The Jackpot and a Temporary Tattoo

Provo Beach Resort not only has Blue Bell ice cream, a ropes course, an indoor surf arena, and a miniature croquet course (a 'unique' take on mini golf), but it's also the scene of the crime. What crime, you ask? The one where I scored the jackpot in an arcade-carnival-ish game. I've never seen so many tickets come out of one of those machines while I was standing right in front of it!! And just in case you don't believe me, here is one of the evidence photos taken at the scene of said crime.

As fun as it was to wear the lengths of tickets and make everybody else jealous, I cashed them in for a rubber ducky to "make [my] bath time so much fun", a mood ring to better interpret my emotions (heaven knows I could use a little...or a lot...of that), and some temporary tattoos. If you think this looks sketchy, you should have seen the goldfish on my date's bicep. Totally thug.

America, the Beautiful

So my love life is in shambles and I'm back to square one. It's summer term and very slow at the office. My teacher is at a family reunion and has cancelled class. I think the solution to all these problems is writing a blog post about how much I love America!!

I went to Stadium of Fire last night. Kelly Clarkson is mind-blowingly amazing live and seeing the fireworks from inside the stadium was AWE-some.

The choir behind Ms. Patti Austin sang America, The Dream Goes On, a song I sang in Westwood's Honor Choir. That, plus Kelly's rendition of America, the Beautiful and a wonderful display of the rich history of this great country, raised such a wave of patriotism! I had forgotten how very much I love Independence Day and the 4th of July holiday. It brought back memories of visiting Aunt Gail and Uncle Bill and listening to them play Stars and Stripes in the Richmond Symphony. After all of that, it almost makes me want to move out East to enjoy the rich atmosphere of our nation's capitol and settlement.

[polish the shoulder] psh

Yep, I still got it. That's right, folks -- I am eye-catching and quite charming. As evidenced by the boy who (though only visiting our ward on Easter Sunday) complimented me on my musical number, flirted with me for a few minutes, asked for my number, and then called for a date. We made cookies tonight and he loved every minute of my sass. Yes, I was sassy and teasingly insulting, but he stayed in the game and wants to see me again. I think he's the safe version of the bad boy I want to be my type but just isn't because I'm too smart for that. I think this could be a good compromise.

Then there's the second date (with a different boy) I'm going on tomorrow. You know you live in Hipster Provo when you get invited to Cheesecake Night -- a small, organized event where elite guests sample exotic cheesecakes for precisely one hour each month. And this one's more my style -- the one I know I will like after the other one gets old or I realize that's not really my type after all because he's what I want in the long-run.

I'm not sure where I landed when I deplaned the Un-date-able Intimidation Express, but I'm sure glad I got off that Untouchables Wagon. And I think I'm gonna like it here because, honey, when it rains, it pours.

Oh..and..uh..no big..but..I won the office March Madness Challenge and got a whole pound of sour watermelon gummies. How sweet victory tastes :)

Why I have trust issues

Okay so I don't really have trust issues....but kinda. Having been raised in Arizona, my first encounter with Daylight Savings Time didn't happen until I came to college. By then, I wasn't even using a real clock, alarm or otherwise. I woke up to my cell phone and I didn't start doing the wristwatch thing until last summer. Luckily for me, cell phones are set to satellite time, which means they "spring forward" and "fall back" all on their own. Or at least they SHOULD!!!!!!! I just about had a heart attack this morning when my roommate woke me up saying I had 30 minutes to get ready for church. It went something like this:

     "Impossible!" I told her. "My alarm hasn't gone off yet so I have at least an hour. I'm going back to sleep."
     "Katie," she gently reminded me, "it's Daylight Savings."
     "Yeah, and my phone is automatic, duh....." I retorted.
     "Hun, it's not 7:30. It's 8:30."
     "Then why does my phone say 7:30?"
     "Well obviously Apple products are superior." [insert shifty, sarcastic eye movement and shoulder shrug here]

Long story short, my freaking phone didn't switch to DST until I turned it on and off. And I got ready for church in record time. The punk piece of machinery!! My confidence in satellite-linked technology is shot.

Kind of like the day I found out that not everything on the internet is true. Universe shattered.

That kind of friend

There are about a million other things I should be posting about -- over the last two weeks or so I've had about twenty Oh-I-should-blog-about-that-! moments. But instead of spending so long gathering my witty thoughts that I lose excitement for even one of those brilliant posts, I have to interject this one.

