Random Background Information

I probably should have mentioned this at the beginning of my blogging adventures, but I somehow managed to forget about it until now. This song is the inspiration for my blog title. The artist, Ingrid Michaelson, just happens to be my favorite. If you haven't been introduced to Indie Pop yet, I suggest looking her up. 

Simply JUMBLIES!

There is a cute little market two minutes away from my piso here in Logroño named Simply. It is one of many in the city, but, unlike grocery stores back home, this little store never has Saturday traffic jams, Nile-long checkout lines, and hordes of well-known brands. It’s simply....Simply.

One of my favorite parts about having this little store so close by is that it has lots of new kinds of foods to try. My new favorite? Jumblies Cereal.

Sitting beside the Choco Crack and the Choco Pillows, Jumblies appears at first to be like all of the other chocolate cereals on display. However, a closer look and a little taste will prove that Jumblies contains more chocolate flavor than all of its competitors. I would even venture to suggest that these wonderful cereal bites stay fresher and softer longer, but I somehow manage to eat them much to quickly to tell for sure. The only potential drawback about these little chocolate stuffed cereal bits is that the chocolate clings to your teeth. The sweet taste stays with you until you manage to find a toothbrush. Like I said though, it’s only a potential drawback. Most of the time it just feels like a continuous infusion of delightful chocolate. I consider it a good thing.

That being said, I know that my sales pitch is a bit tone deaf, but I can’t help but proclaim my adoration for my favorite, unhealthy, cereal snack. I promise to bring some home for all to enjoy.

Brooke happily displaying some Jumblies

God Smiled When He Made San Sebastian

On Saturday I traveled to San Sebastian to spend the day on the beach. The entire week leading up to our trip, all of the students struggled deciding on whether or not they truly wanted to go. The weather called for rain and cool temperatures, and we were unconvinced if the 2-hour trip was worth it. We decided to brave the rain and hopped on a bus early Saturday morning.

Welcome to San Sebastian!!!

When we arrived in San Sebastian we quickly made our way over towards the beach. Though it wasn’t raining on us, the air was quite brisk, and thick clouds covered up the sun. We hesitantly changed into our swimsuits and decided to spend a little bit a time just sitting on the beach. Within a few minutes we were all dipping our toes in the ice-cold water and making comparisons to Bear Lake in June. The shock of the cold wore off quickly though, and we decided to wade in up to our calves. 

...then our knees.....

...then our waists .....

One large wave later we were released from all bonds of common sense and happily trumped (USU slang...) through the water with the other devoted swimmers.

Arriving at the beach in San Sebastian

Brooke and I are happy campers

San Sebastian=perfect beach

Me and Nichelle a minute or two before we got soaked

Like good tourists we shrieked and squealed in joy with every wave that rolled in, and the time passed much too quickly. At 1 in the afternoon we decided to get out of the water and explore the massive fort on the hillside. We went to go change in the bathroom but were yelled at by a worker telling us that bathrooms were not changing rooms. (You could have fooled me.) We then discovered that we had to pay one entire euro to get changed back into normal clothes. Of course we found that utterly ridiculous, so we held up towels in the corner right next to the changing room and took turns wriggling into our sandy clothes. ....for free. We probably deserve to have “cheap Americans” tattooed across our foreheads, but I don’t think any of us minded the strange stares we got from everyone else. (Correction---the lifeguard was a fffffffiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeee specimen, and any girl who said they didn’t care what he thought would be a complete liar.)

Finishing up at the beach

We ate lunch and split our group into two. My group hiked up to the fort on the hill and took a million pictures. I soon discovered that not only was this massive fort was not only the military stronghold, but it was also a castle. Hurray for finally checking that off of my list! I was a bit disappointed that it wasn’t larger....and cleaner....and more fairytalistic. To be honest, they probably should have stuck with the "fort" label so as not to ruin every girl's hopes and dreams. I guess I’m going to have to keep visiting castles until I find one that lives up to my expectations. Oh shucky darn.

Hiking up to the fort/castle

Playing around on a wall

Sitting in a window

View from the fort

Terrifying tunnel of homelessness and doom

Spending time at the top of the castle

On our way back to the beach we found the most delicious chocolate shop and partook of its scrumptiousness. A half a block later, we found ourselves ordering the most amazing ice cream cones. After another twenty minutes we were off playing on the beach once more.

