Happy Thanksgiving! I was fortunate enough to celebrate this very important and very American holiday with

20 other Americans and every type of Thanksgiving food imaginable (including some atypical Thanksgiving foods such as haggis, courtesy of the Scots). Our feast was complete with canned cranberry sauce and pumpkin pies made with canned pumpkin, all thanks to Eddie's dad who visited that week. We even had the football game streaming on a computer. Not far off from Thanksgiving at home, discounting the fact that I was in Spain and the 20 Americans weren't family. Then again, those Americans were all loud, a lot of fun, and a little intoxicated... Perhaps not so far off after all.

Thursday after work, I headed down to Torre del Mar in Málaga- a coastal town reminiscent of the Jersey shore. Eddie's lucky enough to have a town house right on the beach... He'd better be prepared to see a lot of me in the Spring.

My dish was cauliflower with cheese sauce. Let me rephrase that; A mountain of cauliflower with cheese sauce. I'm certain the man

at the frutería and I grossly overestimated the amount of food I should have made. Then again, I think this was mainly due to the fact that of the 20 Americans, 20 brought a dish that could feed 20 people and we all had a taste of everything (well, we tried to). However, I'm not complaining. Everyone knows Thanksgiving leftovers are the best!

Well, maybe all besides cauliflower... I've been eating the damned stuff for the past week and only finished the last of it today. Hooray!

Friday I made it back to Granada just in time for... A second Thanksgiving feast! I wasn't sure

I'd be celebrating Thanksgiving in Spain one time, let alone twice! Another Thanksgiving and another TWO turkeys. In true American fashion, we overestimated the amount of food... Again. An entire turkey wasn't carved! I'm guessing that was one of those rare cases of too many Thanksgiving leftovers (sobres).

Gobble Gobble! Or should I say, "Apagalaluh!"-- Apaga la luz; say it fast with an Andalusian accent, and you sound like a turkey :)

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Can I just say that in order to write a blog- literally, to type the letters- means that my fingers have to be exposed to the frigid icebox that is now my apartment. In other words, my ten little dedos and I hope you appreciate our efforts.

Thursday night is quiz night (a.k.a. trivia) at Café Piaf, my new favorite tapas bar. Naturally, I went to the bar with a group of French girls. The only catch is- the questions are in French, and then in Spanish.

Let's just say, the French and Spanish don't know their American geography very well. Yet, somehow I ended up looking like the tonta (idiot). By a stroke of luck, the question was: What American city is the Pentagon building located? The answer: ARLINGTON, Virginia, of course!! My town! While everyone was so sure that the answer was Washington, DC- I knew the real answer and would take our team to victory. Only, it turned out that anyone living outside the United States (and some living in the US- cough, cough Michelle)- including the quiz judges- thinks the Pentagon is in Washington, DC. Oh, well. I still have my pride!

Another weekend, another baking experiment. This time, chocolate chip banana bread:

Michelle and Casey, two of my American friends in Granada, came to my piso for what turned out to be a baking and cooking fest.

Yes, Saturday was my first attempt (and relatively successful attempt at that) at making an authentic tortilla de patatas, also known as tortilla española. A very simple recipe- just potatoes, eggs and onions. The catch: you have to flip the tortilla with a plate back into the saltén (pan) to cook the other side. It may not have been the prettiest tortilla, but that's not what matters now, is it?

Stéphanie invited me to my second Moroccan dinner in Granada... Only this time it was a Moroccan feast. Stéph really does have the hookups around town when it comes to Moroccan friends and cuisine.

Stéph and I:

To put it lightly (and use a new vocabulary word), ¡había una barbaridad de comida! ("There

was a ton of food!"). In fact, I mistook the appetizer for the entire meal. Little did I know that lamb with rice, cous cous with vegetables, tea and nuts, and finally ice cream were awaiting us. I'm not sure if it is just Stéph's friends or all Moroccans, but they are especially generous.

The "appetizer:"

Omar and Mehdi with the second course:

Amazing cous cous:

Afterwards we gave our bellies a rest and played some games that required more than a few embarrassing performances from the losing teams, which I hate to admit was mainly my team. Yes, I was the only American in the room and yet somehow I could not name all of the "Friends" actors... And yet the Moroccan and British in the room could. My bad! In any event, my team found ourselves dancing to the "Las Ketchup" song (well known throughout Spain- do you know it?) as our castigo (punishment).

