ALEX PRIEST / THE EAGLE Old Town "Gamla Stan" in Stockholm, Sweden

BRUSSELS – Although I am studying abroad in Denmark, I never planned to stay in Copenhagen the whole semester. In fact, I’m taking full advantage of my travel break to see as much of Europe as I can.

To preface: I’ve found over the past several weeks I needed a change in scenery. Copenhagen is a wonderful city, the Danes are wonderful people and there are plenty of wonderful sights I have yet to see in Copenhagen. But after two months of work (harder work than expected from a study abroad program), dreary weather and miserable Mexican food, I needed to get out for a bit.

Luckily our program timed a two-week travel break for the first two weeks of November, likely in anticipation of our restlessness in Denmark. So now, midway through that break, where have I been? I spent the first few days in Stockholm, Sweden. Then I took an overnight ferry to Helsinki, Finland, followed by a 26-hour ferry ride to Rostock, Germany. I rode the rails to Amsterdam, the Netherlands to meet a friend and together we traveled from there to Brussels, Belgium. As I write this, I’m sitting in the Brussels train station preparing to leave for Paris, France where we’ll be until Friday night – when we fly out to spend the final weekend of the break in Dublin, Ireland,.

It’s been an absolute blast comparing and contrasting cultures in Europe. The Danish culture, I’ve found, is pretty closed – immigration is a big issue in the country and although everyone speaks English, they aren’t necessarily enthusiastic about having to speak it to foreigners like myself. The lack of diversity in food varieties available (ethnic foods are pretty limited to falafel and pizza, unfortunately) and the feel of the city is more laid-back, easy-going and worry-free.

Take Brussels, for example. The similarities between Brussels and Copenhagen are limited to their somewhat closed nature and European location. Also, like Copenhagen, businesses are rarely open 24/7 and on Armistice Day, November 11th, businesses were actually closed. English is spoken less widely, as it’s already a bilingual country (French and German, mostly). Once the headquarters for the European Union, the city is more business-like and has a “big city” feel. Food varieties are a little more diverse and, as a result of literally being a bigger city, more widely available.

Paris will no doubt be quite a contrast to Copenhagen, because it is immense. I’m eager to explore it!

Anyway, more updates to come as my travels (and abroad experiences) continue. Continue to read my updates on my Twitter and see my photos on my Flickr page.

PARIS – Recently I had the chance (i.e., I paid 12 euros) to attend a chocolate show at a convention center in Paris.  Chocolatiers had gathered from around the world to present their most elegant goods. 

There were the finest bars of chocolate from almost every continent, dresses made from chocolate, full-sized chocolate flutes and chocolate miniatures of Paris landmarks.  There were pralines and nougats and all the most fancy and beautiful looking desserts I had ever seen.  But to be completely honest, they didn’t taste nearly as good as they looked.

Some may argue that it fits in with the French character, but French desserts seem to be built for style, not taste. 

Each one has an elegant dollop of fondant or sculpted mousse so beautiful as to make one wonder whether it should be eaten or placed in a glass case.  Even the simple butter cookies sold for children have intricate carvings of castles and princes and the pearly gates of heaven.  The expectation, naturally, is that eating these desserts will lead one to a world of taste pleasure so intense that most would not even dream of it.  Actually eating them, thus, is rather anti-climactic. 

This is in stark contrast to the world of American desserts.  If there’s one thing we do right in America, it’s that we don’t waste our time making our desserts look good at the expense of taste.  Take the humble chocolate chip cookie (relatively uncommon in France) as an example.  It doesn’t look like much: just a hunk of beige dough that was tossed in the oven. Perhaps I shall be stoned by foodies for this, but I would much rather eat a fresh-baked chocolate chip cookie than anything found in your average French pastry shop. The only possible exception? Lemon tarts, which are excellently utilitarian.

MADRID – After what ended up being an unexpectedly difficult week of mid-terms, I decided to leave Madrid’s warm, sunny weather behind for Krakow, Poland for my fall break.

