Raquel Falcón

January 31 had finally come. With one blink, our plane was landing in Spain.

Our group agreed to start speaking in complete Spanish once we landed. As we stepped off, my first words in Spanish were "El Señor, ayúdame."(Lord, help me!) bahaha

Madrid did not welcome us as warmly as Dublin. Our taxi from the airport to our hostel ripped us off, but there wasn't much we could do it. In the end, the driver has to get paid. My group spent the night in a super sketch hostel, but six people in one room allotted for some extra bonding. We took pillow talk to a whole new level.

Our Iowa State group convened in the Food Gallery of the Madrid airport. Jetlag, chaos, and hunger made for some major bonding. By 3pm we were on the bus to Cáceres, a three hour drive. Yahoo.

Meet the Iowa State Spring 2013 crew:

I was very much relieved to get out of Madrid and into the more scenic travel. Snowcapped mountains swept the horizon while brown and white sheep speckled the grassy grounds. After what seemed like six hours, we finally pulled into a town stacked with tall, vintage buildings and cobble-stone streets. The bus doors opened and we were herded off the bus and into a semicircle on the sidewalk. A sea of Spanish faces looked eagerly into our wide eyes. Toñi began calling out our names, matching us with our host families. My roomie, Emily, clung tightly to my arm. My gaze fell on an adorable little girl and I "dibs"-ed her immediately. Emily and I watched as the cutest little old Spanish woman reached up to kiss Brandon and Josh's cheeks. Soon after, our names were called and a woman grabbed the little girl's hand and started to walking toward us! We were claimed! *KISS*KISS*

The woman helped us load our luggage and quickly whisked us away to our new home. She explained that she is "abuela" or grandma, and our mamá, Regina, was at work. The little girl, Paula, was Regina's niece. Isn't she precious?

Hola, me llamo Raquel Falcón, and this is my life in Spain:

 

la vida de España:

--Without much rhyme or reason, my class schedule is constantly changing. I suppose this lack of stability forces me to be more relaxed with spur of the moment change. I love embracing big, long-term change, but frantic change has never really been my style. Welcome to European time.

--Spanish meals are a pretty big deal, minus breakfast. Emily and I are on our own for breakfast, and we just manage to scrape together crackers with jam, peanut butter toast, and tea before running out the door.

• el almuerzo~ lunch is at 2:30pm and is the largest meal of the day. Our host mom doesn't fancy cooking as much as other people's host mom, but she's made some pretty tasty dishes. We eat bread like it's going out of style. I love walking home from school and seeing all the little Spanish women walking home with long baguettes sticking out of their purses. Lesson one in Spanish dining: bread is more than a side, it is a utensil. Lunch is concluded with a piece of fruit.

• la cena~ dinner is served around 10pm and is very light. Cáceres, Spain, is famous for its pork. I never knew one animal could be served in so many different ways. It's truly mind-boggling. Pork has never been my favourite meat, but I've managed to find certain dishes that suit my tastes. Dessert is quick to follow,  a choice between yogurt or nilla, pudding cups.
  
  This is a bocadillo, a Spanish sandwich.

--While I'm on the subject of food, I'd like to take the time to address the absurd amount of chocolate I've consumed since coming to Spain. Every trip Emily and I take, we load up on bread and Nutella. In our excursions throughout Cáceres, we've stumbled upon many candy stores and fancy chocolate cafes. European chocolate has ruined me forever. Sorry, Hershey's.

--I feel like a second-hand smoker. Since everyone and their dog smokes in Spain, I have developed this terrible smoker's cough. The only outstanding difference is that my teeth won't be stained brown and theirs look like George Washington's wooden dentures. Score one for Rachel.

--Perritos, little dogs, are EVERYWHERE. Not only are these dogs little, they're yippy and poorly groomed. The other day, Brandon and I saw a long-haired black dog who was completely shaved on top. It looked like a soggy mop. Whenever I see a dog in a sweater, I get suspicious as to whether or not they're actually cold or just trying to cover up a bad haircut. I do, however, adore my dog. Her name is Xena (pronounced Sayna) and she is a dalmatian.