Our team (ironically named "The Winners"):

In reference to the title of this blog post, "La Jamsa," also known as the "Mano de Fátima" (Hamsa, the hand

of Fátima), is often given incorrect significance. The host of the dinner party, Omar, told us that "La Jamsa" is translated to "cinco" or "five" in English- a number that in Islam is connected to the image of an open hand. La Jamsa is believed to be a symbol of protection against the "evil eye" in many societies, but Omar told us that it simply represents "las cosas buenas" (the good things) that Islamic culture associates with an open hand: happiness, peace, etc.

I'd say I have a lot of those "cosas buenas" in my life right now.

Currently obsessed with: Breaking Bad (a television show on AMC). Currently listening to: Alexnder Ebert's Truth (from the show, surprise surprise).

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Veronica and Cristina with some of the kids from class. Happy "Día de la infancia!" Next week... Turkey hands!

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Rebeca said today that despite the fact that Granada doesn't have enough jobs, it is the perfect city. Virtually everything is within walking distance because Granada isn't too big. It's not too small either; there are plenty of new bars to discover and more than enough stores to tempt the passerby (even if that passerby only earns 700€/mo.) In the same vein, a saldo (salary) of 700€/month is more than enough to live comfortably in the city. Rent is affordable and going out for a beer (2€) with free tapas is very reasonable. Buying food at the grocery store is cheap, especially the healthier fresh foods. I'd say Rebeca's right on point.

There are, however, a few things I could really do without. While it's true that I can walk anywhere in the city center and usually opt out of taking the city bus, there are a few (four, specifically) things that I would just LOVE to be spared from for just one day on said walk:

1) Dog poop. It's everywhere. Are Spaniards above picking up their animal's feces? I mean, the animals already don't have to be on leashes, none of them are fixed, and they piss on every wall or corner they get their sites on. There's no grass, anywhere. The least you could do is pick up that shit (in the literal sense of the word). But no, they leave the pile in the middle of the sidewalk for people to step in and spread over the entire path. I would, just once, not have to inspect the ground or get random whiffs of animal feces, thank you.

2) Cigarette smoke. Just one day, please spare me second-hand smoke while I'm walking outside where I usually prefer to breathe fresh air. If I'm not smelling animal poop, I can always count on cigarette smoke. It is Spain, after all. They can ban smoking in bars, but not on the streets. Oh well.

3) Beggars. Specifically gypsy beggars. By the cathedral, outside churches, along sidewalks. Trying to shove crappy pens or sprigs of lavender in your hand so you have to pay them. Spare me. If you give me something gratis (free) and proceed to ask me for money, I'll shove it back in your face. I think just the fact that there are so many people asking for money every day (which, given the economic circumstances and the fact that Granada is a city, is understandable) has just gotten under my skin. If I'm sitting outside at a restaurant, the last thing I want to be bothered with is if I want to buy a DVD from a pile of unorganized disks. I don't want any of those watches or sunglasses, they are shit. Now please leave me alone to finish my meal.

4) Those pushy Spaniards, and the slow ones... Both just as annoying. There's only so much room on the sidewalk, and I've discovered that you really need some practice in maneuvering your way through the various obstacles- specifically, people. It's especially prudent to have these skill sets with Spaniards, because they will stand their ground. First, there's the people that walk in groups and will not move for you to pass as you approach them. Then there's the inevitable stand-off, and as the foreigner I'm used to being the one to step off the sidewalk or wait for them to pass. But as my time here is teaching me, I can just as easily stand my ground. Although I might brush a few shoulders... Why should I be the one to move? Then, there are the elderly couples or elderly women with their daughters; both arm-in-arm. While I usually find this endearing and sweet, when I'm in a rush and they won't move to let me pass that sentiment is quickly forgotten. All I'm left with is... God damn it, MOVE!

So, to sum up: I'm sure I could do without the dog poop, cigarette smoke, gypsy beggars and sidewalk etiquette that I find in Granada (and Spain in general). But, echoing the words of Rebeca; this city is perfect in so many ways and I'm pretty sure I can deal with the few annoyances that come with such an ideal setup. I think I'm getting the hang of the dog-poop-beggar-slow-people-dodging that is required on my way to work each morning.

PS- For those wondering about the title of this post, "flipao" is the Andalusian pronunciation of "flipado" that roughly translates to "crazy." My roommates use this word all the time...

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"Mari" is short for "María," and since every other woman here is called "María"-something (María José, María Carmen, María María María!), it's a term of endearment that practically any woman will respond to-- caution, use among friends.

