his head, and is forced to run a marathon or get his brains blown out.

(Why my spanish is personified as a male is not relavent)

...

Spanish is fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Friendship On Crack pt 2

Today is our last day in Paris, and it is also the last day of the Jennifer Julie Euro Adventure...FOR NOW. We already have plans for our St. Patty's day in Dublin, and are only 3 hours away from each other in Spain. She will definitely be visiting me, and I know I will take a bus to Granada at least once. Plus, we are both one hour from the closest beach in Spain. So that is going to be our central meeting point; how fitting for us San Diego girls!

Still though, it's a sad day. I can honestly say I have never gotten to know someone so intensely in such a short amount of time. In retrospect, there isn't that many people I know who could have been a more perfect travel companion. Being a good friend has certain criteria that many people fit for me, but being a good travel companion requires patience, flexibility, street savvy and most importantly, the right attitude. Check, check and check. Julie Brown is the perfect girl. But back off, she is already taken.

Ooooh Julie. Julie Julie Julie. Listen to me. Are you listening to me? Julie? Julie. Listen to me Julie. Julie.
You already know that I am obsessed with you. You know this because I tease you and am mean to you. It means I like you loads. I'm so glad that we went on this adventure together and shared so many unbelievable / embarrassing moments together. We could already write a book and produce a television show based on our adventures and stories. Except most people wouldn't get it because of all the inside jokes probably. Oh well, I bet Paul would watch it. Sigh. This is already super cheesy (can I get that with my wine? But no brie please), and I know I will be seeing you very soon, so I'll keep it Turkish-Tea-brief. You're going to have such an amazing time in Granada. You will be too busy making friends with all the cool kids and doing cool bad-ass things like toilet papering. Hopefully, you won't forget to message me once in awhile. Cannot wait to see you in Spain and when we travel to Morocco, Portugal, Dublin, etc. The possibilities are always endless.

<3

Assumptions about Europe

...that aren't true.

1. Raging

The first thing you think of when you hear "Europe" is RAGE. Finally in the land of No Legal Drinking Age, what better way to celebrate than to drink your brains out. Only now, out in the open?
Well, turns out sight-seeing, getting lost, wandering through streets, eating out all the time...it's actually really exhausting. Especially when you consider that the time it takes to get from A to B takes us 4x longer than it is supposed to. After spending about 10-12 hours straight just exploring the city, Julie and I have no energy left by the time we come back to the apartment/hostel. Usually we spend our nights relaxing and hanging out with each other. Maybe this means we aren't "doing Europe right." But I think we are. I prioritize seeing famous sites, exploring unfamiliar towns, marveling at scenery and meeting new friends to be much more important than buying an over-priced drink.

2. Hostels

Paris is our first hostel experience. And lucky for us, it is nothing like the horror-grotesque-murder chamber we expected it to be! (Thanks a lot, Western media). It's cheap, clean, and comfortable. The only thing is, I thought that because it is full of young travelers like Julie and me, that it would be a great place to meet new friends. Kind of like a co-ed fraternity where we would all click instantly and swap stories about our different home countries and then maybe hold hands and frolic together. I don't know. But it isn't really like that. For the most part, everyone came to the hostel with their own travel companions and stick with their own groups. A part of me kind of thinks that inside, a lot of people have the same thoughts as me and do want to make friends with others, but we're all just too shy to make the first move. Personally, I think the Europeans are just too cool for me. I've already embarrassed myself too many times trying to make friends with people who A) Don't speak english or B) Are just pretending not to hear me or speak english so that they can make me shut up and leave them alone. Who knows. At least I have Julie who is pretty much obligated to be my friend. ( <3 HI JULIE)

3.  Parisans Are All Rude

Parisans aren't all rude. Julie and I have met a number of very friendly people who have patiently taken time out of their work to help us with directions. Even with their minimal English speaking skills.