Last Sunday was Stake Conference. Aside from the fact that my roommate might have a pseudo-crush on our Stake President (I can't blame her though -- he's the most adorable, Godly man with the corniest love of music ever to work with young adults). Aside from that perk of conference, we got to hear from Elder Terry L. Wade of the Seventy. I can't even try to relate how wonderful it was, but I took 8 pages of notes in my little scripture journal (don't freak out too much; each page is only a few inches square ;) . Anyway, at one point he talked about us being "mortal beings having a spiritual experience" and asked us to think of a time recently when we felt we were having a spiritual experience. He asked us to jot down a few notes right then, but go home and write it out in detail. I thought of a really simple one. It's nothing special, but in obedience to a servant of God, I relate the following experience:

One day last winter I was sicker than a dog. Not only was I sick, but I was also discouraged. What hope had a girl of recovering from a physical ailment with so much weighing on her soul? After exhausting all my own strength, resources and personal moxy, I decided to ask for a Priesthood blessing from the boy I was dating at the time and his roommate. Without speaking too much of a sacred experience, here are just a few of the minor factors that made that tender mercy so memorable:

- the boys showed up in Sunday dress (on a weekday)

- we opened with a prayer to invite the Spirit

- the room was filled with the words of a loving Father to his struggling daughter

- after the blessing, one boy offhandedly suggested I look up a line from a hymn he'd been thinking about

- the other boy suggested I write in my journal about my frustrations, the words of the blessing, etc.

They left me better than they'd found me. I did take my friend's advice and wrote and wrote and wrote. I think that one little action may have opened up a lifelong line of communication between me and the Lord. I get some of my best insights when I'm ready to write down what He's ready to tell me. The song was uplifting too and I'm glad he'd had it stuck in his head. After they left I just kept thinking "Boy, I am so blessed to be surrounded by such solid people!" Sure, they'd humbly shrug off the credit if I ever said anything to thank them. But I'm content to eternalize in a blog the fact that I am extremely blessed to associate with people who make me better, who build me up, who fight for faith and encourage me to do the same, who keep themselves close to the Spirit so that they can be first ones called to the rescue. I want to be one of them. I want to be that kind of friend, that kind of disciple of Christ. 

The ice gods hate me

What the...?? Hello winter anomaly!! I know this probably happens lots of other places, but it's not a terribly common occurrence here in good ol' Provo. Last Thursday was a particularly dangerous day here in the inversion-ridden tundra of Utah. There were at least three accidents within a half hour on University Ave and hurried students were slipping all over campus as they tried to escape the biting cold and deadly sidewalks. By the time I got to work in the afternoon, Facebook was blowing up with people posting videos like this and making jokes about wearing ice skates to school. This was shot on the pedestrian bridge from the Marriott Center to the Administration Building.

Funny story: I have been doing so well staying upright this winter. I've even avoided the windmill affect (where you stand there swinging your arms in giant circles, praying to every god you've ever heard of that you can find your balance sometime before your face hits the pavement). The worst of it was a 2-inch slip of the foot and a startled scream. I felt like I was queen of the ice. Especially compared to my roommate who walks like an 80-year-old woman who needs a hip replacement. Something about being scared of falling? ...paranoid. So here's the embarrassing part. Even the mighty queen of the ice was not a match for this deadly freeze on Thursday. I was running barely on-time for class (as per usual) and started trekking up the hill, passing the slow pokes on the left like a squatty little roadrunner when all of the sudden my quick steps are not finding the right propulsion and my boots (the cute kind, not the utilitarian kind) were finding no purchase. Each step I took was met with zero traction, which is not typically a problem on flat surfaces but is absolutely impossible on an incline! I saw my life flash before my eyes!!! Each step slipped back a few centimeters and I knew there was nothing stopping me from sliding all the way back down the hill and tumbling all the way back into my nice warm house and never going back up to campus ever again. So I didn't exactly make it all the way back down to the bottom of the hill, but I did make it all the way down to the pavement from my might perch of ice-walker. That's right. I fell. Right on my hands and knees. The nice boy behind me asked if I was okay and I gave him a joke-it-off "haha yeah I'm fine" while I screamed in my head "HOW THE CRAP AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT UP THIS DARNED HILL WITHOUT A SKI LIFT?????"