Let's move onto a familiar topic... Food. I live in Spain where the fruit and vegetables are so fresh, the fish and seafood abundant (and aslo very fresh), and the variety of food is so different from my "norm." I live with people who know their stuff in the kitchen and are more than willing to teach me the ropes or share their comida with little inexperienced me. However, that inexperience is quickly fading. Here's a little insight into what's been on my Spanish menu recently:

- Dessert Pizza: Tani's (Rebeca's friend) creation-- Pie crust used for pizza dough with a combination of onions sautéed in red wine and sugar baked with cream (nata) and goat cheese on top. So easy, and so scrumptious.

- Potaje de lentejas: A lentil stew courtesy of Rebeca and her talent for soups. Correction- potajes (stews). She's going to teach me the recipe before Christmas because I know it's perfect for Dad.

- Pan de carne (Meatloaf): Alright, not a "Spanish" dish, but I made it for the apartment. A little taste of home.

- Ground beef & red wine reduction, cauliflower, and zucchini: Yesterday's lunch, and a Rebeca and Kate original. We knew we had ground beef (leftover from the meatloaf) and lots and lots of vegetables that were going to be podridos (bad) pretty soon. So, we threw the ground beef in a pan with carrots, peppers, onion and garlic and let it reduce in red wine. I battered and fried the zucchini in olive oil, but the cauliflower was by far my favorite. After cooking the cauliflower, Rebeca covered it in cream, small chunks of Iberian ham and- ingeniously, ground nutmeg.

- Now, for the pièce de résistance- a meal of mariscos: Clams, mussels, shrimp (with their heads), salmon, swordfish, shrimp salad... a meal for champions! Can't forget the wine:

From L to R: Giovanni (Rebeca's boyfriend), Rebeca, David and Antonio:

As the night wore on, our bellies filled with seafood, our glasses never empty, and listening to music ranging from classic flamenco to Axel Rose, we played a board-game (in Spanish) called Party & co. Trying to lip-read spanish phrases and act out or draw Spanish words was entertaining, to say the least. Naturally, I was on the winning team. Later, we moved onto a game played with dice called Mentiroso. If a player rolls a 9, the next player has to roll a higher number- if they don't, they lie (mentir) and hope the next player doesn't catch their bluff. If they do, you get an "M" and so on until you are a "Mentiroso." All in all, a great night with my Spanish family.

Next up (I hope): The renowned tortilla de patatas, a Spanish classic... And I'm told easy enough. The plate-pan-flip worries me a bit, I'll admit.

Listen to this: Shiny Soul, by Fuel Flamenco http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USf9maa8_ro&ob=av2e

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Whenever we do something that fills us with enthusiasm, we are following out legend. However, we don't all have the courage to confront our own dream.

- Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

My life is quickly becoming a mixing pot of different cultures: Belgians, French, Spanish, Moroccan, Chinese and American. What's better, it's by choice. I'm making a conscious effort to embrace new people and their cultures. I choose to take advantage of my independence in Granada and open myself to new friendships and opportunities. While I might not know exactly what I want to do when this year comes to an end, I'm making sure to enjoy every moment in my journey towards discovering my "personal legend" (Yes, I just finished the book "The Alchemist"- a bit too pushy with its "follow-your-dreams" message, but a message that resonated with me nonetheless).

Alright, enough philosophy for one post.

I have learned many new things this past week, so I'll write a few down for you. Monday night I went to a tapas bar called Poë with Antonio, Rebeca and Rebeca's friend and post-tenant Tani to grab some non-typical tapas from this guiri-filled (and owned) bar. There's the first new word: "guiri." Essentially, a term for a foreigner with a slight negative connotation. Though the bar was filled with guiris, I was thoroughly enjoying my non-guiri friends as we talked, laughed and sipped our wine from La Rioja (trying all the while not to become negribocas with wine-stained lips). It would seem, Dad, that I'm on m way to being a wine connoisseur like yourself. Only, not at all. At the very least though I'll be able to appreciate red wine (vino tinto) more than I did before coming to a country where you can pay 2 Euros for an acceptable wine. Pinchos morunos that reminded me of Bilbao and spicy Thai tapas, which reminded me that spice exists, finished off the night. Too bad we had to work the next morning.

I even watched Spain's presidential debate. By watch, I mean I may or may not have fallen asleep towards the end only to wake up in my own drool? But hey, I gave it a shot. I'm sorry that the PSOE and PP candidates are old, boring and stand for essentially all of the same points. But are they going to make a change, when change is most needed? Probably not.

Thursday I grabbed a few tapas (noticing a trend here? My stories pretty much consistently involve tapas) and coffee with the girls from work after a "days work" (at 2pm). Cristina and Veronica are my best sources for new Spanish sayings. Cristina, tired from "work" said, "No somos personas, somos animales o cosas." On a similar note, bulto (translation: "lump") is used to describe someone that does not do anything. As using this word is essentially calling someone "useless," I don't recommend using it. I can, however, say that this past weekend I was definitely a "bulto." Well, during the days at least.