The rest of the day passed way too quickly, and we were all reluctant to board the bus at 8 in the evening.

Dear San Sebastian:
Thank you for being perfect. Boardwalks with carousels, castles overlooking white beaches, fine looking French tourists and lifeguards: I doubt you need me to tell you that you are ravishingly exquisite. When I return to Spain one day, I will visit you.

Love,

Me

Mosto...Taking Grape Juice to the Next Level

Last Wednesday we took a trip to the museum at the Bodegas Dinastía Vivanco in Briones. The 45-minute bus ride through the Riojan scenery wonderful. It also helped that the bus driver found us an English radio station filled with more than enough Shakira, Call Me Maybes, and Justin Beiber to last us a lifetime. (I did find it slightly amusing that the driver temporarily changed stations during every other Adele song. I guess we can’t all be fans. ;) )

The vineyard was beyond beautiful. Age-old vineyards sprinkled with old monasteries and cobblestone pathways: I’m convinced that you can’t find a more European town in all of La Rioja.

The first half of the tour consisted of a visit to the vineyard’s museum. Making wine is a delicate science, and the “cultured and refined” part of me wanted to seriously study every detail of the process. However, the kid in me won out, and I spent more time gawking at the glass blowing movie and dying of intense boredom than I did trying to decipher the detailed Spanish descriptions by all of the farm tools.  I was half tempted to lie on the floor and play dead at one point but was quickly saved by a smelling game meant for kids in the corner of one of the last rooms. The sliding door in the bathroom also proved mildly entertaining.  That’s about it.

After we were finally freed from the museum, we got a tour of the underground holding facilities for the wine. There were endless rows of perfectly formed barrels stacked in perfect triangles. The lighting dimly showcased barrel sets of nine. It was deathly quiet and our classy mouse-of-a-guide fit the magical dugout perfectly. (I’m convinced that it would have been the perfect place for a Harry Potter duel.)

At the end of our tours we had the opportunity to try some of the wine. There were about seven of us who don’t drink alcohol, so the tour guide kindly presented us with glasses of mosto. To keep it simple, mosto is fancy grape juice. I can honestly say that I like the grape juice from the tiny vine in my backyard better than the world’s best mosto. Oh well. It’s all about the experience, right?

After we awkwardly drank our mosto from fancy wine glass, they released us to play on the playground shaped like a bunch of grapes. Childhood will always be fun. After taking a few pictures, we called it a day and headed back to Logroño. It wasn’t the most exciting afternoon of my life, but I think I survived it well enough. 

Like I said...we enjoy playing around a bit. ;)

Feast Your Eyes on This.......

Week two of Paco’s cooking was just as fabulous as the first. What was on the menu for this last week? We started with Pachoas de la Rivera con Hortalizas, then moved onto Lomo de Cerdo con Pimientos Riojanos and ended with Melocotones con chocolate. Yes. You did read that right. World class chef + favorite fruit+ European chocolate = a new favorite dessert for Jassy. Just imagine a happy little peach jumping off a Riojan tree into a warm pool of peach applesauce only to be soaked by torrential downpour of dark chocolate containing massive amounts of sugary creams. Welcome to paradise.  Feast your eyes upon these pictures, and be very jealous. 

Three happy girls excited to cook

The most delicious dessert of all time

Our happy meal

Eating with the GUAPA table :)

Watching...Always Watching

           Coming to Spain has really opened my eyes to how different cultures can be. Besides the most obvious differences between the pace of life, food, and transportation, I have found one particular aspect of Spanish culture that I can’t quite get over: their eyes. The people are unscrupulous when it comes to staring at one another.  At first I thought they just rubbernecked foreigners. After taking a lesson from their book and staring at them though, I have found that they do it to each other as well. The people here take our American hobby of people watching and make it into an Olympic sport.

            I figure that there are both advantages and disadvantages to being to blunt in watching others so unashamedly. The biggest disadvantage I can see is the people come across as being incredibly judgmental. If people would smile when you stared back at them, then maybe things would improve a bit. I don’t blame them for not smiling much though; I’d feel self conscious of my teeth if I smoked 6 million packs of cigarettes a day, too.

            Having people stare is not all bad. I’ll be the first to admit that my ego is going to take a blow when I come home. Being the sole redhead in the city, I feel like I’m in a supermodel every time I walk down the street. Heads turn, conversations stop and I hear fading whispers of “la peliroja guapa” as I bounce down the cobblestone streets. Tell me what girl wouldn’t like that.

            I may not be a fan of seemingly gauche customs, but I think I can survive being a head-turner for a few more weeks. 

Little parks like this one are absolutely fabulous for people watching :) 

Solo Uno....

My American logic would lead me to believe that people in Spain would like the card game UNO, right? Right. Just try to convince me that Americans yelling Spanish numbers doesn't have the potential to put a smile on any Spaniard's face. I'll never believe you.

I am happy to report that people here DO love UNO. There’s only one problem. ....They don’t call it UNO. Are you currently as disappointed as I am? They call the game SOLO. Yeah--It's lame. I’m not sure who figured out the translation incorrectly, but I’m utterly disappointed. 

Running of the Bulls=Hunger Games of Europe....

Plaza de Toros in Pamplona....

I have officially decided that The Running of the Bulls is a drunken version of the Hunger Games. I remain unconvinced that trapping a few hundred participants in a fenced off area with angry young bulls for the sake of “tradition” is a good idea. The people of San Fermin don’t seem to agree with me though.  

Buying bandanas in Pamplona

I arrived in Pamplona Friday night with nine other students. While driving into the city, we were astounded at how many people there were. Even more shocking though was the fact that every single one of them was wearing white and red. When we finally got off our bus, we bought ourselves red bandanas and pushed our way out into a massive park filled with lounging smokers, beer vendors and massive amounts of trash. I could only gawk at the spectacle. This naïve Mormon girl was definitely not in Utah anymore. 

First view getting out of bus station in Pamplona

All movement around Pamplona was extremely slow. With so many groups of people pushing around, it was hard to not lose anyone. We explored a little food area close to the park for an hour but quickly returned to watch the fireworks. I don’t think I’ve seen fireworks so large in my life. The show was impressive, but the amount of people around us being illuminated with every explosion took the cake. I don’t think I have ever seen so many people in one place in my entire life.

After the firework display, most normal people would go back to a hotel, right? Right. However, the schedule behind the whole Running of the Bulls presents a problem for the incoming tourists who didn’t plan out everything months in advance. (Some of us call it a problem; others call it a convenient opportunity to get drunk) The actual run happens at 8 in the morning. If you’re not camped out along the streets or against the Plaza de Toros before then, however, you’ll never have a chance to see a thing. The buses to Pamplona only run until about 10:30 at night, so most people have to arrive the night before and spend the following hours in the streets and the parks. I knew the adventure was going to be a bit sketchy, but I had NO idea how horrible it was really going to be.

The two or three hours after the firework show, we walked around a street fair. I adored the window-shopping and, like a good little tourist, felt tempted to buy something from every booth I came across. I didn’t have the room or the money to buy llama blankets, zillions of handcrafted, leather purses, celebrity yarn dolls or bongo drums, so I contented myself in watching all of the other tourists buy everything up. The music was as lively as the lights were bright. I loved every minute of it. The booths closed at 1:30 though, and we quickly found ourselves needing to kill a few more hours.

Shopping in the streets of Pamplona

The streets were absolutely crazy by this time though. Everyone around us was buzzed or drunk, their white shirts and pants stained with spilled beer and wine. The air was rank and the smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol permeated everything. Vendors crept in between the groups of drunken people and tried to convince them to buy cheap sunglasses or more beer. Little side stands offered free glasses of beer for anyone who could hit a large target three times in a row. Ambulances flew by every few minutes. Latin music blared from all directions.

You can easily imagine that the sentence “I’m going to die” flashed across my mind more than once.

Me and Sam trying not to sit in anything gross as we walked through the city

We drifted between bars and clubs for a few hours, always walking towards the direction of the Plaza. I can honestly say that I have never been so afraid for my life. My parents told me over and over again before I went that I needed to be vigilant. I was a bit more than vigilant; I think I went into survival mode. My adrenaline was running on high. I laugh now because I was determined to be a CSI agent back in 8^th grade during my action thriller book stage. I don’t quite think that dangerous cities and situations are my cup of tea. ;)

Around 4:00 we arrived at the Plaza de Toros. We collapsed against the outside wall and huddled against the chilly morning breezes. I tried to rest a bit, but couldn’t convince my eyes to close.  Instead, I watched people pass out as they hobbled home, shirtless drunks yelling at their mangy dogs, and even a few lucky folks who couldn’t keep down the contents of their stomach. (Yup—Gross.)

Plaza de Toros at 6 AM

[This is where I insert my absolute adoration and appreciation for the group that I went with. I think they could tell that everything was a bit much for me, and they tried really hard to keep me happy, warm and safe.  Thank heavens for them...]

 Around 6, we were able to buy tickets to go into the Plaza, and we rushed in as quickly as we could. We were one of the first groups of people to get in, so we ended up getting the best spot in the entire plaza. We took a few pictures then tried to sleep while people started filing in. It didn’t last long though because by 7 the arena was full. I don’t know how everyone wasn’t dying of a hangover, but their energy was full blast and they were ready to see some action. 

The group trying to sleep

I don't know what song this is....but the people in the arena broke out into singing it about every 3 minutes....

Drinking and smoking continued on at full blast, too. I was even so fortunate as to have the guy sitting behind me spill most of his beer all over my seat. 

Beer smells gross...the end. 

Yahoo. Right around 8 I felt someone slip in right next to me. I turned to look, and some random middle-aged man with a massive bump between his brows had squeezed in between a pole and me.  It was definitely a night of randomness.

Random guy trying to squeeze in my spot?...awkward

At 8:08 (give or take a minute) the run began. There were two large screens in the plaza for us to watch the run and we all cheered as the bulls began tearing through the streets. The run seemed pretty anticlimactic though because 2 minutes after it started, it was over.  Beside a few scratches and bruises, everyone seemed fine. Hundreds of people remained in the ring in the center or the arena, and, to my surprise, they let out one of the smaller bulls a few minutes later. It was a mad house. The bull charged after the crowd, and the audience roared with enthusiasm. This continued for another 20 minutes or so, and then it was all over.

The runners begin to enter the plaza

Setting a young bull on the loose

...Olé! 

We raced back to the bus station with the masses and quickly bought our ticket back home. By 9:45 we were on a bus heading back to Logroño. Doing laundry, showering, sleeping and feeling safe have never felt so good.

To the dear city of Pamplona---

Your streets and tourists are thoroughly disgusting, and I will affectionately remember you as Sodom #2.  Thank you only for giving me a story to tell, for not killing me and for providing me with a cute bandana. May we never meet again.

Forever never yours,

Me

Gastronomy Class #1-- Reaching Heaven in High Calories

Paco Carretero is world-renowned chef who lives right here in Logroño. He represents Spain in the many cooking competitions across the world and is a key figure in developing modern and traditional Spanish cuisine.  You’d think that doing all of this would keep him busy, right? Wrong. Paco also works as the head cook for REAL Madrid and volunteers a lot of his time teaching kids with Downs Syndrome. He is really an amazing guy, and I’m super lucky that I get to hang out with him for a few hours every week in my Spanish cooking class.

Paco explaining the schedule for the evening

            In Spain, dinner usually consists of three courses: a salad, main course and postre (dessert). For our first class, we learned how to make ensalada de melón, lomos de mediana en rustidera, and peras de rincón de soto gratinadas con almendras y crema. Sounds foreign enough, right?

            Paco allowed all of us to help out in the preparation of the food. He usually began by explaining a little bit of the history of the food or the products we were using and then proceeded to show us the proper way to cut, marinate, peel, slice, and so forth.

Paco teaching me a new way to chop potatoes

            While we waited for the food to cook Paco showed us the cooling room where the staff hangs out. We also sneaked a little time in the fridge room to cool off a bit. Time flew though, and before we knew it, it was time to set the two tables in the large ballroom next to the kitchen.

All of us chilling in the cooling room while we wait for our food to cook

 We hurry and set our places and then began to eat. The food was incredibly rich, and I probably gained 5 pounds in just a half hour of eating. Without a doubt, my favorite course was the dessert. The cooked pears in a sauce of whipping cream, butter and peanuts were divine.

First Course: Melón Salad with jamón...Yum :)

Main Course: Fish baked in tomatoes, onions, potatoes, etc...

Course 3: The Postre of pears in the most amazing sauce

I'm definitely happy with my food. :)

            If I come home a bit gordita, you can blame Paco and Susana for feeding me the most amazing food.