¡¡¡España gana la Copa Mundial!!!

Celebrating in the Plaza de Ayuntamiento with hundreds of Spaniards!!

On July 11, 2010, Spain accomplished something it never had before in the history of the country…SPAIN WON THE WORLD CUP!!  (For anyone who doesn’t know, the World Cup is a world-wide soccer tournament held once every four years.)  After the game my flatmate and I ventured down one of the major streets in Valencia, San Vicente Ferrer, towards the Plaza de Ayuntamiente.  Here is a taste of the craziness:

Once in the Plaza de Ayutamiento we joined the teeming throng of Spaniards to sing songs, jump up and down, yell chants and cheers, and basically just go crazy with happiness!

Although these are my flatmate’s friends, we took pictures with all kinds of strangers.  For example, there was the man dressed as Germany’s famous octopus oracle that, by choosing boxes with team logos on them, correctly predicted Germany’s entire World Cup stint, and chose Spain as the winner of the final match.

Also, I ran up to a guy wearing a number 8 jersey shouting “Xavi!” because he’s my favorite player (pronouned “Chá-bee” with a soft b).  I asked if I could take a picture with him.  He was going to turn around to face the camera but I wouldn’t let him because I wanted the back of the jersey with Xavi’s name (I like how his friends are laughing at him in the background!).

It was an incredible night!  Unfortunately I was so exhausted from my day at the beach (that’s another blog) I had to head home at 2:00.  As I type I can still hear the party going on outside.  The people of Spain always know how to throw a party, but tonight they’ve got an incredibly exciting reason to celebrate!

 

La Copa Mundial Semi-final Game!

My German friend Verena surrounded by celebrating Spaniards after their victory in the semi-final game of the World Cup!

 

Hiatus temporarily revoked because I have to write about this:  Spain went absolutely crazy on Wednesday when they won their semi-final game against Germany, giving them a chance to win the World Cup for the first time in history!  I feel so lucky to be here celebrating with them!  The game is this Sunday–everyone cheer for Spain!

If you’d like to see a few pictures of the craziness, go to this public link:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=463492&id=575430234&l=c3a28c482e

I’m putting together a little video of the celebration in the Plaza de Ayuntamiento and I’ll post that here when I finish it, so check back.  And don’t forget to root for Spain this Sunday in the final game of the World Cup!!!!

(P.S.  For those of you that were like me before I came to Spain and barely know what a big deal the World Cup is, imagine the energy and enthusiasm for the Olympics, the Superbowl, March Madness and the World Series all rolled into one competition.  Or picture the celebration in Lawrence when KU won the National Basketball Tournament, but spread out over the entire country. It’s that special, maybe even more so!  It only happens every four years, too, so it’s a super-big deal.  It’s seriously epic.  I’ve been having such a good time getting swept up in the excitement!)

Firenze (Florence, Italy) Day 2

I had the most incredible evening last night!  I climbed up to the Michelangelo lookout point over Florence and watched the sun set over the buildings, making them sparkle.  The bell tower of the Duomo rose over the pink, red and golden city.  The fresh breeze cooled my sweaty neck and back.  A silent cathedral perched up on the hill above the monument, providing an even more spectacular look-out point.

Finally I broke the spell and climbed down, descending staircase after staircase as the birds sang their goodnight lullabies.  The smell of sweet flowers lined the descent from the monument.  Once at the bottom I walked purposefully to the fantastic gelato shop along the Arno river.  I ordered cookie and hazelnut gelato, then sat  on the wall beside the Arno watching the sun set.

As I slowly let each bite melt on my tongue, two young, trendy Italians in fashionable, designer clothing pulled their fancy car up to the gelato shop.  The driver ran inside leaving his car double parked and hanging out into traffic.  He emerged a few minutes later with his own cup of gelato.  Gelato–the great equalizer of Italy.  From fashionistas to paupers, everyone relishes it.

As I sat quietly, the breeze stilled completely.  The water became like a mirror, reflecting the bridges, buildings and sky perfectly, creating another Florence.  (It’s so lovely two wouldn’t be a bad thing–maybe we could keep all of the obnoxious American tourists out of one of them?)

Suddenly I experienced a moment of vertigo.  I felt like I was falling into the city in the river, that I was in the city in the river.  Up was down and down was up and I couldn’t tell where I was at all–maybe halfway in between.

To break the spell I hopped down off the wall.  The river was too beautiful to leave, though, so I strolled beside it.  I reached the bridge one away from the Ponte Vecchio.  Again the breathtaking view hypnotized me.  I could do nothing more than sit on the bridge and take it in.  There was no need of words, of language, of anything but eyes to drink in the view, and skin to feel the rough bridge under my hands and the embrace of the balmy night air.  A man sat quietly to my left, slowly sipping from a bottle and taking drags on his cigarette.  I could imagine his simple pleasure and kind of wished I could buy another gelato (my “harmful substance” of choice).

The minutes melted into eternity, light fading into darkness.  Then a tiny breeze came up, disturbing the surface near the left bank, breaking the mirror.  It spread to the bridge.  In a matter of minutes there was only one Ponte Vecchio.  The magical city under water had gone back into hiding.

I let out a long sigh and climbed stiffly down from the bridge.  Regretfully, slowly I inched away, my mind still full of the enchanted scene.

My stomach prickled with hunger, driving me toward a restaurant with the most cheerful wait staff I’ve met in years.  I sat at a table in view of a small, exquisite carousel below a highly arched building.  The enthusiastic waiter brought me a pizza with mozzarella, tiny tomatoes and fresh basil.  I ate the pizza as if in a dream, hardly believing I was in Florence living this life.