On Thursday night, I did get dinner with Stéphanie- my belga friend. With Stéphanie, her Morroccan boyfriend and his friend Medhi, I ate a delicious home-cooked meal. Both Reda (Stéphanie's boyfriend) and Mehdi are studying pharmacology in Granada and have been for many years (apparently you can be a student here in Granada for 8+ years... Yikes). After a Spanish-influenced Morroccan meal, we headed to the teahouse where Reda and Medhi both work. The oldest tetería in Granada, no less.

Friday night was another night with Stéphanie... and tapas. Surprised? Well, don't be so hasty... Because these were the best tapas I have had thus far. French tapas from Café Piaf accompanied by white wine and cassis. Better yet, there were actually places to SIT in Café Piaf... Win.

(Picture not taken at Café Piaf, note Budweisers in hand)

My Belgian friend is quickly becoming a favorite: We spoke about- in Spanish-Belgian beer (sick of this light Spanish stuff), volleyball (we're thinking of taking a class together, just for fun), hiking (or "Trekking"), and life aspirations. She dreams of being a reporter documenting stories from all over the world and shares my captivation with South America... despite that neither of us have made it there yet. I mentioned my love for photography, and briefly mentioned photojournalism. I'm not sure if it was the white wine, but I excited by the prospect. I think I'm just happy to be excited by a career that's out there, and one that includes my passion for Photography AND International Affairs.

So, what did I do the next day? I signed up for an intensive weekend-long photography course. Rebeca recommended the class to me-- She works at a film institute called Filmosofía that gives both film and

photography classes. I met with the teacher and spoke about what the class entails. It's basically a crash-course for the basics of digital photography... Something that's long overdue for my Nikon D-60 and me. It's been with me through so much, and I finally have enough drive to get the proper training. A brush-up on the basics has been much-needed since my high school photo days. Why in Spain? Why not. Plus, I'll have so many opportunities to take photos here, and I want to make sure they are the best photos that I can get out of my camera.

Rome, 2010:

Not uncommon to find me in this position.

All for now, but for those of you wondering about the title of this post: It's from Edward Sharpe & the Magnetics' song, "40 Day Dream."

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Note to self: Don't go to a peluquería, let Rebeca cut my hair.

Bored with my hair, I went to an alternative/punk hair-cuttery this week on a whim. I was feeling gutsy, and sat myself down in the chair next to a girl getting her hair dyed pink. My hair stylist rocked a bull nose piercing, tattoos and a mohawk. He was actually very friendly and spoke English quite well, so I didn't feel too uncomfortable when I told him, "I want a change." I asked to keep the length, but change the front somehow.

What I walked out with was the most normal haircut I've ever gotten. I mean, I try to be adventurous and this is what I get!! So, what do I do? Take Rebeca up on her offer of cutting my hair. Next time, I think I'll stick with my own personal hair stylist right here in my apartment.