As if that wasn't bad enough, I fell again on Friday on my way out the door. In front of my own stupid house!!! Mine you, it rained Thursday afternoon, melted all the ice and turned everything to slush. But somebody decided it was a good idea to put a strip of ice on the sidewalk where the walkway from the front  door meets the sidewalk. Right where one would make a 90' pivot to turn and walk down the street. My feet were gone from under me, I landed on both knees, slammed both hands to the ground and my backpack's momentum (continuing in a nice little arc from five feet up to ground level) brought my face within an inch of the wet pavement. It felt like I was going to try to do a somersault -- but something went horribly wrong :( I jumped back up to find my knees soaking wet and screaming in pain. Later in the day, I found a small dark brown spot on my jeans and found out it was blood. The freaking sidewalk drew blood!! So now my knees look like this and I'm royally ticked at the ice gods for this little stunt. But hey, battle wounds are cool right? And needless to say, I'll be walking a little more slowly until spring comes.

But at least I don't have it as bad as these poor people.

Who needs a handi-man?

Not this girl! For I am quite the handi-woman, thank you very much. I had a very productive Saturday, I must say. After swimming a half-mile at the gym, I went to the gro-cer-ry store on a mission. Among ingredients for this week's cyoolinary adventure {pozole (Mexican soup), tortilla española (Spanish omlet), and sopapillas (Mexican maybe? -- fried dough covered in honey, powdered sugar, etc mmmmm)}, I picked up some AA and AAA batteries, super glue, WD-40, and water protector for leather/suede/fabric shoes. What did I do with all these magical items, you ask? Why, I did what any single, independent, handy co-ed would do. I fixed all my problems!

• The clock in our kitchen got stuck at 11:30 and my flashlight (by which I do Sudoku puzzles late at night -- don't judge me) was going so dim I started to get eye strain. Nothing that a couple new batteries can't fix. 
• The sole of my boot started to peel away at the toe, letting snow and drafty breezes in on my tootsies. Did I call the cobbler? Nah, I just used super glue. 
• My boots from last season were starting to leak and my socks got all wet :( Did I throw them away? Good heavens, no! I sprayed them with water-proofer! (those and every other pair of shoes I might want to wear in the snow/slush this winter)

• The doors on our pantry cupboard sounded like a witch being boiled in oil. It's especially great when you're trying to get a midnight snack without the rest of your roommates thinking you're a pig since you've already had three Star Crunches today. Or when you're home alone making dinner and you grab the rice but forget to shut the door, so you walk away and it begins to swing s..l..o..w..l..y closed -- talk about creepy! Take some of this WD-40, you spooky tattle-tale door hinges! Not so creaky now, huh?

Yeah, I'm pretty handy. Although, I can only take most of the credit. Last week, my Daddy suggested I keep a few things on hand, just in case -- duct tape: for things that aren't supposed to move but do, and WD-40: for things that are supposed to move but don't. My next project will be applying a garbage bag or some other protective layer to the outside of the cooling unit hanging from our kitchen window. Sometimes I stand at the sink doing dishes and get hit with a blast of arctic wind! This probably ought to stop since we don't exactly want to be cooling our house these days. Yes, I know, I should have done that 3 months ago when we turned it off in favor of open windows and fall breezes. But whatever.

A Cyoolinary {culinary} Expedition

So I'm super ready to hop back on the blogging wagon. It's not that I've been trying to quit it or temper myself. Heaven knows that's not my problem. I've just been  so busy! Okay, let's be honest, that's a stupid excuse and we all know it isn't valid enough. Everybody is busy, so what. Problem is, I have absolutely no idea what to talk about :(
...
........
...
Nope still nothin'.
...
........
...
Ah ha!!! I've got it! I'll tell you all about the cyoolinary expedition on which I have embarked this winter!!
My roommate, Angela, is so creative and a little more versed in pantry politics than I am. After watching Up and committing to become Wilderness Explorers when we grow up, she and I have decided to explore a wilderness of our very own. Every other week we're going to invite over a few friends and eat GRILLED CHEESE AND SOUP. The fun and adventurous part is that we'll get to experiment with new combinations each week! Apparently, I don't know anything about cheese. To be honest, my knowledge only goes about as far as American, cheddar, and Swiss. So Angela has taken it upon herself to introduce me to the wonderful world of aged dairy. This should be fun :)

Of course, we started with a simple Tomato-Basil and Colby Jack on wheat. Mm delicioso.