Being in Spain for several months has been chipping away at my tolerance for cold. The second I stepped off the plane in Krakow, my body entered a permanent frozen state that managed to stay that way the entire visit. Every night I wore my fleece jacket and three pairs of socks to bed. Definitely not something I’m used to! At least the country’s famous vodka helped keep my body temporarily warm. The cherry and honey flavors are most famous, as well as Bison Grass vodka (flavored with a special grass only grown in Poland and other parts of Eastern Europe, it is banned in the U.S. since it contains a toxic compound banned by the F.D.A.), which is mixed with apple juice and cinnamon to make “tatanka,” the liquid, alcoholic equivalent to apple pie.

The most interesting aspect of the trip for me was how sociologically unique Poland is. The more I walked around Krakow’s streets, the more I realized how everything seemed to be the polar opposite of Spain. The bright weather, architecture and general disposition I have become accustomed to in Madrid were sharply juxtaposed with cold, dark skies (the sun starts setting at 3:30 in the afternoon!), hushed voices and pre-war buildings in desperate need of a power wash.

Nevertheless, I found my experience in Poland much more powerful than expected; I might even boldly assert Poland had more of an impact on me than Spain initially did. I felt a connection to Poland that I simply don’t have with Spain. Before the Second World War, my entire family lived in the Jewish ghettos of Poland, and seeing some of my ancestor’s former stomping grounds had a touching effect on me.

It was also interesting to see how a country so devastated by both World War II and communism is attempting to move on and modernize. Within the same block, you can find pre-war, communist era and modern buildings. Much of the city’s infrastructure is straight out of the mid-20th century (hello tram system!), yet many things are still left unchanged from centuries ago: rickety and narrow cobblestone sidewalks hug the streets and some churches date back as far as the Middle Ages.

Seeing such a different part of the world helped me further appreciate certain aspects of Spanish culture (the sun sets at a normal hour here!) while also deepening my interest in Eastern Europe. A break well spent, I think.

TARYN HOCHLEITNER / THE EAGLE

MADRID – While there are so many things I adore about Spanish culture, the Greeks have got the Spaniards beat when it comes to food. The contribution that chocolate and churros (fried sweet dough) have made to the culinary world is undeniable, but I often find the other Castilian staples of pork and eggs hard to swallow – literally. Whole grains are also nowhere to be found and vegetables are often drenched in olive oil.

When my group took an excursion to Greece last week, however, I truly learned what I was missing in the kitchen. Spaniards and Americans should take note. While Mediterranean cultures are infamous for time spent eating (two-hour lunches are the norm), on the whole the food is much healthier. Mountains of butter are substituted for olive oil (sorry, Paula Deen), and fried foods are few and far between. For breakfast, Greek-style yogurt (with a super-thick consistency) is plopped high on a plate and drizzled with honey. Sweet cucumbers and juicy tomatoes are served with every meal, as well as tzatziki sauce, a combo of yogurt, cucumbers, dill and olive oil. For lunch, lamb is a specialty, and savory gyros, souvlakis and kebabs are served with tazatziki, tomatoes and French fries. On the street, you can buy grilled corn or chestnuts, and for dessert it’s always baklava, thin layers of phyllo dough, honey and various crushed nuts stacked in indulgent perfection.

A week later, and I’m still daydreaming about the food.

ALEX PRIEST / THE EAGLE

COPENHAGEN – This confirms it for me. I could not have chosen to study abroad any place in the world better than Copenhagen. With the International Olympic Committee in the city for the 2016 host city selection yesterday and the United Nations World Climate Change Conference (COP15) here in December, there’s nothing I can say except I’m excited and I love it here. These few months include some of the most important and eventful months Copenhagen has ever seen.

The first thing I did yesterday was go to the Bella Center on the outskirts of Copenhagen to sing “I Want You Back” by Michael Jackson with a bunch of other enviro-geeks. The goal? To convince Obama, Hatoyama and Lula to come back to Copenhagen for COP15 in December. SO much fun. Check out some footage here and my pictures at the bottom of this entry. Oh, and then they had free pastries–always good.