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Yesterday, I managed to successfully pull off my first dinner party. The guest list: Four American auxiliaries, one French student and one Belgian student. Language used to communicate: Spanish.

~~~On the menu~~~

-Appetizers consisting of olives, bread, cheese, hummus, and assorted salami

-Antipasto penne (olives, cheese, strips of salami, spinach, olive oil, s&p and a dash of white wine)

-Baked salmon (olive oil, s&p, lemon slices)

-Green beans (with buttahhh)

-Courtesy of Michelle, our version of sangria (which we did manage to finish off, surprisingly)

-Courtesy of Marion & Stefanie, crepes with chocolate sauce (Crepes made by an actual French girl, no less! I had one for breakfast today-- delicious)

I can honestly say I enjoyed preparing the meal, and now know why my mom does it so often. The dishes, on the other hand- that's when I wished dad were there ;). Of course, a-la-Anne, I made way too much food. But it was all good food and even the foreigners loved it! They got a good-ole-American meal (even if they were expecting hamburgers) that offered plenty of food. None of that Spanish "picar"-ing at night and eating a big meal for lunch. And, leftover salmon? Count me in!

An exchange of food and an exchange of... card drinking games! Yes, I now know a French card game to teach all you folks back home. And now Marion and Stefanie can pass along... ahem, "screw"-the-dealer to their friends.

I was promised a crepe-making lesson by Marion, which better happen!

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Eddie and I at the Mirador de San Nicolás

Well, I'm not sure if Eddie will be visiting me again. Last weekend, Eddie- my friend from high school who first told me about the program in Spain and is living in Málaga this year- visited me in Granada. The weekend started with disaster, and ended just as unfortunately. Surprisingly, though, we had a great time. Until he had to go to the hospital.

To start, my roommates were gone all weekend to their hometown in Baza, a pueblo an hour and a half outside the city. So Eddie calls to tell me he's arrived, and just as I leave my apartment to meet him I close the door with my keys still inside. Great. Eddie's supposed to stay with me all weekend, and now I'm locked out.

My friend Helene let us crash as her place that night, and I planned on going to Baza the next day to get a key. I contemplated scaling down to my balcony from the roof (hombre de araña style)... a plan that I was almost desperate enough to go through with. But alas, I went with the bus plan. It would have taken the entire day, but I made the mess & I was willing to clean it up. But, as I mentioned before, I have amazing roommates. Antonio wouldn't hear anything of me heading to Baza and drove back to the city to let Eddie and I inside. One problem solved.

Unfortunately, as is life: when it rains, it pours.

Saturday was fun- As the Granada guide, I took Eddie and his friends to the mirador de San Nicolás, through the Arab markets, and by night to tapas bars and a discoteca. Not bad until Eddie woke up Sunday morning and could hardly breathe. Alright, so just to clarify, he had been sick for basically his entire time in Spain, never giving himself time to get better. What he needed were some antibiotics and a week of rest, but we decided instead to stay out all night on Saturday. Not too smart. I think we should have realized this fact as I was giving him chamomile tea before the Málaga dulce (a sweet wine that he brought as a gift from Málaga).

In any case, on Sunday Eddie headed to the hospital for what he thought would be a prescription for antibiotics. What he got were two nights of hospital stay. I visited to bring him pudding and other snacks, and also to laugh about the fact that he was in a hospital bed in Granada on Halloween night all alone saying, "I think this is my body telling me to slow down." I'd say so.

But, not to worry. Eddie's back in Málaga, hopefully taking it easy for a while. Not sure if he'll visit me anytime soon, but I am going to his house on Thanksgiving. His dad and brothers are visiting, and since he has a house (not an apartment) they're having a big Thanksgiving shindig where everyone makes a dish. I'm excited to have Thanksgiving plans with Americans who know the importance of a good turkey and pumpkin pie.

New phrases:

(As learned from the two teachers I work with, Cristina and Veronica. We got tapas and coffee last Friday, a sort of intercambio of Spanish and English phrases and idioms that is a lot of fun. They're really eager to learn, and I look forward to seeing more of them. Up next: exchange of American/Spanish food, where I'm going to learn how to properly cook a Spanish omelette)

- Chunga: A very Andalusian word used to describe anything- person, building, whatever- that has a bad or dated outward appearance. For example, the best tea houses look "chunga" but serve really great tea. Or, you can joke that a girl looks "chunga" to say that she's not such a looker. Can I also point out that they made fun of me when I tried to use this word- probably because my Spanish is a little too proper to be using slang.

- Bailar como un pato mareao: Literally, "dance like a drunk duck." Used to describe someone that can't dance. A.k.a, myself. One of the girls, Veronica, is an avid dancer of salsa, chacha, la sevillana, whatever. Cristina and myself, not so much. When Veronica takes us dancing, I'm making sure Cristina comes along so we can do the duck dance together.

- Tener el puntillo: While drinking, to be at a good point (not drunk, but feeling good). Andalusians love to add "-illo" to just about anything. They laughed when I said, "tengo el punto" and told me to say "puntillo" instead. Still unsure why. Damn accents, making it so hard for us extranjeros to use any of the cool phrases without sounding completely ridiculous.

Update: Eddie and I frantically booked a flight to BERLIN for December 6- 11. This shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, but Spain has two holidays that week. So, no work! Perfect for a trip. I can't wait. Hopefully no German hospital stays for either of us... ;)

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Yes, I'm happy!

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Halloween is pretty scary here in Spain... Here's the group:

Edward Scissorhands, or should I say "El hombre manos tijeras," wins the award for best costume.

I'm a payazo muerto (dead clown), without my wig because that was just hideous. Rebeca's mom made the costume, and I think it worked out. A little Halloween punch and Spanish card games made this Halloween celebration one to remember! Oh yeah, and the fact that I'm in Spain.

Meanwhile... My friend Eddie, who was visiting from Málaga this weekend, was stuck in the hospital in Granada. But that's a story for another post!

PS- Never found a pumpkin. Sad day.

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