Barthelona

It feels like I've been here forever. It's actually only been about a week. But a week kind of feels like forever as I've been whirlwind-ing my way through the country.

Since getting to Spain my Spanish has improved greatly. And by that I mean that I've picked up enough new stuff to have destroyed my ability to make a sentence that is either fully Spanish or fully Portuguese. My roommates for the first few nights here at the HelloBCN Hostel were from Switzerland, but their parents are Portuguese, so we were able to roll in the tongue I know (want to see something hilarious, watch me try communicating in French. Pretty sure I can ask for apple juice and say "your mother is a hippopotamus." Then again, that's about all I need to be happy in France. I digress.). However, as I tried speaking in Portuguese I kept slipping into Spanish, especially when I needed the conjunction "but." I had beaten "mais" out of my head since "mas" means "more," (well, it means "but" in some types of Spanish, but nobody uses it here) so once I wanted to say "mais" it came out "pero" and then I lost myself. Hooray language barriers.

Like I mentioned before, here in Barcelona there is a lot of Catalan. The other night I went to a little pizzeria and it turned out that the menu was all in Catalan, which was an adventure since my waiter spoke about as much Spanish as I do. Other than fooling myself into thinking I was going to get pizza and pasta (yeah right, Calvin) it went off without much of a hitch.

After a little research I also discovered I that Catalan is the only official language of Andorra, where I will be heading early tomorrow morning, so maybe that'll come in handy. I don't have a place to stay yet (not a first this trip), but I'll get there. Looks like I may hit some stormy weather, which I'm hoping passes so I can get a sweet hike in. It may be a little cold for sleeping on a park bench, but I have a hoodie. All I know about Andorra is that it's tiny, there are no import taxes, and the mountains are to die for. Whether I'll be near those mountains, I'm not sure, but if nothing else I can mess up all of my language skills once and for all.

Picture story time. In Barcelona...

I discovered Columbus (the world has come full circle).

He’s supposed to be pointing at the Americas, but he’s not.

He is, however, pointing at McDonald’s.

I found a ping-pong park. And you thought skaters were dorks.

I looked at scary fish at the St. Josep Market.

I walked La Rambla about 20 times.

I wrote poems in La Plaza da Catalunya on three separate occasions.

I touched a large chunk of the Roman wall.

I accidentally participated in a protest.

I dunno what we wanted, but we had scissors on our flags.

I took this sweet picture.

I wondered why on earth I don't open a gelato shop.

I visited the Sagrada Família.

It is my new favorite cathedral.

It deserves (and may just get) its own post.

I fell in love with the Peter's Denial carving on the Passion Facade.

I found the thinnest street in Barcelona.

It is called "The Street of the Flies."

I found an Arc de Triomphe. This one's red.

I found where I am going to live when I grow up.

I made friends with the seagulls and ate chocolate-covered waffles at the waterfront.

So, Barcelona has been good to me. It's been a nice break from the always-moving itinerary that I've made for myself (which is about to go nuts), and I'm looking forward to Andorra.

Trying to Learn Spanish - Pamplona and Olite

Words, then pics.

So, I talked about El Encierro, which was far and away the highlight of my life. But I have some down time here in Barcelona, so I thought I'd put up a little update about my language adventures and a few more pics of my time in and near Pamplona.

First of all, Spanish is hilarious. My Portuguese lets me understand a good amount of it (75% ish), but speaking is a little rough. First of all, Narda and Daniel told me that I speak with a Portuguese accent. Which is probably better than an American accent, but still not what I wanted. It makes sense though.

I think that the hardest thing about Spanish Spanish is the accent. They like their "th" sound, which as far as I can tell is always used when a C or an S is followed by an I (for example: Grathias and Barthelona). Given, it's not a hard "th" like it looks on paper, but it's enough to throw you off when you've only ever been familiar with western hemisphere accents. Also, there is no difference between B and V; both are said like a B. I knew that already, but it still throws me off.

But by the end of my time in Pamplona I had spoken enough Spanish to brush up on some of the things I didn't know and to be able to understand more of it. As I figured, the hardest part was figuring out which verbs were completely different than the Portuguese. The two biggest ones for me are:

• Hacer instead of Fazer
• Tener instead of Ter (not a big difference, but a complicated one)

Other than that it's mostly vocabulary that makes me feel like I sound like a two-year-old (toddler with a Portuguese accent). And now that I'm in Barcelona there is a lot of Catalan, which I am in love with. They use X a lot for the "sh" sound, and a lot of the words look like a mix of Spanish and French, which is how I would describe Portuguese, so I can read more than I thought. But it's still not a lot.

Learning languages is a humbling experience, and it has reminded me of how much work it took to get where I am in Portuguese (and English, for that matter).

Ok, picture story time.

After the running we bought churros and dipped them in chocolate (breakfast of champions).

Left to right: Daniel, Cup representing Narda, Rachel, Post-Encierro Calvin

Rachel and Narda have known each other for a few years.