The excitement around President Obama was thrilling. It’s so interesting–and it makes me proud–that other foreign leaders can visit Washington with barely a mention in the press. But when our President makes a trip like this, the whole world gets excited. Around here, usually I have no idea what the Danes are talking about when they speak Danish. But this week every conversation I heard mentioned Obama’s name, and always with smiles involved. Its a great feeling, having a President that is the envy of almost every other country in the world. My message to you, Americans–Democrats and Republicans alike–be proud of what we have in our President and in our country. Regardless of your views on the issues, we live in the greatest country in the world and we should be proud of our leaders.

Around 5 p.m. the festivities began for Rådhuspladsen. There was a ton of music, a huge crowd–a glorious combination of Danes, Americans, Brazilians, Japanese and Spaniards–and lots of pride. The music was great, with the bands Aqua and Disneyland After Dark headlining. Interesting that they chose two Danish bands with an (infamous) history of trademark infringement, but hey whatever, it was fun.

Obviously, the American crowd didn’t quite get the results we’d hoped for. Chicago was shockingly voted out in the first round—which we were told by a friendly reporter and cameraman from CBS Chicago just before they announced it to the crowd. Needless to say, all of us in our bright orange “CHICAGO 2016” shirts were pretty let down but we decided not to let it ruin the night. Quickly, we all threw our support behind Rio (better to have them in South America than no America at all, right?) and cheered and screamed with the Brazilians gathered right next to us. Once it was finally announced that they won (which, at that point was not a surprise—no one really thought Madrid had much of a shot) we all went totally nuts and went crazy for D-A-D’s performance.

I’ll admit I’m still disappointed with the results of the Olympic host city selection. Watching coverage from the event today left me a little sad, although I was happy for Rio and Brazil. I do recognize this event will do greater things for Rio than it would have for Chicago. But the Olympics would have brought great economic and international policy-related benefits to the city. There’s been plenty of controversy surrounding Chicago’s bid–as my friend Hope describes on her blog. I think the Olympics in Chicago would have brought enough benefits to far outweigh any negative effects on the city, but it’s good to see both sides of every issue.

And that’s all for this entry, but check the “read more” for lots of great pictures from both the “We Want You Back” climate rally and the IOC selection celebration.

MADRID – My study abroad group recently returned from a 10-day excursion to Greece and Turkey. We got to see the lofty Acropolis and the pristine Santorini, but by far Istanbul was the most fascinating stop on our trip.

Turkey is a very complex and interesting place. But for a country with a sophisticated blend of secularism and modern Islam, the sales methods shop owners use to get customers are, well, fairly primitive.

Pick-up-lines are almost an Olympic sport for salesmen, and nowhere is it worse than the tourist-flooded Grand Bazaar. A labyrinth of thousands of tiny shops selling everything from hookahs and pashmina scarves to faux-Rolexes and old Nazi war medals, a salesman must resort to whatever means necessary to attract patrons to his shop. Thus the 40-year-old men shouting, “Hey Spice Girls! I’ve got what you need!” to every group of girls passing by.

“Where are you from, girl? Paradise?”

At first shocked by the excessive machismo and shameless one-liners, all of the girls in my program were comparing the best lines they had heard that day by the end of the afternoon.

Little boys working in their father’s shops would whisper lines to each other to spout out at the next passing customer. A kid who was no older than eight and clearly still learning English told my friend she was the “most ugliest girl in the entire world.”

While the guys in our group were harassed less, they would be called George Clooney or Brad Pitt as they perused through stacks of knock-off soccer jerseys and boxes Turkish delight (a popular dessert aimed at tourists).

As a girl walking around in what is obviously still a male-dominated society, it’s hard to accept the fact that you’re a piece of meat amongst a group of starving pit bulls (especially when all you want to do is find a pashmina scarf to match your winter coat). But in order to be able to move on with your day and not burst into tears at every corner, it’s far better to take the comments in stride as some sort of superficial and lighthearted game.