The domestic goddess, herself chopping fresh basil

Stir, Mallory, stir!

And me in my zebra print flipping grilled cheese :)

On a side-note, here are some pictures from a few weeks ago when we frolicked in the fabulosities of fall with a drive up the canyon, baked apples and pumpkin soup :)

Almost to Bridal Veil Falls -- so many colors!!!!

"Let's shake her on three..."

"I'm king of the world!!"

Utah tourism shot?

J.Crew models in the making

Baked with butter, Butterfinger, and lots of love

Pumpkin soup!! It smelled exactly like fall, honest.

Paul and Logan taking a break from Ticket to Ride

Dallas (nice apron!) and Daniel

Angela and Me

And this week were stretching grilled cheese limits and making stuffed french toast and butternut squash. I can't wait to see how that turns out! TTFN

A clear conscience.

Random thoughts and story:

So I've been waiting for approval from the Department of Homeland Security to become and Alternate Responsible Officer (ARO) for BYU's J-1 Exchange Visitor Program. Basically all that jargon means my boss thinks I'm good enough to get a title and high-end securities. I feel so privileged and very trusted. My application went in almost 3 weeks ago and every day when I walk into the office, my boss tells me he hasn't heard anything. The first week, that was normal. You know how long government applications can take. But every day after that, he started to joke about my dirty secrets that DHS must be discovering, about my black ops in Spain, and all the seedy things they must be uncovering from my past. Today, he approached me with a very solemn face and said, "Katie, I really need you to tell me what's happened. I just got an email from the Department of Homeland Security....." [pause for dramatic effect and an opportunity for me to get squirmish] "....and you've been approved!" *huge sigh of relief* We all laughed and had a good time. My boss felt pretty cool that he'd had me going.

The truth is -- I didn't feel guilty at all. Thinking about it later, it's a huge blessing that I have nothing to be afraid of if the FBI suddenly decides I'm a suspect or something. I've watched enough crime shows to recognize that moment when the guilty party sees they're caught. My boss was shooting for that moment, but I came out clean. It was a great feeling! I live my life in such a way that I never have to think up a phony alibi, run from the law, or be afraid that people will find out the truth. I live in truth. And I love it.

Happy 4th of July!!

I've been back for two and a half weeks and I'm just starting to talk myself back into reality. It's time to face the facts: I am back in America and I have a lot of explaining to do. There is so much you guys don't know about Spain!! It's unfair, I know. So here begins the catch-up and the chance for me to relive everything. Before that, though, let me take a moment to say that I love the 4th of July! I love all the festivities that come along with Independence Day in the United States of America. The fireworks, the barbecues,
the pool parties, the outdoor adventures -- I love it all! I've been pretty lucky to have experienced some great Independence Days. Two years ago, I was working at Disney. Let me tell you, nothing will ever top those fireworks. Ever. Disney fireworks are my favorite by far, but 4th of July was even better. With the music and the magic, *sigh*. Last year, I was in Houston and my parents took us girls to the downtown area for a country music concert. Now that was some classic Texas! There was music there, too. Country, of course. Mom and Dad were disgusted, but us girlies were loving it, even at their expense :) I think we also saw a movie. It's kind of a recent tradition that we go to the movies on holidays like 4th of July, New Year's Eve, Christmas Eve. Then this year, I'm in Provo. As dismal as that might sound (compared to Disney and the heartland of Country), it is so great! I got to do everything that makes a 4th of July. I started the day on Utah Lake in a boat and on a surfboard -- lots of sun, water, fun, and awesome people. Then I went to a family barbecue by the pool -- so perfect. And when it got dark, I got to watch fireworks, sitting on a hill in a park. The weather was perfect all day and it was one fun thing after the other. Basically, I love traditions and memorials and patriotism. As much as I love Spain, and as much as all these next posts are going to say that I miss it and wish I was still there, I love my country. I am so blessed by all the freedoms I enjoy and amazing life I get to live. God bless America.

¡Feliz cumpleaños a Javi!

What a fun afternoon! Instead of my normal routine — class, blog/Facebook, lunch, siesta, Madrid, dinner, TV/chat with Luisa — I passed up Madrid for a birthday lunch for my host brother, Javier. He is the first brother I met and still my favorite, by far. He lives out in the country with his aunt and uncle because he has a dog (or a lion, as Luisa calls him) named Tarzan who doesn't really fit in this tiny apartment.

