I can't even begin...

Last years attempt at making a blog was a complete disaster. It wasn't until I got home for the summer that people began telling me how much they missed my blogs. I didn't realize that many people read it.

I can't even begin to describe my first year in Madrid, so I won't. I apologize for the massive gap in postings and I promise a new blog for my second year in Madrid. I will include stories from my first year in with my second year as time goes on.

Again, I apologize for not ever updating my blog and I promise a completely new blog soon.

Keep an eye for a link on my facebook.

Thanks for reading!

Andreas

Pero esto no parece nada a Mallorca...

Well, I'm back.

And man, is it different. Retrospectively, its hard to believe that Mallorca is even a part of Spain. Here there is no Catalan, no Sobrassada, no Ensaïmada, and above all else, no beach. The things that I associate Spain with are nowhere to be found. The only real similarities are the parties- and of course the Spanish language. But even with these two similarities I feel a little lost.

I started anew in the streets of a big city almost ten times the size as Palma and certainly a thousand times bigger then Palmanyola. Traffic clogged streets, packed metros, and lots of people going here and there. All with purposes. I have joined their ranks, put my head down, and follow my daily path to and from school. Adjusted wouldn't be the word that I'd use to describe my situation, but every day I get a little closer.

Barrio Salamanca is my neighborhood and I am privelaged to call it mine. It's like living on the West Side of New York. O'Donnell is my metro stop and I share it with thousands of Spaniards and immigrants alike. There are corner shops and delicatessens. A super market sits atop the hill on my block and El Corte Ingles is not far from reach when the going gets tough. The atmosphere is a quiet one and the situation of my room in the apartment makes it even more tranquil. No sirens, no gunshots. Its not Philly.

As for school, I am content. It's small so you meet everyone at one point or another. My classes are not overwhelming and for that I am grateful. The Honors class that I am taking can be a pain, as the weekly homework is usually a book and a paper, but if I whine my parents would just remind me that "it's college" and to deal with it. No complaints here.

At first I was worried about being with Americans all the time. In Mallorca, I had begun to accept their stereotype of Americans as truth. All dumb tourists who just want to get drunk and party and care nothing about what Spain really is (regardless of the fact that a lot of what Spain "really is" is getting drunk and partying...). I was, as always, half correct in my assumption. The Americans that just came over for a semester are the ones that are here to party. They take vacations every weekend to different parts of Spain or Europe to get plastered. I guess they figure that these five months will be their only opportunity to see Europe in their life and that they might as well enjoy it while they can. It's a tragedy.

Surprisingly, almost all my friends here are Americans. Joe, Nate, Tyler, Jack and my new best friend Curry are all very American. Yet, cultured. Whether it be time spent in Japan or South America, or spending childhood in another country, or continent hopping, they all have their international stories to tell. We get along really well and have formed a pretty tight circle of friendship, regardless of the little time we have spent together.

But I don't just mingle with Americans; they're not the only nationality that attends my University (Americans only make up 40%, the other 60% is from everywhere else in the world.) Germans, English, French, Africans both black and white, and most importantly Spaniards call me their friend. Our Team America has also allowed two Spaniards, Alonso and Gullie, into our ranks.

While here I've done many things. My friends and I frequent a bar near school. We go hiking on the weekends if we're not at Joy, the big Disco in Madrid. Or at Alonso's house in the mountains of Toledo. Or bogged down with homework. Or doing photo shoots. Or watching bull fights. Or writing blogs. Notice how sleeping wasn't mentioned...

Since I opted out of the meal plan, I have to cook my own dinner. Sometimes this means bread, beer and paté, but usually it means I get another excuse to experiment. My father taught me a fair share of recipes, and Ata taught me how to make Spanish Tortilla last year. I guess that makes me a fusion chef. And gay.

Its not easy being an adult. But thats what I've become. I live alone, grocery shop, and wake up on my own. Thats what it means to be an adult, is is not? I am my own crutch, my own support. We'll see if I make it or not, but so far so good. Onward, not one step back.

Other Happenings

Just the other day I was on TV. Joe and I represented America in the competition for the 2016 Olympics. We explained why Chicago should win, why we thought it lost first, and why the hell were we Yankee Doodles. We did a good job I think. Also, we coined a new handshake. I'll try to pull up the video.

Deren came to visit me the other day, and it was such a strange feeling to have two of my worlds collide. We went partying, camping, and touristing. His being here surely made the weekend. He'll be back this weekend and I'm sure we'll party hardy.

Pics will be posted soon, blogger is being slow tonight.