4. Couchsurfing Is Creepy And You Will Be Murdered

I never thought this was true, but I know Julie was a little shifty at first about us using Couchsurf for Istanbul and Athens. Now I know that she 100% agrees with me when I say that Couchsurf is the best way to travel. Honestly, you will meet the most wonderful people and be able to visit new places in a much more intimate and meaningful way. Highly recommended!

5. You Can't Be Vegetarian in Europe

Clearly, if you've seen my pictures, I am the opposite of starving. I was surprised to find that "vegetarian" translates the same way for many different countries, just with slightly different accents. It also helps that macaroons aren't made with meat. Right now, I could live life off macaroons alone...

6. Everywhere Will Have Wifi

We are in developed countries, but that doesn't mean they will give you wifi. Thank god my cousin suggested that I print out all my important documents / travel plans just in case. Talk about First World Problems?

7. In Rome My Life Would Become The Lizze McGuire Movie

This did not happen. A beautiful Italian boy did not ride up on his vespa and whisk me away. Still had a phenomenal time regardless though.

8. All European Men Are Beautiful

Psych. They really are.

Friendship on Crack pt 1

Sooo, the term "friendship on crack" comes from the fact that in a span of less than one week, me and Julie now know every single thing about each other and have the joint obnoxiousness of two middle aged sorority sisters. Plans to try out for the amazing race are already being made. We're like that movie Julie and Julia, but we're Julie and Jennifer and never cook, only eat.Here are some excerpts from Friendship On Crack. I say excerpts because there are already too many moments so horrifyingly embarrassing that it will never ever leave the vault of Jennifer and Julie to see the light of day (Julie, you know what I'm talking about. But it's okay! It's a joke? We're just kidding? Ha ha ha??)
1. Granny Witch Julie

"Teeeeell meeeee aaaa stoooorryyyy"

2. Julie has big feet

...self explanatory

3. Funny Greek waiters on the street

"Waaaaiiiiiiii??????

4. Hashtags

#whatstopdowegetoffat? #jenniferquestions #questions #ineedanumbrella #umbrellas #rain #water #cold #weather #coldweather #hashtag #eggs

5. Missing Toilets

One time Julie was being super white again and she thought that the toilet was missing in the bathroom. Actually it was just one of those squat toilets like the ones that used to be all over Asia. Oh Julie... #julieiswhite

6. MIW

Again, kind of self explanitory? Basically, we just got to roll with the punches and Make. It. Work.

7. Jennifer and Julie

Fair Warning: when we return to school, we will be two half robots short circuiting at a constant basis not being able to process reality because we aren't together. We will sound like broken records and no one will be able to stand us and our new snooty European superiority complex. But it will be okay because we will keep short circuiting until we find each other on campus. This makes absolutely no sense but Jennifer and Julie realize this and suggest that you just try to make it work.

Sleepover Syndrome

When I was a little kid, sleepovers were just as fun for me as they were for the next kid, but they also came at a price. They kind of terrified me. I have these horrible childhood memories (I wish they were nightmares, as in, not real. But they really did happen...cringe) of me waking up at my friend's house in the middle night in tears, waking up the entire household and having the parents call my parents to come pick me up and take me home because I missed them.  On more than one occasion ..I mean, JEEZ, right? Like, who is that kid?! Yeah, even I wouldn't want to be friends with me.

Fast forward to now, and thank god I've ( somewhat? ) normalized and managed to retain and make friends. But as I spend my last night at home, I'm slightly reminded of those sleepover trauma days because I didn't realize until today, but this is another kind of "first" time leaving home. Initially it didn't occur to me, because I'm pretty well travelled. I left for college. My parents left my side of the coast for the East. I'm practically a gold-level frequent flyer member. Studying in Europe is different though. There is no anchor of spring break or summer break to tether me back to home. And with summer plans as of now leaning towards Beijing, after my semester abroad I would go straight to Asia.