The most friendly of the three brothers , Javier works in a pharmacy but wants to be an architect. Apparently he's very good with his hands; he built the wardrobe Caitlin and I share and is currently restoring a few pieces of antique furniture. He also has big plans for his mother's kitchen, including new cupboards and countertops and even a new layout (or something like that - sometimes Luisa gets going and it's hard to keep up). I hope he is eventually able to save up enough money to go back to school and do what he loves. Although Javi lives about 15 minutes out in the country, Luisa says his social life is here, in her house and in Alcalá. I think I have only seen him once without his best friend, Juan. The two of them are inseparable and so much fun to be around. (Juan on left, Javi on right)

Rocking out to Katy Perry's Hot and Cold in the car, we laughed about the roller coaster of love and the correct ways to insult someone and their mother. I learned a lot of stuff from Javier, Juan, and the second brother, the quiet one, Juama (short for Juan Manuel). Stuff like: they actually know a lot of American music - even the classics from the 80s. And, according to Juan, Javier is the only Spaniard who comes close to the level of expression Americans are capable of, including me. Apparently, use a lot of emphasis and Javier's never-ending energy makes him seem American. I know I put a lot of inflection in my voice, but I didn't think people noticed. I also got a great recommendation for a pastelería right off of Vía Complutense, past the OhLaLa, where I can get a great costrada (a pastry typical of Alcalá de Henares).

Getting to the aunt and uncle's house, I kind of got grilled during lunch with hard questions about the governor of Arizona (who even knows who that is???) and they laughed a lot at my expense. At least I think that's why they were laughing . I was totally lost in the conversation and they asked if I understood everything. My puzzled look and pleading "¿cómo?" got a few rounds of chuckles. But, I guess they liked me well enough because the aunt invited me to come swimming in their private pool and the uncle gave me a rose from his beautiful garden out front. Who knows if that will happen in the next 2 weeks, but it's a great thought in this awful heat (okay, so it's like 85º…but their air conditioning is severely lacking in force!) But hey, I got to meet the fam! That's got to be sign that I'm normal enough to be introduced :)

While Juama was at the doctor for his broken hand (as a vigilante for the discoteca, I'm betting he had to punch someone to break up a fight), we went to a bar to drop off some olive oil and drink a Coke as Javi turned 24 at 6:30pm, en punto. I felt totally Spanish sitting in that bar as Juan went to the vending machine to buy a pack of cigarettes and I sipped my Coca-Cola Light from a glass bottle. I could definitely get used to this life. Oh wait, I already am. Vale.

La Corrida de Toros

Parental Advisory: This material may not be suitable for children under 18. Really though, this post is very detailed because I want to remember everything forever. I have included most of the photos and video I took without censoring, for my own memories. I have an easily detached personality and I am not a member of PETA, so it didn't bother me much. Thus, as I told my madre española when she asked if I was for or against bull fighting, I think it is a very special and important part of Spanish culture. It's an art, a form of expression, and a legacy for some families (father to son, a toro dynasty). If you are interested in the amazing piece of Spain I got to experience, read and enjoy. If not, don't worry, there will be other posts.

May 15, 2012 - part of the Festival of San Isidro, the patron saint of Madrid. What an experience! Thank goodness I'm not an animal-rights activist because some of the group joked about joining PETA after. But I think I'm detached enough that it didn't bother me. According to the schedule I saw for Madrid, there is a bull fight every day in the month of May. And for the rest of the summer, they happen every Sunday. So there were 3 matadors and they each got 2 bulls in turn. The first two guys weren't very good (according to the old man in front of us who was screaming what I later learned were crudely-woven obscenities). But the third guy -- he was obviously great. Not only did he make it look so easy and fast, but you could just see the grace and poise and skill all over him -- from his hat-covered head down his sparkling, arched back, flowing through his arms and hands and into the red cape, resting in his pink-socked legs and especially his black-slipper-capped feet with every step and turn. The tickets were cheap so I'm sure he's probably just a nobody, but even I (knowing nothing about la corrida de toros) could tell he was an artist and that this is not a sport, but and art. At the beginning, I was a bit shocked and startled by what was flashing before my eyes. But by the end, I was completely entranced. It was really kind of majestic. Other than the nasty concoction resulting from the mix of cigar and cigarette smoke that we battled by sniffing orange peels,

it was really cool!

