THEY PULL ME BACK IN.
Our true enemy, has not yet, shown his face.
This is a parallel to how I felt Friday night when Georgia Tech kindly announced to me via email that all but two of the classes I am taking are worth credit. So I was mad.
And it was an even lower low, because I woke up on Friday, finally, to an email from the person responsible for AIESEC Valencia. He expressed that the stall in development is due to “legal issues,” but that these should be resolved soon, and that we should meet up later this month. Sweet. Also emails furthering the development between me and the professor for the one-on-one electronics class.
Which was one of the classes stated as simply “no credit.” I felt so angry and stressed that I ate at Burger King.
That night was a house party at Raisa’s. I spoke Spanish with a girl from Castelló, and I was confident in my speaking ability. I elected not to pay the ten euros to go to the discoteca.
Saturday was a good day. Jessica, one of the other students from GT, and I went to the Fallas Museum, which was nice. Then my roomate Raul took us to a restaurant in the Barrio del Carmen, the oldest part of the city center of Valencia. That was pretty cool, because Raul, being from the Valencian region himself (he hails from Alicante), knew where to go, what to order, and all that kind of stuff. Not having eaten out much in Spain (largely because it is so expensive), I learned a few things. For example, in the Valencian region, it is customary to order some small steamed mussels as your first tapas. I can’t remember what they’re called unfortunately. We split a bottle of Rioja wine, Spain’s most respected wine, between the three of us. We had about five tapas plates, all of which were delicious, and then afterwards we had some allsome desserts (it seems that getting dessert here is very common). Another thing I’d never have known about was that after the cena (dinner), as the very last thing you do (before talking for thirty more minutes before leaving) is to order this particular liquor, in shot form, to finish off the dinner and (I suppose) prepare yourself for the downward slide into the next six hours of revelry. That stuff was so strong, I’m surprised my stomach lining is intact. I also cannot recall the name of that drink (I learned a lot of words last night, only a few of them stuck). The whole thing lasted about three hours, and it cost sixty-five euros in total. That’s why you don’t eat out much in Spain. Which is also why I’m learning to cook.
After that, Raul showed us a pub in Barrio del Carmen called Radio City. We entered. That’s the first place since Bar Varadero I’ve enjoyed myself. Instead of high cover prices and indecent techno, it was no cover charge and some pretty groovy DJ mixing, most of the stuff didn’t have words or anything, and when there was a recognizable song, it was either sampled Aretha Franklin (RESP….RESP….RES..RES…) or Bob Marley. There will be returnage to this place.
Today I just walked around the Turia and began taking care of my final possible credit push. If this one fails, then uncharted territory has been entered: that of loss of insurance money and scholarship money. Which is obviously all my fault.
That’s why I’m up so late, in fact, because I had to find all the course information (one class I could find nothing for) and for two of the syllabi I had to translate them myself, and I was already tired.
There was a lot more I was going to talk about in this entry, I think, but damned if I can remember any of it now. But here are the pictures of my apartment you were promised.
This is the view looking straight out from the balcony. That is the shield of F.C. Valencia, on the Mestalla, which is the name of the stadium.
This is the night we watched the match between Spain and England. From the left: flatmate Raul, Jose (Pepe’s amigo), and flatmate Pepe. The food was good.