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.