"Emma... it smells like band camp in here."

Oh man, I'm laughing already just remembering the quotation that I used above for the title of this entry. There are so many things that have to come together for that to work, so much mixing of past and present in a "that's life" kind of way. I guess I'll explain that first, although it might throw the order of this entry out of whack (and heaven forbid, we couldn't have a disorganized entry). Anyway, so I had my LAST final exam yesterday (yes, yes, I am finally done with first semester, more on that later). It was for local development and I have that class with Liliana. The professor for the class was *always* late (literally always, class started at least 15 min late every time) and, surprise surprise, he was also late for the final. Actually, Liliana and I couldn't stop laughing because we had gotten there early, used the bathroom, gotten all set up, and were looking over our notes, committing stuff to memory (the fancy way of saying cramming) just like any good American student would do, while everyone around us was talking loudly, running around, laughing, and just generally acting like 3rd graders. The room was small. The test was supposed to start at 6pm (6-9; horrible time for an exam), but people were still trickling in at 6:05, 6:10, etc and there was no sign of the professor. At this point, the only thing Liliana and I could do was laugh. There was no alternative. It also did not help that on the bulliten board outside of the classroom, someone had written in marker (in English) "Yankees GO HOME." What a nice way to prepare for a final, no? Anyway, when the professor finally did come, he decided that the room was too small and we needed a bigger room. So he left again to go find a room, came back 10 min later (Liliana and I are still giggling to ourselves about how ludicrous the Spanish system can be; we are now getting looks), and we all proceeded in a great migration across the Fabrica de tobacos building to our new classroom. It was the Magna Aula, which is the biggest classroom in the Geography department. It is huge and old. It is the kind of classroom that has old wooden chairs that creak up and creak down and narrow desks that are more like one long, skinny table and have carved writing on them from generations past. The wood smelled. The whole thing smelled. It was raining outside and the windows were open, which I'm sure didn't help. It was then that Liliana looked over at me and said "Emma... it smells like band camp in here."

Ok, recap: Liliana is my good friend from high school who now goes to Michigan. When I am at Cornell, we keep in touch only by letters because we have this theory that snail mail is a better way to keep in touch than using email or facebook. It might sound crazy, but the past 2 years have been wonderful and, because of our promise to only write letters, Liliana is my only friend from home who I have actually gotten to be *better* friends with since leaving for college. I'm telling you, folks, the immediacy of communication thing of our age is not always the best. Anyway. So I'm not used to spending time during the school year with Liliana, let alone hear her voice (because we don't talk on the phone) or study for a class with her. But then here we are, in SPAIN, studying at the SAME UNIVERSITY, in the SAME CLASS, taking the SAME FINAL EXAM. We are the only Americans in a room of about 60 people. And she references band camp. (For the record, she was totally right -- it smelled like high school band camp cabin like nobody's business in that room.)

Ahh, life. Ok. That was the long rant/explanation of the title of this entry. And now for my traditional list:

1) I am now done with first semester, as I said before. I could have nailed the local development final (3 questions, 2 hours (the professor shortened the time period; I think it's because he's lazy and wanted to go home)) had it been in English, so I'm guessing I probably still did pretty well. Sometimes it's hard to tell, though, because I never know if my analysis in Spanish comes across as I intend it to. Anyway, I won't find out my grades for awhile, but I know I've passed 2 of my 4 classes and would be surprised if I don't pass the other 2. At this point it's more just a matter of what number I get (scale of 1-10, 5 is average and passing). I'm fine with anything, but it would feel really good to get an 8 in a class. It's really hard to do and it's a personal goal that I think I not-so-subconsciously have. Maybe if that doesn't happen this semester, I'll go for it next semester... So yes, now I have a long weekend off before second semester classes start on Monday. I'm excited, even though it isn't much of a break.

