virtual tour

Sooooo...
if anyone is interested in taking a "virtual tour" of my life here... or at least of my piso... I thought I'd post a few pictures of my humble abode. There are a few little quirky things that do not function that I love to bug my roomies about that I will affectionately describe throughout the tour.

To begin... here is a little photo of what you see when you first walk in... this is the foyer. Now, up until about a week ago, it was full of junk (old clothes, small pieces of furniture, etc) to be donated/thrown away that had litterally been sitting there for at least four months... waaaay before I got here. I've been absolutely itching to clean it up, and it had taken every ounce of will power not to just throw it all out myself. I finally succeeded in nagging Mari until she got me the number of the donation center, and I called them to come pick it all up. Then I threw everything else out, hid whatever else she wanted to keep, and then cleaned. She flipped out and said that it has never looked this good and clean in the four years she's lived in this apartment. All of the visitors we have now comment on it. And to think Mari told me that most Spanish people think Americans are dirty. Ha.

Now, walking down the little hallway in the foyer, my room and my little half-bath (with non-functioning toilet - unless you want to dump a pail of water down after usage) are through that little doorway off to the left. Oh, and in my room, the window doesn't completely close, which should be fun as it continues to get a little colder in Andalucia. :)

Then, once fully in the little foyer, the little kitchen is off to the right as well. As I've mentioned, much of our little piso is not completely functional. The kitchen light doesn't work, so we have this lovely lamp in the corner whose lampshade I secured on with my fully functional American duct tape. We have an adorable little fridge with our own shelves, a gas stove which scares me each time I light it myself with a ligher! a microwave, and a microwave oven. I now handwash everything (oooh). And in the unpictured laundry room, our washer only opens with the help of a kitchen knife.

Then, you enter our little dining room/living room which has a little balcony with a precious view and our little racks on which we dry our laundry. In the living room, the cable jack in the back of the television does not hold the cable cord itself well, and it's constantly going out. We use half of a clothes pin to help hold it in. We always have our little computers going with the little wireless hookup or the ethernet cord. People joke that it's like a "locutorio" in our house as we all sit on the couch, listen to music, and read email. We often ghetto-rig up my computer (the only one that plays dvds) to watch downloaded movies that won't play on our dvd player.

Then, off to the left between the dining half and the living half of the "salón" is the where the full bath is located. Our lovely bathroom has wonderfully hot water, but if you don't hold onto the European style moveable faucet when you turn the water off, it WILL fall on your head. (A trick it took me far too long and a few too many bumps on the head to learn.) Also, because Spainards are uber-concerned with conservation, Mari has us make sure to press the flusher twice to ensure that the least amount of water is used.

Then Mari's room is off to the right of the bathroom, and Sylvia's to the left. We all have tiny little beds, but you would be surprised the amount of visitors we have coming through this apartment to spend the night on the weekends, either on our futon in the living room or on the floor in their rooms or wherever!

I am wonderfully blessed by this preciously imperfect piso and furthermore by the two angels that live in these fabulously lived in rooms. I don't know where I'd be without them.

does this happen?

I went running tonight, like I do most nights.

I was crossing a street right as the light was about to change.

So was a girl on her bicycle.

We collided.

Her nose and face smashed into my ear and head.

She fell over, and her notebooks spilled in the road.

I stood there, but with an imprint of a tire on my thigh.

She thought her nose was broken.

There was no blood.

A nice runner man picked up her bike while I picked up her belongings.

We determined we were fine, apologized, and said "hasta luego."

She biked away, and I ran off the other direction.

see? i'm making a difference...

My hope is that this entry will reassure any and all who might be worried that I am the same old Julie Ann here in Spain as I am anywhere else in the world...

So I have this Spanish friend who likes to sometimes practice speaking English with me. Understandable, no big deal. But the thing is... he likes to use the f-word in order to sound cool. Furthermore, he has a few German friends that I've met who also use the f-word... specifically in the context of "f-ing shit."

Now, don't get me wrong about what I am about to say... I have absolutley no problem with foreigners trying to speak English. (I mean... first of all, I'm doing the same with Spanish, and additionally, I truly appreciate the use of English if the alternative is something ridiculous like German.) BUT, if you know me at all, at all, at all... in the least bit possible... you know that I absolutely detest the use of said f-word by a native English speaker... much less a non-native speaker. It is my belief that when a non-native speaker curses at all, but specifically uses the f-word, that they sound just silly because clearly, they do not know the proper usage of the word, and besides, they say it with a goofy accent. Dumb.

So clearly, I began correcting my new friends. I simply told my Spanish friend that I hate the use of the f-word in English, just like I would tell any of my native English-speaking friends. He asked me why, and I did my best to describe that I think it's incredibly vulgar, strong, unnecessary, and just sounds bad. So then when his German friends began using it in front of me... he corrected them. Then, knowing more English than him, they asked me what they should say in place of "f-ing shit," so I told them that "that sucks" would be sufficient for what they were trying to express.

Haha.

Julie Ann Burandt... cleaning up the English language one foul-mouthed foreigner at a time. ;)

P.S... Right now there is a b-rated movie on t.v. about a woman who lets a gambling problem ruin her life and her family... I'm pretty sure it's a "Lifetime Original."

the persistence of time...

Time is such a funny thing.

In high school and in college I feel like I never had enough... like I was always running out of it.

Here, don't ask me how, but time is different. It just is. I don't know how imaginary lines seemingly haphazardly drawn on an allotment of land can have such undisputed authority as to govern everything... from the language one speaks to the cultural etiquette and conventions to which one concedes and abides. Time is one of those things that just magically and mysteriously changes upon entering Spain.

First of all, the amount of time it takes to do something is multiplied by 3. For instance, in the United States it takes about 10 minutes to get pretty much everywhere you want to go... maybe 15. (Think about it.) Here in Spain, you need to allot 30-45 minutes to go and do whatever you do. But the trick is... it does't feel like what 30-45 minutes feels like in the U.S... somehow, that becomes the norm here and it just feels equivalent to the U.S. 10-15. Walking 30 minutes to go somewhere = normal. No pasa nada.

The bus. I ride the bus anywhere from 30-45 minutes every morning I go to work. That's just to meet my carpool. Then I ride with my carpool 45-60 minutes to work. No pasa nada. Normal. Otro ejemplo... I take an 8 hour train ride to Valencia to visit two of my very favorites , Shay and Drew... no big deal, plus toootally worth it. (See picture with me and said fabulous former 106 members in traditional pose.)

In this world, the amount of time it takes to do simple tasks like picking up train tickets or running to the store is increased exponentially. And this is all OK. Because here's the second thing about time in Spain... although everything takes longer... somehow I feel like I have more time in which to accomplish whatever I need.

This idea is perfectly exemplified by the typical Spanish approach to "going out." Saliendo por la noche consists of perhaps eating dinner at 9:30 pm, "botellón"-ing around 11:30 pm (a botellón is simply when people buy their own beverages with which to make drinks and stand outside on the streets and hang out in large groups of people drinking) , going to a club to dance around 3:00 am, and then making it home around 6:00 am. Where did all this time come from? How do they survive the next day? Questions I have yet to answer. This is a custom to which I have yet to completely adapt and to which I pretty much lack the desire to do so.

But in a culture where there is a set amount of time to rest each day from 2 til 5... where everything dies for three hours... things last longer into the night. Everything is pushed back about those three hours, and all of the sudden, there are about three hours more in the world.

I feel like I've done a poor job explaining this... however, I still don't completely understand it myself... so go figure. Well... I think I'm gonna go running... and soon enough I'll write about my school... and THAT is a very fun subject. (read: sarcasm) :)