My favorite line came after one of my friends had spent the better part of half an hour bartering for a copper tea set. After she forked over her Lira, the shop owner leaned in closely and whispered, “I’ll be your magic carpet… you can walk all over me…”

PARIS – The other day, I was sitting on a bench in the middle of a traffic circle, trying to enjoy a relaxing afternoon despite the discordant sounds from the Parisian road.  On a bench across the path, I noticed a teenager.  This teenager was clearly trying too hard to be cool: his hair was long and dyed black, and metal chains hung from his baggy black jeans. His black jacket was torn, and his headphones blared all the latest styles in American rap.  There was a definite aura around this fellow that he wasn’t someone to mess around with, or at least he didn’t think he was. He glanced at me, a half-glance that clearly said “I will tear out your jugular and eat your vertebrae for dinner,” and then the teenager departed.

The effect was ruined, however, by the teenager’s mode of transportation.  For this rebellious young man, who was at least 16, had chosen to traverse Paris on a mini-scooter.

Mini-scooters are all the rage in Paris.  And unlike in the United States, it’s not just kids who ride them.  Two days after seeing the teenager in the traffic circle, I witnessed a man in a shirt, tie and leather jacket whizzing down the street on his own scooter.  A few days after that, a middle-aged woman in a long skirt nearly ran me down on the sidewalk.  And the day after that, I had to wait for a bald, elderly man to scoot through the intersection before I could use the crosswalk.

Let it be known, however, that these are not the mini-scooters of our childhood.  No, these have larger wheels. They are even more ridiculous than the mini-scooters of our childhood.

This whole phenomenon got me to thinking, why aren’t mini-scooters ridden by adults in America?  They’re faster than walking and more portable than bikes.  The answer, of course, is that it is ridiculous to be scooting down the street, after one is old enough to start caring about things such as “do I look stupid?” and “whatever happened to my dignity?”

And yet somehow the French–a people who have never valued practicality over fashion–don’t mind speeding down the street as though on they are on the way to a play date with their best friend. 

Go figure.

MADRID- After being in Spain for more than two weeks, I’ve started picking up on some of the random cultural differences from the U.S. Half of these (ok, more than half) I learned after getting dirty or confused looks from my host family. Let me tell you how fun it is to live up to the whole clueless American thing!

-That whole walk on the left, stand on the right escalator rule doesn’t exist here.

-Spaniards peel all of their fruits before they eat them. That includes apples and pears, and it takes a good 15 minutes for someone to peel one with a knife.

-It’s considered rude to walk around the house barefoot. Apparently many people are convinced that’s how people get sick.

-Kids wear Harry Potter glasses here! It’s pretty much the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

-As opposed to Washington, where generally people don’t like taking care of other living things, Spain is an incredibly dog-friendly country. In fact, many people walk their dogs without leashes around the city.

-In this country, it’s all about the ham, ham, ham! Chicken is considered low class, so it is not uncommon to have ham every meal. In many butcher shops there is a bar area for people to have a beer while sitting under giant pig legs. Talk about atmosphere!

-There aren’t really set hours for anything here. Store hours and deadlines are more like suggestions, and things just kind of happen whenever

-A tradition back from the days when people carried swords finds a person untrustworthy if they rest their hands on their lap while eating. Instead, it is customary to keep both hands on the table during meals

-Wine is cheaper than water. Enough said.

PARIS – People sporting baseball caps with logos of American teams – particularly the New York Yankees – is one of the more amusing sights in Paris. Apparently the style is chic in Paris, but the wearing of such hats should not be taken as a gesture of support for any team, or even as a sign that the French truly enjoy American sports.  It’s not uncommon, after all, to see the Yankees cap accompanied by a Red Sox jacket. Even I, a Midwesterner coming from a state that doesn’t even have a major league team, know that those two teams don’t mix.

