Exámenes

So midterms are this week.

And just like that, the reality slowly seeps in (as it should have two months ago) that I'm here to study in a university. The notion seems crazy, I know. I'm in Spain for nine months you would think that I should be learning via experience and not having to worry about homework, tests, and papers. And yet I must. Sure, it's probably less of a deal than at Madison. But then again, at Madison it didn't seem like a big deal at the time. Well, of course before the exams last year I was freaking out, thinking they'd be really hard, then studying...to an extent. But that's how it's always been with me. I'd barely study for an exam in high school and do well on it, wondering what everyone was fretting for before. The same could be said about Columbia, but let's not kid ourselves, that place was a joke and a half. 

Though the argument could be made that by thinking an exam would be bad and studying more for it (and by more, an extra hour!), I better prepared myself for the exam, thus making it seem easy. If I hadn't worried and did some extra studying who knows if I would have done as well or had the test seem as easy?

And then there's the stories I've been told by everyone who has studies abroad. It's very easy, they'd say. There's no homework, there's maybe a paper or two and a final test which isn't a really big deal. I've found this out to be a flat out lie, at least concerning the Alcalá program. While I'm sure that in Valladolid there was virtually no homework, there is not a day where I do not have at least one bit of (mostly busy) work in at least one class.

The mentality to sit down at a desk and focus on the book in front of you is not present for me. Even in Madison it was hard since there was so much going on, but even the biggest procrastinators and homework abusers eventually sat down in the study den and worked, for hours on end usually. There is no study den here where we get together and do homework, albeit slowly and with many interruptions for conversation and hijinks. No. There isn't even a desk in my house for me to work at, which was supposed to be a requirement of the host family. No, I have a "cheat the system" make-shift pullout desk. It is part of the closeting, it swings down on very unstable pulleys and doesn't even leave room for me to sit down before I'm on the bed. Yes, I could sit on the bed, I suppose, but where's the back support? Oh wait, I couldn't even do that. The desk would break if I even put a book on it, would hate to think what would happen if I rested my arms on it while furiously scribbling out a paper. Or typing on my laptop. 

So working at home is out. Starbucks seems to be the best option as the library is too quite for it's own good, and spoken English and the fact that you're American could get you in trouble just for being there. We have our own study area, they'd tell us, down in the basement. An area completely unconducive (which I've learned is not a word, but screw it, I'm a pioneer, start using it!) to studying or getting anything done. For me, at least. A strict quite rule, horribly pale white and barren walls, sixteen chairs maybe down a line on a long table. In a hallway. 

So Starbucks it is. Thankfully Spaniards generally hate Starbucks (save for the younger generation) so anytime between noon and five it's completely devoid of anyone upstairs. And their coffee is the only coffee in Spain that has caffeine in it, or so it would seem. As I've mentioned before, all the espresso and café solos I can get in any regular bar do nothing for me, but give me a grande or venti black coffee from Starbucks and I'm shaking uncontrollably and actually getting work done. And the American jazz and blues music on the speakers doesn't hurt. And the comfortable seating and big table space. And the fact you can talk and work with your study buddies. 

So there is one place I can actually get work done in Spain. I'm heading there after I write this, actually. Still leaves the questions of do I have the motivation to get work done in a place so beautiful and lively as Spain. Not that Madison or Chicago weren't lively. But there I felt like I was actually living, you know, at home. There I had fun but also had to do work, as is expected when you're at home. Spain, for me, is still that fun vacation place, the cool old European country with plenty of ancient corridors and buildings to explore. Food to eat and wine to drink. I just need to realize that I am living here, and for the next--what is it now? 7 months?-- this is my home and I better damn get used to it and do work.

I have two compositions due this week and an exam I have tomorrow. Whether or not I'll actually study for it remains to be seen. I'm sure I'll put in an hour--okay half hour--and be all the wiser for it tomorrow. 