Maybe it is because I grew up as a sheltered only child. But every time I take another step away from home, there is always a reminiscent twinge in my gut from the five year old who just wants to spend the night with her parents. It happened when I spent my first week away from home during 6th grade camp. And when my parents bid me farewell for college we were all in tears. With each time though, the twinge lessens. By now it is a small nudge at most, that I know will disappear the moment my plane lands in Europe. It's just that initial pause right before the big drop that catches me.

I'm not trying to say I won't miss my parents, because I know I will. I am not as afraid anymore.

Still, there is something about leaving behind family and comfort that checks the enthusiasm of going to Europe just slightly. It's a good kind of check though, even if it makes me out to be a big fat baby no one would want to be friends with.

Pre-Departure Check In

My second half of junior year in college is going to be spent abroad in Spain. Wow, that sentence alone sounds too unreal to actually be my life. Prior to the semester officially beginning (Jan 27th), my friend Julie Brown and I have planned a two-week European excursion of our own to explore some new territory before settling down in our respective programs in Granada and Cordoba, Spain.  A lot of planning, internet searching, persuasive arguing with the parents, cafe and webcam meetings, and one big fat GRE later, and somehow our trip has come together. We will be spending two weeks traversing Istanbul (Turkey), Athens (Greece), Rome (Italy) and Paris (France). Again, too unreal.

As I am about to embark on my very own, movie-esque European adventure, I figure I might as well attempt to document my experiences as best as possible before utterly failing (the fact that utterly failing is already being taken into consideration is a little troubling).

At this point I am undoubtedly excited. About what though? I am not sure. My dream of studying abroad and travelling to Europe came to form in a 9th grade AP World History classroom, guided by my worldly history teacher. Since then, I have idolized Europe as a fantasy of artistic buildings, beautiful scenery and heavenly foods. While the States were grey Europe was sparkling gold. When blurred edges of naive fantasy start coming into focus, however, I realize that, (way to state the obvious) Europe is just another continent. With good weather,  bad weather, history, culture and all kinds of human beings, just like any other place.  So recently, I have been detoxing myself of all preconceived notions that had carried my expectations to a reality-defying height. Take that away, and I am left with no expectations. Once ready to jump into a golden lake of impossible fantasy, I am now prepared to step into an unascertainable blur that hasn't solidified yet.

There is no question that I will have an amazing time. It will be full of laughter and adventures and breath taking moments. But how all of that will manifest and play out is still a big mystery to me. It is on this note that I am about to leave my home and journey into a truly unknown place.

Before leaving, I decided to jot down some quick "indicators" if you will, about myself. I want to use them for compare and contrasting after my time in Europe comes to an end. Frankly, I cannot anticipate how drastic of a change I can undergo as an individual, emotionally and physically (hello never-ending pastries). But if there is anything that I've learned from change it is that it moves swiftly and unexpectedly.

Goals for Europe:

• try new things; push myself out of my comfort zone 
• become significantly better at spanish 
• absorb the customs and cultures of all the places I visit-especially Cordoba
• make friends with the locals
• travel and explore lots-even if it is by myself
• do not splurge away money
• do not lose/get anything important stolen -develop street savvy 
• live for spontaneous adventures
• leave reservations behind 

Fears in Europe:

• getting scammed/robbed
• not being able to find Julie at the airport in Istanbul and not having cell phones
• feeling awkward at my home stay 
• not being able to communicate spanish effectively
• missing my friends and family back home 
• missing good chinese food 
• getting fat from all the good foods and drinks and not being able to do anything about it 
• not being able to stay  vegetarian / awkward food moments
• it all going by too fast 

MISC

• Favorite color: yellow
• Favorite animal: elephants and giraffes 
• Student of public health/policy 
• Listener of indie music; attender of indie concerts
• Eater of anything non-meat 
• Hater of math, cucumbers, comcast and doing laundry
• Lover of sunshine, good friendship, family, reading, beaches, friendly cats, comedy TV and peanut butter 
• Searcher of spontaneous, unforgettable, gravity defying adventure 
• Believer in optimism