Live While We're Spain

Hey kiddos. Despite having only one class today, I didn't get home until almost 8 o'clock. Getting wild, you ask? In tragic reality, there are no thrills to report.

Following Spanish language class, we grabbed a quick sandwich roughly the size of a mature fetus with Riva and Alexandra before heading to talk to Ramiro about that art history class we wanted to take. Things aren't looking good on that front, but he has offered to call Complutense, one of Madrid's more artsy universities, on our behalf to see if we can get in on that artastic artistic action.

Riding the bus home!

Bidding Ramiro adios after borrowing his copy of L'age d'or, we tramped over to the pool for a little swim which ended up lasting almost two hours. Granted, we took a fifteen minute break to talk to a couple of girls from Vassar. We are all alone and desperate for friends, and not even the glamour of a swim cap can deter us.

A quick note on meeting Americans in Spain: although this has been heavily frowned upon by the rest of the earth's population in terms of successful cultural acclimatization , I would like to point out that Hemingway and Fitzgerald and those dudes stick pretty close to their fellow Americans despite their "multicultural" salon lifestyle with Stein & co. Not to say that's the ideal expat experience, only to suggest that they are no better than I. Plus I don't even smoke. Mary: 1, Hemingway: 0.