Recuerdos

And I sat there in phonetics class today...drifting off since the material I had already learned and seemed quite easy (how hard is it to separate into syllables and find the accentuation?)...thinking, of Madison. How I miss those Tuesday afternoons, fresh off of Spanish 223 I'd pick up the latest Onion and sit in the Trilling lounge reading over it, amusing myself with a select few others who were just arrive back from class or waking up. Mitch and Ian were usually there, Jake every once in a while. We'd sit and chat and laugh, then head off to lunch. As I said then, and it's still true now, lunch was typically my favorite part of the day, and definitely so on Tuesdays. We'd gorge and sit around the Don's table or else in the atrium for what turned out to be hours on some occasions. I'd get a flavored coffee (and I'd be damned if it was Chocolate Raspberry), trying always to get Mitch to drink it. Then we'd head back up to the lounge after lunch, coffee in hand, and just chill for the afternoon--no one wanted to do homework, or head off to their next class (though luckily for me I was done for the day). Then after some time Jeanne and Kayla and Kyle and Amanda and others would filter in, lunch trays in hand, and plop themselves down and it'd be a blast. 

The lunches are much quieter, here. Usually it's me and abuela. Sometimes her granddaughter. The selection, of course, is not a plentiful. There is no choice, and I end up eating soup most days. There are no reubens, there are no Chicken-Os, no Cuban pork sandwiches, no rare-but-delicious breaded chicken sandwiches, no cheeseburgers, no Brew City fries, no made to order quesadillas nor never-ending pasta buffets nor gigantic burritos covered in far too much guacamole and sour cream, and definitely no dirt cake. There is soup, pinto beans, garbanzo beans, lentils, noodles (not quite what you'd think). And bread. Plenty of baguette style bread, which varies in quality from something quite amazing to what appears to be styrofoam masking itself as something edible. 

There is no lounge to relax and digest the meal in. No Irish Cream nor French Vanilla nor Kahlúa coffees (and I can tell you why there is an accent mark on the "u" now), straight black. There is café con leche, which varies widely depending on the café you frequent. I've found one solid cup of café con leche so far in Alcalá. The rest seem to be imposters, heating milk in the microwave and tossing in instant coffee, as los abuelos do in the morning, a taste so offensive that it could turn me off of café con leche altogether. Café solo (black coffee) is served strong and small. It more resembles espresso (café cortado) than coffee we're used to in the States. If I order a café solo anywhere, I get this tiny shot of Spanish coffee, which I don't mind the taste (remember I love dark and bitter coffees and beers), but it's so small and perks me up so little that I feel like I'm wasting the 1.20€ it costs. At least with leche you get a full cup. And yet there is no Cedarburg Coffee Roastry where the refills are free and you get to choose from 4 differently delicious brews. Only one, and refill is 1.20€. There is a Starbucks in town, I'm far too afraid to go in there though as doing so would feel like I'm giving up, quitting, not embracing the new culture here. Wasting, if you will, the opportunity to have fine Spanish coffees while I'm here. And yet I've still to find that fine Spanish coffee, perhaps there is a café hidden from us foreigners where the delicious coffee flows freely and cheaply. Where there are large cups filled with black coffee of all regions and flavors. Where there is the strong smell of roasted beans and the absence of any TV screen. 

So now when I go to a café, I rarely get coffee. I haven't had a cup in days. Strange, I know, considering my 3+ during the school year and summer. I don't know if I can survive like this, without large quantities of coffee. Sure, I don't need it to stay up (in fact I have trouble sleeping often), but there's definitely something missing. I end up, instead, sharing a bottle of wine with friends, often having upwards of 3 cups in an afternoon. It's enjoyable, and I've grown quite the tongue for red wine (there isn't a bad red wine I've had here yet), but it doesn't give me that kick, that je ne sais quoi (o mejor, en español, yo no sé qué) that a bold cup of coffee does.

I've already planned my first full day back (or at least the meals): 

Breakfast: Fried egg (over hard, of course...something that they don't do in Spain) sandwich, on an egg bagel from Bagels Forever. Coffee.

Lunch: Homemade reubens (as Cedarburg is severely lacking in establishments with quality reubens). Afterwards, hours upon hours of coffee at the Roastry.

Dinner: Gigantic burrito from Chipotle, or an otherwise very spicy meat and cheese combination with plenty of sour cream and guacamole (perhaps my special recipe spicy meatloaf). Afterwards, an evening at Silver Creek, outside on the beer garden, legally drinking quality beer.

Is it bad that I'm already pondering this? It's not like I hate Spain, not by any means, I suppose this is my slow, drawn out "cultural shock" period that everyone usually goes through their first few days. I didn't have that at first, and it's definitely not panic-inducing. It's just gradual, the things I realize that I really miss from time to time. It's my quest this year to find at least one place in Madrid that serves a reuben.