The French consume a lot of American culture, even though they don’t seem to understand the significance of it (as in the Yankees/Red Sox situation).  For individuals who many in the States see as sophisticated, the French seem as susceptible as Americans to anything with a big advertising budget.  Posters in the Metro advertise Hannah Montana, and the Jonas Brothers will soon be having a long-awaited concert in Paris.

If movie posters are any indication, something of American culture tends to be lost in the translation.  The French title of the film “My Sister’s Keeper” was titled “Ma Vie Pour la Tienne” (My Life for Yours), and “The Hangover” became “Very Bad Trip.”  The result is an American yet uniquely French hybrid that nonetheless betrays the fact that, for all of their griping about us, the French are still fascinated with the USA.

The “learn English” advertisements with people sticking out their American flag-colored tongues is also a bit of a giveaway.

ALEX PRIEST / THE EAGLE The perfect, cheap bike for Copenhagen.

COPENHAGEN—Greetings from the most bike-friendly city in the world. I’m studying abroad this semester in Copenhagen, Denmark and (so far) having an absolutely incredible time. I’ll be studying marketing and communications here (as I am at AU) and, in my free time, writing for The Eagle. Although I’ve been here for over two weeks already. Feel free to check out some of my previous entries on my personal blog and my photos on my Flickr account. Instead, I’ll just jump right in and I hope you’ll join me.

This week, I bought a bike and I’m really, really excited about it. In case you didn’t know, it’s outrageously difficult to find an affordable bike here in Copenhagen. It simply doesn’t make sense—you’d think the most bike-friendly city in the world would have relatively cheap bikes somewhere. Nope. Instead, I bought this beauty from an American intern. He had recently bought a new one and was selling this one. It’s in fantastic shape, has seven gears (which is quite a lot in this city, evidently—since it’s so flat most bikes only have 1-3 gears) and runs perfectly. He even gave me a lock. And I got it for a better price than I’ve seen anywhere else (I’ve seen completely busted bikes being sold for more).

It’s an exciting experience, biking in this city. Of course I bike in DC, but here it’s a different experience—it’s a cultural thing. It really makes you feel Danish. It’s a great feeling.

Sunday I returned from Sweden. Magical, fairytale-inspiring Sweden. To put it simply: it. was. amazing. And somewhat surprising. I had expected a pretty relaxing trip, some nice and easy canoeing, nature hikes and a pretty chill—but certainly not luxurious—stay at a local hostel. It was so much more.

To start, we drove to a small town called Angelholm and although we’d hardly woken up, we were handed canoes and told to start paddling until we got to the other side of the city—about a three hour ride downstream. It would’ve been perfect, had it not been for the insane storm that drenched us halfway through (the weather just before and after was beautiful, of course). But we persevered. After the canoeing we headed straight for our hostel, which was just out of this world. It was a beautiful building, very luxurious, and there even was hot soup ready for us as soon as we arrived (which was much needed, as we were all still dripping and freezing).

But we only had a couple hours to relax before we were off to Nimis, and the independent country of Ladonia. It was mind-blowing.

The city/country/whatever you want to call it was started 29 years ago by a crazy man who decided to make some “art” out of basically nothing but driftwood. After two years the Swedish government discovered his “art” and declared it unsafe and threatened to remove it. Instead of complying or protesting in the usual way, the artist declared Ladonia a free state with Nimis as its city and claimed independence from Sweden. Since then Sweden has basically just tried to forget about it, preferring to pretend like it doesn’t exist. Now the city of Nimis has no inhabitants (although supposedly Ladonia is one of the fastest growing “micro-nations” on the planet) and gets about 30,000 visitors a year to its remote location. I can’t recommend the trip enough. Not only is it bizarre and fascinating but it’s in an absolutely beautiful location on the Swedish coast and you simply can’t beat the view.