After the meal I ambled lazily, full of food, across the square to listen to a man wailing on a saxophone backed up by piano and drums.  After be-bopping to his beat for a few songs I pointed myself toward the Duomo for one last look.  There I happened to see Aaron from the first night hanging out with super-chill, non-annoying American girls.  (Side note: I found as a general rule the Americans in Florence were pretty annoying–loud, obnoxious, bossy, unaware of showing any consideration to the host culture…I heard Americans loudly complaining about ridiculous things, yelling on their cell phones in English the middle of street markets, bossing waiters around at the top of their lungs so everyone in the restaurant had to listen to them, etc.  No wonder we don’t always leave a nice impression abroad.  I was embarrassed for their behavior and did NOT want to be associate with them.)  One of the girls had been doing the same program as me in another city in Spain so we had a nice chat sharing horror stories and our love/hate relationship with the Spanish government.  Also, I finally got the reaction I’d been hoping for when I told her I’d been on “El Hormiguero.”  She freaked out!  It was great!

After a long, relaxing chat we called it a night.  I board the train for Bologna tomorrow.  On to my last Italian city.

Firenze (Florence, Italy) Day 1

(Copied from my journal–stay tuned, pictures coming soon!)

Is it wrong that one of my first thoughts when I saw the statue of David was that he looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model with that cocked hip and uncaring stare off into the distance stage left.  It’s like every male model since then has been imitating his pose.  He could sell underware for Calvin Klein or swimming trunks or jeans for Hugo Boss.  He just needs some stubble and for his boxers to peek out over his faded, designer-scuffed jeans.  Actually, come to think of it, he’s be a clean-shaven model, one of the preppy ones.

Deep thoughts, I know.

He’s incredible, really.  Carved in white marble, somewhere around 12 feet tall, muscles rippling, veins popping, nonchalant sideways stare.  (Is it worth 2 hours in line and €10?…I’m going to say yes since that’s what I spent!)

So, yesterday I woke up around noon in Pisa.  Lucca and Emanuele made me pasta for lunch (yum!), then I caught the train to Florence.  Upon arrival in Florence I hustled to the hostel because the Germany/Argentina game was going on and I wanted to watch at least a little of the game.  As I arrived at the hostel I helped a slightly lost, very tall guy named Aaron from England.  After check-in we headed out to watch the game, picking up an American named Caren…yes, we were Caren, Aaron and Taryn…seriously.

We watched the games (Germany and Spain WON!!  They will be playing each other in the semi-finals of the World Cup!  Side-note about the World Cup: it is so much fun watching it here!  And two of the three teams I’ve been following since the beginning are in the semi-finals which means that one of them WILL be in the finals!! AAAHHH!!  I have actually expended quite a few hours and lots of energy on this World Cup.  It’s fun, though, because it’s a conversation starter with so many people in Europe, plus some of my jock friends back home. )

Anywhoosers, in between games we wandered around and I saw the Duomo and Ponte de Vecchio for the first time.  The Duomo is breathtaking from the outside–I will try to see the inside tomorrow (when I have covered shoulders and longer pants).

When I got back to the hostel two of the guys that were staying in my room were from Kansas!  We got to talking and I discovered one of them was actually from Topeka! No. Way.  When I looked closer I noticed he was wearing a Shawnee Heights T-shirt!  Crazy!!  Nick and Kevin…some very Midwestern names, huh?

It was a kind of surreal day, what with the being in Italy, the pasta and pizza and gelato all in one day, the Taryn, Caren and Aaron trio, and then meeting the Kansas boys.  What a trip this is turning out to be!

Lucca, Italy

(Copied from my journal–stay tuned for pictures coming soon!)

I  write from a gelato shop in Lucca where a smokin’ hot waiter just served me four different flavors of gelato in a fancy glass dish with a cookie wafer garnish.  I got in good with the waiter because they had the wrong world cup game sign on their TV and I correct them.  The waiter tried for my phone number, then said he would follow me to Pisa (where I’m staying) and then Florence.  Oh, Italian men…   I have to say, it is rather gratifying that I’m snarfing a huge glass of ice cream in front of him and that’s considered attractive.  And yesterday I was talking to Emanuele about eating pastries and gaining weight in Spain.  I bemoaned the fact that I was heavier now than I was in the U.S.  He replied, “But you’re so tiny now!  You were too small before, then.”  In the U.S. you’re just supposed to get skinnier and skinnier, but in Italy it seems they like women with curves.  Why do I live in the U.S. again?

I have to say, I’m getting a little crush on Italy.  Ok, a big crush.  I’ve always loved it from a distance, but now that we’ve been introduced I’m totally enamored.  Where else are you supposed to eat gelato every day when it’s hot?  Where else does a waiter ask for your phone number two seconds after you ask for a huge order of ice-cream?  (I’m noticing a lot of my love stems from ice cream–maybe I’m just on a constant sugar high here…)  But it’s also beautiful.  The colors of the buildings–rust, orange, green, yellow, sometimes blue thrown in for a little variety.  The narrow streets, the cathedrals around every corner with perfect stairs to sit and rest and watch the world go by.  The musical cadence of the Italian language rings constantly in my ears.  Last night on the steps of the university I listened to a guy complaining about his adviser or something, but because it was in Italian his griping sounded like a song.  The sounds tickle my ears because they’re so similar to Spanish yet not–it’s like I’m on the brink of understanding, right on the edge, but it keeps eluding me.  I think some summer I’m just going to come live here and figure it out.

Ok, I’m going to watch Brazil vs. Holland.  I’ve been sitting at this cafe for quite a while but hopefully they’ll let me stay a little longer…