--Spain is bursting with babies. I have never seen such well-dressed children in my life. Every baby looks like it cam straight from Baby Gap. I love going to the plaza and watching all the dads help their kids feed the birds.

--History has never been so alive to me. I love what I'm learning in my history, art, and culture courses. Excursions to Granada, Córdoba, and Salamanca accompany our different history lessons. Before I left the States, my mom and I talked about the richness of European history in how they preserve ancient sites and build in and around them, while American culture pushes for the lastest modern edge. The difference in the skylines is profound.

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Welp, that's all I have time for right now. I apologize for being super behind in blog posting. Last weekend (February 7-9) we went to Sevilla, and I am still in awe of it all. That post is coming up soon! Stay tuned, y'all.

The Claddagh Ring

an Irish tradition

Some 400 years ago, in the fishing village of Claddagh on the beautiful shores of Galway Bay, there lived a master Goldsmith names Richard Joyce who designed and crafted this world renowned symbol of love, loyalty, and friendship. The Claddagh Ring, worn on the left hand with the crown pointing away from your heart, tells all you are spoken for. Whilst worn on the right hand in the same fashion suggests love is being considered. If your heart is not spoken for, the ring should be worn on the right hand with the crown turned to your heart. 

I have decorated my wrists with bracelets. 
I have strung cherished pendants from my neck. 
I have clipped bulky earrings to my ears. 

Still, I have never displayed a ring out of fear of catching unwelcome gazes. 

On numerous occasions, I have been asked how I could ever marry someone if I couldn't wear a ring. C'mon, folks. Let's be real. Is my ability to marry really determined by a sparkly piece of metal? 

Actually, yes. Recent self-discovery has revealed a cruel internalization of this harmless spectators' curiosity. I had set limitations on my ability to love and be loved because I could never imagine myself receiving such a symbol of love, an engagement ring. 

This realization became crystal clear to me as I stepped foot into an Irish jewelry shop. My friend, Emily, had been eagerly talking about finding a Claddagh ring in Ireland, and the girls and I were on a mission to find her one in Galway. Emily started talking with the woman at the counter, and I walked around the store in attempt to look at anything but rings. I suddenly caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the display case of the jewelry store. Disappointment aged my eyes. The glow of excitement no longer radiated from my cheeks. How could a ring cause me so much grief?

I marched myself back to the counter and rejoined the girls in gawking at the variety of Claddagh rings. Emily was deciding between two. I knew which one I would have chosen. She chose the one I liked best, and the lady rolled up the rings to complete the sale. As she was putting the rings away, I heard my voice crack, "Wait!"

I couldn't believe I was about to ask to try on rings. My stomach knotted. I wanted to sprint out the door, but my legs felt like pillars of sand. I looked at Emily with scared eyes, and she returned with an encouraging smile and reassuring nod. 

The lady was incredibly kind and patient as I tried on ring after ring. I think we were both surprised to find that my sizing is completely normal, size seven. I fiddled around with the ring on different fingers and finally worked up the nerve to buy it. Emily was probably more excited than I was, if you can believe it. She's such a wonderful cheerleader and a solid sister-in-Christ. I'm so thankful that we could share that moment of release together. Buying that ring was a small step toward love. 

Europe is teaching me how to love myself, love others, and love God in ways I never thought possible. I wear my new ring with hope. I will defy the limitations that have been placed on my hands, one insecurity at a time. I refuse to be confined by fear. I will walk tall, speak with confidence, and decorate my body as the temple it is. 

photo credit: Claira Hart

God is renewing my mind, my body, my soul.  I praise Him for my sisters-in-Christ who have stood beside me in love as I face own reflection: I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14). I bear God's own image (Genesis 1:27). My beauty is not base on outward adornment (1 Peter 3:3-4). 

I know I cannot create my own beauty. Only God can give me eyes to see as He sees. He is drawing me into a long journey of learning to love myself. Step by step, He leads me. Blink by blink, he reveals to me His creation. I am made by a perfect and sovereign God. To look at myself in disgust is to insult the One who crafted me in the palm of His hand. No more. I choose to be free. Free from lies. Free from insecurity. Free from dread. I want to walk with confidence and delight in His creation, as the created. 

