"Life is far too important a thing to ever talk seriously about"

Not much of anything happened last week. This is my last week of class, so last week I mostly tied myself to a computer to try to get research and such things finished before going to Amsterdam this past weekend.

On Thanksgiving, API put together a dinner for us homesick at the holidays Americans. All day at school and in the residencia us United Statesians just went through the motions and sort of moped around, so at least misery had company. At lunch in the residencia we had a nice long discussion about our different Thanksgiving traditions, and the way we cook the turkey, and things of that nature. I didn't have much hope for the API dinner, especially as the restaurant was called Reina Victoria, obviously a Spanish place. We were all seated at the long and wide table in a separate room for the dinner (at 9pm, by the way) and you could look around and tell that no one was expecting anything Thanksgivingish, and that everyone wanted to go home just for the day. I can't tell you how many times I heard, "If they bring out ham..." They brought out broccoli, then turkey, then gravy, then mashed (sweet?) potatoes, then stuffing, then corn, then more gravy, some more stuffing, more potatoes, more stuffing... They always bring everything out almost as though they're separate courses, so you're expected to be eating from the arrival of the first dish until you're finished. I was full when I finished. I haven't felt such a complete fullness in a long time. You truly can be full of one thing, but have room for another. When they cleared all the plates, I couldn't have eaten anything more... except pumpkin pie. And I did. They brought out pumpkin pie with whipped cream. Our program director, Quique, made it, along with the stuffing and the gravy, amazingly. It was of course not up to par with any of the Thanksgiving food I normally eat, but it far surpassed my expectations and we even went into food comas! Gisella, Ginger, and I decided it was imperative for us to walk home after that.

I had to catch a taxi at 3:30am Friday morning to the airport for my fight at 6am to Amsterdam. Luckily there were about 12 of us going, so I shared with 2 other guys from my residencia. I tried to sleep on the 2 hr flight, but I was most uncomfortable, and managed maybe 45 minutes. We arrived in Amsterdam and, other than feeling like a zombie, I was so excited because the airport was BEDECKED in Christmas decorations! That's what I'm talking about! The day after Thanksgiving begins the Christmas season!!!! (If not sooner.) I was also excited because I fit in (physically, mostly) so much more there than in Madrid. It's ridiculous how un-Spanish I am, truly. Everything was so cute: the crooked little Dutch streets with the leaning Dutch houses, the little old Dutch ladies, the gratuitous amount of Dutch bicycles, the Dutch language, and, let's be serious, a lot of the Dutch guys (far surpassing the amount of guys in Madrid). They all speak English. I think they have to learn it from a really early age, because literally the people working at McDonald's knew it.

Courtney and I weren't able to get a hostel before going, so we booked one at the tourism office at the train/bus/metro station. We dropped our stuff off at the hostel and went back out to meet Katy and Rob. Here's where the drugs come in (I promise I went to Amsterdam for other reasons than legal drug activity). They bought mushrooms, then we all bought individual pizzas. I ate mine with cheese, they ate their's with mushrooms, understood? Rob also bought some weed and rolled a joint in the park next to the Van Gogh museum. I had a few puffs. It's legal, I'm 20, don't judge me. I was a little high so when they started "tripping" it was amusing for a while. Then they got fuller into their trip after 2 or so hours, and my lack of sleep caught up with me. So I bid them goodbye, even though I felt I should maybe be with them to make sure they're okay, and went to nap at the hostel. (The hostel, by the way, was the kind of place where you're skeeved out by everything right down to the sheets and pillowcase on your bed.) All of us had planned to meet at the place called The Grasshopper at 10pm, so when I woke up and it was dark, I sort of panicked and ran out the door. It was only 7pm, so I wandered around Amsterdam by myself for a while. I ate some dinner, did some touristy browsing, heard a lot of Spaniards in the streets and shops (the entire country is full of pot-heads, I swear), and checked my email at an internet cafe. I also got a McDonald's chocolate milkshake, Spanish McDonald's do not have milkshakes. This one was better than American McDonald's chocolate milkshakes because it was a DUTCH McDonald's chocolate milkshake! Mean anything to you? No? Take out the "McDonald's"----> Dutch chocolate milkshake. DELISH. Anyway, I went to the Grasshopper at 9:45... and at 11pm I left rather pissed off. No one came. I waited outside this place (which was just outside the Red Light District) in the freezing drizzly weather for an hour! I checked inside a few times but no one was there. The last time I checked inside, I fell down the half-flight of stairs in front of half the bar. Mortified isn't exactly right because I was so enraged at still being alone. The finger I broke last year started to feel (and still does) like I'd broken it again, and I'm 95% positive I've bruised my tailbone. That was the last straw and I marched my bruised bum right back to the hostel, at that point wanting nothing but my bed at home with my down comforter and my mommy. I survived, though, it was just a bad night.