2) Normally the main essays for the semester are all due the day of the exam. The students here like to get their essays professionally bound to look all pretty and professional. Liliana and I were talking about it while we were waiting for our exam to start. It strikes us as really weird. Every class, we go to turn in our papers, stapled together without a cover page, American style, and everyone else looks like they're turning in their dissertation. What's especially comical about it is that most people have plagiarized, copied, or have just generally produced bad work and they somehow think that by presenting it well, the professors won't notice. In the US, doesn't it work oppositely? If a kid turns in something all bound with pictures, I feel like the professor would be suspicious. No, your paper is not getting published, you are just learning in a class in college, so why bother? I don't know. More evidence of the two distinct worlds of American universities and Spanish ones... well, Liliana and I proudly handed in our naked essays. And with a smile!

3) Yesterday, what with my local development exam and the absurdities of the Spanish educational system, I spent awhile thinking about how I am paying Cornell tuition for this experience. It is kind of funny, kind of bothersome. I miss Cornell's stimulating and rigorous classes more than I thought I would and the classes here just don't compare. It's also absurd to be paying $22,000 a semester or whatever it has gone up to now for what the Europeans (study abroad included) pay 300 euro a YEAR for. Oh well. At the end of the day, all I can do is chuckle and decide that I really can't strictly compare academics like that because I'm here mainly to learn the language and improve my language skills... all other learning is secondary.

4) New food that I miss: peanut butter. Austin's dad and sister are coming to visit in a few weeks. We have requested peanut butter. You have NO IDEA how excited I am. Oh, joy. Now if only I had some real milk to go along with it, that would make me one happy camper.

5) Old people here all take the same form: they become rectangles. I don't intend that to be mean; it's just the facts. Short, stout rectangles. Rectangular body, rectangular face. Often in a fat sort of way, but that is not an absolute requirement. Also, all the rectangular women wear the same kind of winter coat. It looks kind of like a longish trench coat. I didn't really notice this until my dad came and couldn't get over it. Not sure why. I told Austin about my dad's observations and since then we have been marveling over it whenever we walk anywhere together. Seriously, a society has to be pretty freaking homogeneous to create old people that all look the same. (Side note: all people here look the same, really, when it comes down to it. White with dark features. There it is. That's all there is to being Spaniard.)

6) I wrote this in an email and thought it was worth repeating in the blog: here, when you say America, that means Latin or South America. If you want to talk about the US, you have to say US. This is especially true with classes. Looking at all the class titles for History, for example, they all talk about "America" to mean the America that Spain conquered. I have had conversations with a few people who actually get upset when kids from the US say they are Americans, because saying your "American" can encompass all kinds of countries and backgrounds. My intercambio friend is Colombian and he calls himself an American. It's interesting how different their definition of an American is from ours.

7) When Fernando worked, during the mornings he taught plane-driving classes and during the afternoons he taught car-driving classes. DUDE. The man is a beast. He taught pilots of other countries (as in, armies, I think) how to fly planes. We had a nice family bonding moment a few nights ago--Mayte and Fernando came into our room and sat down and we looked through a bunch of old photos of him with various pilots from various countries and the planes that they were learning to fly. Each plane looked different depending on the country. I'm not sure if Fernando also constructed the planes or if he just taught them how to fly. I'm pretty sure he constructed them, too, because Mayte has told me he's an airplane engineer...

8) Things with Antonia, my older person who I volunteer with, are going well, except for it's still hard for me to understand her. I don't know if she has given up hope or not. Some days I think she's fine and likes me, and other days I feel like she doesn't even try to talk to me, which makes me feel inadequate for not being able to communicate with her. Last time I was over there she was talking to someone on the phone and I heard her talking about me. Antonia basically said that I was very nice, but I can never understand anything that she says and of course ironically that was the one time that I actually understood everything she was saying perfectly. Ah, the life of a foreigner.

9) I went to get my hair cut at a haircutting school today, but they had just closed for siesta. I looked at their prices in the window, and it is 2 euro to get a hair cut with a student. TWO EURO. At first I thought that was an awesome deal, but then as I walked towards the center I changed my mind and decided it is sketchy. Since I only get my hair cut twice a year, max, I'm splurging and going to the place where Luisa always gets her hair cut. Twenty euro hair cut? Let's see if I can do it. I think so.

That's all for now, folks... thanks for reading this book of an entry!