As a side note, Caitlin and I were actually watching a reality TV show the other night during dinner called Quiero ser Torero and the cute 18 to 19-year-old boys were learning everything from posture to strength to timing to grace. It was cool.

So here's how it works: At the very beginning, there's a parade thing where everybody comes out and we all clap for the different people and the fans cheer for their favorite toreros. It was kind of like when all the little league teams walk around Chase Field (formerly BOB) where the Diamondbacks play. 

Then everybody takes their places and a guy comes out with a sign telling what kind of bull is coming out, how much it weighs, etc. 

The bull is released and there are three rounds.

#1 - the lesser toreros

Their job is to get the bull warmed up. They are dressed in the sparkly costumes you typically think of (including the pink socks) and use a big cape that is pink on one side and yellow on the other. They get the bull's attention, he charges, they whip the cape and then hide behind a wall while the next guy takes his turn. There are about 6 or 7 of these guys but only 3 have been scheduled to be matadors. 

At the end of 5 minutes, the trumpets sound and it's time for...

#2 - the picadores and the banderilleros

The picadores are on horses that are covered in giant padding and blinded for good measure. Sometimes it gets dangerous for the horses! 

But don’t worry, none of them died. These picadors carry what looked like jousting lances. Their job is to stick the bull in the shoulders to get him hurt, bleeding, and mad. 

The banderilleros are the same guys (the toreros) from the last round, but they've traded their capes for banderillas. (Thanks to Google for the pics.)

They get the bull's attention, he charges, and just as he's about to hook 'em good, the guy plants his bandilleras right in the bull's shoulders. 

These somehow stay fastened to the bull's back and flop around for the rest of the fight. Each bull gets about 6 of these. After another 5 minutes comes the most well-known round.

#3 - the matador or torero

One of the guys from round #1 steps out. He is dressed in full garb and holds a smaller, red cape and a sword. This is where the dance gets serious. It's just him and the bull. The matador should demonstrate complete control of the bull and his movements. They should be one. Watching this was just like watching a ballet or lyrical dance where you kind of just get lost in the movement. The matador looks for the opportune moment to strike, preferably when the bull is tired, slow, close, and has his feet together. I learned this last part from the Lladró man I befriended earlier this week. When the bull's front legs are close together, his shoulders spread wide and the matador can plunge his sword straight to the heart. If the bull's feet are shoulder-width apart, there is a bigger chance that the matador's sword will hit a shoulder blade or ribs when he tries to end the dance. Here are a couple of videos I took. The guy I liked most is the one wearing blue with gold trim. 

Why is my life so great? You tell me :)

**So I realized after I wrote this whole post that a lot of it is in Spanish. Sorry about that! Google Translate is helpful most of the time.**

Today was such a great day! Here's why:

• I left on time for class so I didn't have to book it to the school.
• Our presentation about all the helado we've tried was great; followed by other fantastic themes like The Legend of Zelda, Powwow dances, How to Find a Novio on Study Abroad, and Milka Chocolate (complete with regalitos! I <3 Milka).

• Rastro (flea market) after class where I tasted the best melón (honeydew?) in my life. 
• I worked on the blog for the first time in over a week and published two whole posts. This makes 3 in one day!
• I woke myself up from a 10 minute siesta - with no alarm! This is kind of a big deal - momentous, if you will.
• I went into Madrid (surprise, surprise…we typically meet at the train station at 3:30pm to catch the 15:46 train to the Atocha station. It's been our routine for the past week and a half and I love it.) and finally got the zapatillas!!! I even had to talk to the man and ask him to go downstairs and get the sizes in the colors I wanted - I did it all by myself, very proficient-like. I love them so much! I've been geeking out about them all day. Now I can't wait to give Sam and Daddy theirs :)

• I had the best frozen yogurt of my life! It's a little shop called llaollao and let me just tell you, I will never be able to eat Yogurtland or Spoon It Up! the same ever again. Oh, and I want to buy honey when I get back to Utah and just drizzle it over every dessert I eat. Just sayin'. 