This song has haunted me since I first heard it. I know I connect with it differently than others, as most believe this song is about resolving a dispute with a lover. Still, I find a settling peace in listening to Bastille's call for authenticity. 

CHEERS!

"It only rains twice a week in Ireland, once three days and once for four days.

Otherwise, it's always sunny."

Welcome to Ireland!

Chicago to Manchester: 7 hours

Manchester to Ireland: 2.5 hours

...piece of cake, right?

We arrived in Dublin at 1pm and snagged an airport taxi. The drive to our apartment was nerve-wrecking to say the least. We booked an apartment via airbnb.com and basically hoped for the best. If Ireland could do one thing better, it'd be properly organizing its neighborhoods. House numbers went up and down on both the right and the left, leaving little room for logic. Even our taxi driver doubted the existence of our apartment toward the end. Just as hope was running out, I spotted the tiny 57 above a emerald green door, and we all exhaled massive a sigh of relief. We were home.

The apartment ended up exceeding our expectations. Everything was so quaint and well-polished. We had space and a homebase. During the day we scouted the Dublin area and by dinner time, we sauntered home to cook dinner and relax. 

We toured Dublin via a "hop on, hop off" bus and visited the following:

• Trinity College: The Book of Kells (4 Gospels in Latin)
• National Art Gallery: Dead Zoo Gallery (yay for taxidermic animals!)
• Christ Church
• St. Patrick's Cathedral
• Guinness Storehouse
• Kilmaninham Gaol Prison
• Trade Music Festival
• Pubs (O'Shea's was definitely the best!)
• The Black Lion Inn (BEST Irish meal, ever.)

Dublin brought upon me many firsts. I've composed a simple flow chart to help illustrate these experiences. Care to follow along? (Good luck- I'm beyond the point of overload, so I apologize for any and all spelling errors and poor organization.)

Double-decker buses-- Every time I got on I felt like I was in a scene from Harry Potter. Judge me all you want. I was kinda disappointed that they didn't have quite the same agility as the Knight Bus. Nevertheless, we snagged a free night tour of Dublin which was cold but beautiful. No worries though, Brandon and Josh cuddled for warmth.

Trains-- My group bought Eurail Passes for Ireland, Spain, and France. Our first train aventure took us to Galway, Ireland. Good thing we found the correct platform because Emily stepped into the station asking, "Where's platform three and five-quarters?"

Castles-- Ruins are everywhere! Nothing is more epic than a legitimate castle, folks.

Cliffs of Moher-- Absolutely stunning. What a display of God as Creator! With each gust of wind, we were nearly knocked to our feet (well, aside from Emily's clumsy moment, baha). 

Hiking-- On the way to the Cliffs, we opted to tour Connolly's Family Farm. What a hike! Our tour guide took us up a mountainside to look out on the very tops on Galway. The wind fought us the entire way, but we all powered through. It was cool to experience the hike with people from all over the world (ie: Poland, England, Spain, etc.) Afterward, we went inside for cheesecake and tea by the wood burning stove. Perfection.

 

PUBS-- yep, you read it right. I, Rachel Kirkpatrick, spent nearly every night in an Irish pub. I've still never exceeded more than one drink a night, and I'm fine and dandy with that. In case anyone wants to buy me a "welcome home" drink, I really like Southern Comfort!

                          

Pubs always have some sort of LIVE music, so I felt right at home. We just so happened to be visiting Dublin during TradFest, a popular Irish music festival, and we got to see some amazing local shows. In case anyone is wondering, there's an Irish Civil Wars out there, and they are divine. 

We stumbled on another festival while visiting Christ Church in Dublin. They say a picture's worth a thousand words, and I just don't have the time to sit here and keep typing. Sorry guys!

Quickest 5,000 words I've ever put to paper.

There's so much more to say, but this blog post has exceeded its socially acceptable length. Again, my apologies. Feel free to ask me about singing in the rain, our packing frenzy (BAHA, hilarious!), and any photos needing more explanation.

For now, I leave you with the Irish blessing.