The next day, Courtney and I got breakfast at a restaurant where there were 7 British men drunk (at 11am) watching a soccer game from the '70s. My plan was to go to the Anne Frank house and then to the Van Gogh or Rembrandt museum. Courtney suggested we stop at a coffee shop for a splif. I had maybe 4 or 5 puffs of a joint with her in this coffee shop (where you can't buy coffee, only weed), and let's just say that I didn't get to go to the house or either museum because I absolutely had to take a nap. It was a horrible experience, and I will never smoke weed again. I have to be the only person in the world who becomes MORE anxious, nervous, and paranoid after smoking marijuana. Courtney, being more experienced, was very helpful and patient with me, and I slept it off til 7pm. Then we got up and ate some felafel sandwiches for dinner and walked around. I still felt a little sick from the earlier experience, so I was just trying to think of other things, but when we passed a movie theater we both stopped and said "Hey! Let's see a movie." It was between Borat and Casino Royale, I was a little partial to Casino Royale, but we decided on Borat. We bought our tickets for 11pm, and walked around til then doing a little tourist shopping. We got Ben and Jerry's on a Belgian waffle for dessert. A Belgian waffle in Holland! It was sooooo good.

Borat was in English still, but with Dutch subtitles, and obviously the movie was full of Dutch people, so it was a really interesting experience. In case you live under a rock, it's making fun of American culture. Borat is making a movie for Kazakhstan so he and his partner travel from New York to L.A. and document their experiences. Only, they only travel through the south, from NY to DC to VA to GA to AL to TX and such to L.A. So you can imagine how the whole thing went. Courtney and I were very very embarrassed to be American as we left the theatre, so we spoke in Spanish. Not that the Dutch would hate us, we just didn't want to be associated with the appalling mess we just saw on screen. It's a funny funny movie and everyone should go see it. It also illustrated my point about how the deep south starts where Northern VA ends, no one here ever believes me when I say that. Anyway, you all should see it. In theaters is cool because in whatever culture you're seeing it you can see other people's reactions, but it's not such a great movie that you can't wait to rent it.

Our flight on Sunday was in the morning so we had to get up at 6ish to get to the airport on time. On the flight back I sat in an aisle seat, but the couple next to me was a Spanish woman and a Scottish man. They spoke in English, but he knew Spanish quite well. I didn't talk to them, but they made me happy. In fact I don't think I said one word to them. I think I just didn't know what to say and in which language. I slept, it was nice. When I got back, Sara was out with her visiting English boyfriend, and went to see Gisella who didn't go to Amsterdam and we went for a nice long walk through some parts of Madrid we hadn't seen.

I'm really going to miss Madrid. Yes, the Spaniards can be ridiculously loud, discourteous to those who aren't family or close friends, and incredibly well-dressed such as I will never be able to imitate, but I love them. They love life. Their lives are made up of so many things, work being one of the less time-consuming ones (and I mean that in a good way). I can't explain why I find everything about this culture, including the faults, so endearing, I just do. Maybe it's just such a huge change and I made a decision to like the Spanish culture before I even came. I love that the government doesn't tax alcohol because the people would throw a collective fit if they did. They're always a tiny bit intoxicated, and a tiny bit aggressive; so they never get absolutely wrecked, or incredibly violent. I love that there are about 4 national holidays each month when everything closes down. I don't know how I will deal without comida/siesta time, not that I nap just that I need that designated pervading relaxation time when I know nothing's going on without me. I love being able to walk everywhere, and being able to take the metro when I feel lazy. I even like ham (only jamón serrano, though). I could go on with each individual thing I love, but that's not all there is to this place. Something's in the air, not the pollution or the lack of moisture, but something. I know it's cliché, but I don't really care.

I do miss home a whole lot, especially because it's Christmastime, the most wonderful time of the year. I can't wait to come home and see everyone and then to go back to school and start up rugby again. I miss it so very much. It's like there are rubber bands that keep me attached to home and school, and they've been stretched for so long that they're really in need of a break. And the cold winter wind keeps attacking them and making them sway, which in turn pulls at the area in the middle of my chest where they're attached to me. The empty area next to your heart, where the two sides of your ribcage meet in between your lungs. I hate metaphors. But I fooled you!! Because this is a simile. Actually I don't really like them either, but sometimes they're easier to use than actually describing the real thing. Metaphors, so you know, are when you say that something IS something else in a comparison, as in they are the same thing or they are equal. A simile is when you say that something is LIKE or SIMILAR to something else in a comparison, acknowledging that they are different and not completely equal.

Alright I've gone completely off track (which is a dead metaphor), so I'll end this quickly. I turned in my 10 page paper, I'm not happy with my work but I only need a C. I turned in my 3 page paper by recycling an old paper that I edited and added a paragraph to. I did my presentation on art. I have to finish a book and write a 4 page paper and then I just have exams left. Wow. I can't believe how amazingly fast this has all gone.

Oh yeah I almost forgot. Ginger went to Portugal and check out the painting/graffiti she saw on one of the walls.