They took this while I prepared to run in front of some angry man-cows.

Daniel and Narda took us to Olite. The drive was beautiful (I need a new camera).

There is a SWEET castle there: the Royal Palace of Olite.

It was closed. So we drank out of the lion head fountain.

Later that night (as all Sanfermine nights) there were fireworks.

The next day we went back to the castle. It was open this time.

I taught Narda how to penny surf. Notice her success.

I also hung my head out of the window for most of the 50-minute drive.

I left my camera with Daniel in the highest tower to climb the second-highest tower.

I'm pretending my San Fermin handkerchief is the Spanish flag.

I'm loving Spain.

El Encierro (aka Running with the Bulls)

Hemingway has been credited with informing the English-speaking world of the San Fermin festival in Pamplona, Spain. And that festival is most famous for the running of the bulls.

"Run with the Bulls" has been #1 on my bucket list for a few years now, so I came to Pamplona and I ran with the bulls.

First, I dressed up like this.

Then I ran in front of these three bulls and three of their friends, and four or five tame steer.

This is where the bulls that I ran in front of were raised.

Isn't he beautiful?

The run starts every day at 8am. Runners must be in place by 7:30. By the time I made my way through the throngs of drunk-out-of-their-minds people it was 7:26. The police at the opening I found were not letting people in anymore. I hadn't come this far to be stopped by cops, so I went back a few yards, pushed my way to the front, jumped over the fence and down into the street.

I had heard that the most dangerous spot for a novice runner to be is the beginning of the course, so I went immediately to the beginning of the course. About 40 yards from where the bulls are being held is the little spot in the wall where they place the little statue/doll of San Fermin. I was right in front of it. At about 7:50 the crowd got quiet and a man sang a beautiful song in Basque, which I'm sure was a dedication or opening of el encierro.

When he finished we all held up our newspapers (used to distract the bulls if necessary and/or measure the distance between you and the bull) and shook them at San Fermin while chanting the song/prayer asking his protection and blessing in the running. The song is sung in Spanish and then immediately afterwards in Basque. I will have it stuck in my head for the rest of my life:

A San Fermín pedimos

por ser nuestro patrón,

nos guíe en el encierro

dándonos su bendición.

Entzun, arren, San Fermin

zu zaitugu patroi,

zuzendu gure oinak

entzierro hontan otoi.

Viva! 

Gora!

After the first time through, all the women in the crowd and media people went their way. Women don't run the race (which Narda said is because they are too smart) and media people like their cameras. After three or four minutes we sang a second time and then anyone else who didn't feel like staying gets out of the way. Then it was just me and a bunch of other insane guys waiting for the rocket to go off that announces the bulls are leaving the ring.

I'll say it, I was nervous. I could feel it just above my knees. But thankfully it didn't last long. I psyched myself up and made my way down to the wall of police. I have watched videos of the run, so I knew where I could stand/jump around in order to be seen by the camera. It worked. I was about four people from the police line when the bulls came out of the pen.

They're a little ways away, but they move very fast. I stood there as long as I could take it and then turned and ran for my life. The first bend goes a little to the left and has a bit of an incline. There is a sidewalk on each side, which I tried to avoid so that I didn't trip (that would be bad). As you run you can hear the bell on the first steer, and it got closer and closer.

Sprinting while looking over your shoulder is surprisingly easier than I thought it would be. It probably helps that if I hadn't looked back now and again I would be dead. I made it thirty or forty yards before the first bull came up behind me, just over my right shoulder. The wild bulls usually fan out behind the first couple steers, so I knew it was time to merge. I moved left and jumped up on the sidewalk as a few massive black animals went by. As soon as what looked like the last one got up behind me I jumped back into the street and ran alongside it for a second, but they were cruising.

Then the bell got further and further away and it was over. I looked back once or twice, just in case, and then headed back to the opening where I was originally supposed to get in. I was on top of the world. I've had a few adrenaline rushes in my life, but nothing like this. My heart was pounding, I couldn't believe I had actually pulled it off, and I was ready to do it again. I still can't believe that was this morning.

Here's the link to the video of today's Encierro, and I'm in it twice:
http://www.rtve.es/alacarta/videos/sanfermines-2011/multitudinario-rapido-tercer-encierro-san-fermin-2011/1149410/

You can see me jumping around above the fourth-from-the-left policeman at the beginning. If you pause the video at 10 seconds (clock in the top left of the video, not the video timer) you can see me really well (above that same policeman, a few heads back, white shirt, red scarf, glorious beard).

If you pause it at 32 seconds you can see me jumping back in right by that last bull (top right corner of the screen).

I am insane.

Back on the Continent - Madrid

With Portugal and the UK behind me, I have now made my way to Spain. I write this post from Pamplona, where I have come for a not-so-secret reason involving creatures of the bovine persuasion. I did get a few days in Madrid, though, so here's what happened there.

I met up with my friend Ariel and we hit up the Parque del Retiro. And almost everything else.

I went to the palace. I look really skinny in this picture.