• I got on my first Madrid city bus and discovered the Biblioteca Nacional de España (kind of like the Library of Congress, I thnik) is closed on Mondays. But it is a beautifully majestic building just off Plaza de Colón  (as in Cristobal Colón or Christopher Columbus). I can't wait to go back and walk around inside.
• With the 30ish minutes we had before we needed to head back to Alcalá for la cena, we decided to drop by the stores across the street from the Prado where you can find lots of Toledo-made recuerdos and  Lladró (the other souvie I premeditated getting here after my parents brought home their Elena - a beautiful piece of porcelain from Valencia). Here is where I met my new best friend :) I've been looking at Lladró…well, since I got here…but more seriously on the past few trips into Madrid. I was oohing and ahhing at a few of the pieces when the store owner, a nice Spanish man in his 70s, greeted me and asked if I knew what I was looking for. I wasn't in a hurry to buy anything, but I figured I'd let him give me some schpiels and practice my Spanish. So I told him what I like (pastel colors, flowing hair and skirts, and flowers - it must have flowers) and that I want to buy something small because I am a student and don't have a lot of space. He recommended a few pieces and I liked his suggestions; they were ones I had been looking at. One of them was a young toredor that is only sold in Spain - he is precious :) From there, the conversation progressed to stories about the toredor and how the way he tips his hat means different things, more things I didn’t know about  La Corrida de Toros, dirty jokes about the costume, how they actually make the figurines, and how he has learned a significant amount of English simply by talking to tourist customers. I think he liked me because he ended up giving me a book about the behind-the-scenes process of making Lladró. Since I wasn't ready to buy today, I told him I'd like to come back later. He offered me his card and said he would also give me a 'good price', whatever that means. I'm still going to shop around before I make my final decision of which piece I want, but I will definitely be going back to that store. I loved that guy! Honestly, that may have been my favorite shopping experience so far.

All in all, a marvelous day filled with great company, fantastic weather, and lots of success. Vale.

Aranjuez

The day after Cuenca, we took another day trip to Aranjuez. Stopping at a little town called Chinchón, I thought it would be fun (not to mention picturesque) to run through this open field:

However, I forgot that I don't like creepy crawlies. And what likes to live in fields of flowers and grass? Lots of  bugs!! Also, this field was located in a valley, meaning there was a steep hill to descend before I could get to this cute picture spot. Dragging a few branches as I slid down the hill, trying my hardest to avoid rolling head-over-heels, I made it to the valley with only a minor flesh wound:

Finally validated with blood, I climbed on a wall because apparently I really enjoy heights...and pretending to be a tightrope walker :)

After Chinchón, we ate lunch in the plaza in front of the Royal Palace of Aranjuez, walked around the luxurious and expansive gardens, and then finally got to tour the palace. It's a second home to the same people who lived in La Granja, which explains the similar gardens and decoration inside.

              

Aranjuez is also known for its strawberries and huge farmers' market. We were all stoked to go see it but we somehow forgot about siesta. So it was closed by the time we got there. Bummer! I was so looking forward to buying strawberries and taking a picture to show Colby and Talyn how organic I was. Never fear though, us BYU kids are all about the mercado. So we bought some strawberries there and ate them in the shade. 

You can't go to Aranjuez and miss the strawberries. That's just not cool.

Cuenca

Lots and lots of trips I have missed! Dang it. Okay so here's the quick synopsis: I came back from Paris totally exhausted and just high on life. We got into the swing of class and then took a day trip to Cuenca, a city known for it's "hanging houses". It sounds super crazy, right? I was expecting something like this:

But it was actually something more like this (see below). There are a bunch of buildings just built into the side of the cliff. Still cool. 

Let's backtrack for a sec because before we made it to Cuenca, we stopped at a monastery (Ulcés) built by some Templar Knights. Did you know that each group was identified by their own cross? 

Also, we ate some traditional donuts that were crumby and dry as all get out. But full of sugar! :)

Anyway, after visiting a museum of abstract art, Profe gave us two hours to explore. Logan, Haley and I didn't need to be told twice. We found some cool trails, cute plazas, lots of fountains, and climbed on the city wall. Actually, it was more like the trench on the outside of a castle where the guards patrol and make sure no one is trying to penetrate the grand fortress. 

I also found some great heights to climb! Much to Logan's chagrin, I don't get vertigo. He was a vigilant safety monitor though.

To better appreciate the height, here's a slightly better angle:

And, of course :) - like father, like daughter: