Somos hombres o somos rantoncitos?

"Are we men, or are we mice?" It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? (Almost better in English. I'm a fan of the alliteration.) This is my new favorite Spanish expression, and I'm somewhat obsessed with it. Here's the origen: Saturday night, I had dinner with my UC3M Buddy, Daniel, and the some of the rest of the people from our buddy group. We went to a restaurant called Cañas y Tapas. Some of Daniel's friends came with him and dispersed themselves throughout the group so that all of us had someone to talk to who was from Spain. I wound up seating at the end of the table, next to one of Daniel's friends, and across from some Italian girls that understood Spanish, but spoke pretty much only Italian. It was an interesting setup that turned out quite well. In my search for authentic Spanish food, my Spanish-native neighbor, Javier, suggested we split a 3-course meal. Started with an ensalada del país, a salad with tuna, eggs, and of course, Spanish olives (of which I am sadly not a fan. Some Spaniard I would be.). Dressed with olive oil and a little salt. According to Spanish culture, you eat everything on the plate. Which proved a little hard for me because I didn't like the eggs or tomatoes. 

Course 2: Gambas y Gulas. Gambas are basically just shrimp. Gulas, on the other hand... Well, no one could really tell me what they were. It's some type of seafood, I know. They didn't really taste like anything, so I was fine with eating them. Also in the wok that it was served in was a fried egg, all served over french fries. Honestly it was pretty good.

(Notes: Gulas and Angulas are essentially the same thing. Except Angulas are a WHOLE lot more expensive. So I'll be sticking with gulas. Also, the dish I had looked a whole lot tastier than this picture I googled. And much less...wormy.)

Course 3: Some sort of pork. Javier and I by this point were getting really full. I said something about how he should eat more of it than me. He replied by saying "Somos hombres, o somos ratoncitos?" A challenge? Yes, it was. And I wasn't about to back

I'm still a tourist...

Despite my best efforts to avoid this situation, I still stick out. I don't understand. I've got my scarf tied around my neck, I'm looking nice, and yet people still automatically try to talk to me in English. Even if they don't hear Jeff (my roommate) and I speaking English first. We've gotten a lot of dirty looks from people; it's almost like they don't want us here. 

The past few days have been pretty expensive...probably because I'm still thinking like a tourist. I went out for tapas (which should normally be pretty cheap) and sangría, and it

Packing to Remember

I leave in just over a week. And I don't really know what I'm doing--I mean, I don't have a place to live, (currently) don't have a place to stay while I look for a place to live, and I have no idea how to pack for five months of life. The last five months of my life barely fit in a car, much less a suitcase that has to weigh less than fifty pounds (I REFUSE to pay for more than I have to. The plane ticket was expensive enough.)

So, instead of packing practically, I'm packing to remember. Remember what, you ask? As much as possible.