I went into the cathedral. Unlike the palace, it was free.

It was colorful.

I walked around the busy Plaza del Sol.

 I got punched by a mime.

I found a market that tempted me to choose things from the bottom of the pile.

 I walked around downtown and took pictures of awesome buildings.

I went to the Prado. I freaking love the Prado. 

I didn't really know what was there, so I just walked around for the first while. I stumbled upon three of my favorite paintings of all time: Bosch's "The Garden of Earthly Delights," Baldung's "Three Stages of Man and Death," and Goya's "Saturn Devouring his Child." I spent about twenty minutes (each) just staring at them. They also had a whole hall full of huge Rubens paintings. And, of course, they don't allow photography. But the ekphrastic poetry-producing inspiration had no end. Other works that I loved and/or was familiar with:

• Patinir's "Crossing the Styx"
• Brueghel (the Elder, I believe)'s "The Triumph of Death"
• Raphael's "Madonna of the Fish," which I wasn't familiar with but had incredible color
• Ribera's "Jacob's Dream"
• Velzquez's "Las Meninas"

 Then I went to the Reina Sofia museum, to see Picasso.

"Guernica" is much larger than I had imagined.

You're not allowed to take pictures of the good Picasso (bloody pirates), but I tried sneaking one despite the two very mean-looking, probably-single women acting as sentries. As you can see above, I didn't get much done, but I did get a good chunk of the dying man. Great painting.

"Object to be Destroyed" I don't get it, but me and my Union Jack shirt are fans.

This is an excellent shot of my beard.

I went to the archaeological museum. This is the best-known Iberian sculpture, "The Lady of Elche."

Yeah, I hadn't heard of it either.

I also found a sweet restaurant. I want one.

I also found a lion.

So, yeah, that's Madrid. I wasn't there for too long, and I probably won't get back there other than the day I bus my way in and out on the way to Barcelona. But, no matter which way you cut it, the spot where I stayed was to die for:

Beloved London

Happy 4th of July!
God bless America.
God bless, America.
God, bless America.

I'm pretty bummed that I'm missing my favorite holiday today, but I made sure to look as cocky as possible walking up and down the streets of London today. You can have soccer and a stable currency; we're happy with having owned you when it mattered.

Beard update:

Sexy.

For those of you who aren't aware, I'm taking a picture of my bad self every morning to track the growth of my beard through the course of my wanderings. I take the picture as soon as I remember, which is usually right when I wake up now. It makes for some hilarious pics. Yesterday was my halfway mark, and when it's all over I'll post the whole series.

London. This place is home. I have missed it. I was a TA here with the greatest group of people in the world. I'm staying with my new Italian friend David. His apartment is in a nice spot not too far from Notting Hill. It's a five or ten minute walk from where I lived last time I was here. I love it, only this time there aren't 35 girls in my house. You win some, you lose some.

Anyways, among other things I made my way to the British Library and renewed my expired reading card. They really wanted a beard update as well, so this is how pretty I am in green:

 

You will all refer to me as Mr. C. Olsen from now on.

And there will be a test on the awesomeness of my beard.

I just noticed that I wore my green shirt to the library. Unintentional. Anyways, I got my hands on Alberto de Lacerda's book Lisboa. I really wanted to get a hold of Meio-dia, but apparently the archives I found in Lisbon lied when they said that the British Library had it. So technically I spent a good chunk of change for nothing. But that's ok. Lisboa was the second hardest to trace, and I was happy to come to London. (Where there's poop there's got to be a pony, right Dad?)

It just so happens that Amy Ollerton, my Boston friend Dema's sister who I showed around Lisbon for a day in early June, was in London taking a week-long painting class, so I got to hang out with her, which is always a good time. When I got here on Friday we went to a BBQ and talked to Australians (I want one) and then I took her to Big Ben and a few other must-sees. Saturday we hit up Borough Market (for my beloved ostrich burgers) and Camden Market, where I bought this shirt.

 So true.

I also caught up with a few friends and acquaintances from last year at church on Sunday. And today Austin, my Boston friend Dema's significant other, and his dad (no connection to Dema. Yet...) met me for breakfast today on their way to a week in Wales. Then I had dinner with an old mission friend, her fiance, and a few of their friends. London is a small world.

I also bought a box of Ben's Cookies (so good) and shopped at Primark (you don't live in London with 35 girls without picking up at least one habit, plus I had walked a hole into the crotch of my backup shorts and I feel safer with an extra pair in my backpack, if nothing else just in case I need to strangle a would-be assailant). Then I walked up and down the Thames and took way too many pictures of my favorite bridge in the world.

I will never get sick of this thing.

So tomorrow I'm off to Madrid for two or three days. Then to Pamplona for an undisclosed undertaking involving...beef. I'm off to my nightly pre-sleep routine: brushing my teeth to Irish drinking songs.

♫♪ Oh, we drink and drink and drink and drink and drink and fight, hey! ♫
Just kidding, Mom. I don't drink, or fight.