Or so I thought. That was until we traveled to the nearby Kullaberg park along the same Scandinavian peninsula—and rappelled off a rock wall overlooking the ocean. The pictures really say all there is to say about that second day of the trip, but it was an incredible experience that I’ll really never, ever forget.

And now on to bigger and, perhaps better, things! Tomorrow morning bright and early I leave for Western Denmark on my first study tour with my communications program at the Danish Institute for Study Abroad. We’ll be traveling to Århus and Odense. To be honest I don’t exactly know what we’ll be doing, but you can guarantee it’ll be interesting and I’ll have plenty of pictures to show when I get back! I’ll keep you updated. Until then, check out the rest of my pictures from my trip to Sweden, embedded below.

Alex Priest is a junior and is pursuing a dual-degree in marketing and public communications. He’s studying international advertising, among other things, in Copenhagen for the semester. Look out for his updates!

JACK WEINGART / THE EAGLE Relaxing in the Australian sun.

BRISBANE, Australia—Whether I’m jotting notes at uni, rushing through the grocery store, or (god forbid) in a shopping centre, I’m always taken aback by the number of people that I see who are barefoot. This is nothing new or abnormal for Australians, however. Being barefoot is a part of the culture, and it coincides very closely with the relaxed and simple nature of this vast yet scarcely populated country.

In America, shoes are pretty much standard for all communal places. The “No shirt, no shoes, no service” rule, however, simply does not apply here in Australia. Queenslanders tend to hold true to the nation’s popular “no worries” slogan. Children in primary school are even allowed to walk the halls without shoes on. Having worked at a day care in New York for over for three years, I know children without shoes are sent to time out in the good old U.S. of A.

So what is it exactly about Australia that makes being barefoot acceptable? There is plenty of glass and rocks here, so the ground surely isn’t any safer. The attitudes, even in urban environments, are drastically different, however. Australian cities, such as Brisbane, do not have the same hustle and bustle attitudes that seem to plague American cities like Washington or New York. Yes, Australians still have places to be and things to do. But they seem to live their lives with much more ease, free from worrying about things that are out of their control.

Stuck in traffic after you left the house ten minutes late for work? No worries! Didn’t do so hot on an exam when you spent two straight days studying? No worries! Can’t find your student ID to board the bus to uni? No worries, the driver sees your backpack and packed lunch!

Having witnessing or actually experiencing situations like these, it’s clear to me that Australians just seem to have a better sense of knowing when to fight their battles and when to concede to the powers that be. This isn’t to say that Australians could care less. Inversely, I’m saying that Australians seem to have a greater perspective of what truly matters in life. If being barefoot suits you, then no worries mate, it’s your life after all.

Jack Weingart, SOC ‘11, is currently studying abroad at the University of Queensland in Brisbane, Australia.

PARIS—The butter in Paris is a scam.  Although it’s supposed to be soft, trying to spread it on hot toast is like trying to spread an ice cube: the best method is just to let it melt and smear the liquid grease around.  Much of the rest of life in France—a land without clothes dryers or drinking fountains—is similarly inconvenient, and the roads are downright terrifying.  Cars don’t have to stop for pedestrians, and most won’t.  Streets branch off in strange directions and five or six will frequently converge at an intersection so confusing as to make Dupont Circle seem like the sort of place one might take a beginning driver to learn the ropes.  Drivers frequently turn left from the far right lane, even as cars in the middle lanes try to turn right and cars in the left lane try to go straight.  Of course, even having lanes is quite a step up from most Parisian roads.  Typically, the street is an anarchistic free-for-all, with drivers making lanes wherever they want, trying to race past other cars before the road narrows, as the roads frequently do.  (I once heard a friend describe the streets of Paris as wide and airy.  I can only conclude that he was referring to Paris, Illinois.)

Of course, so much of this story is clichéd.  Like the photo I took of the Eiffel tower, you’ve seen and heard this all before.  Indeed, it could easily be argued that the whole semester abroad in Paris is clichéd.  Crowding around the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, eating Camembert spread on a baguette, drinking in a bar—legally—with your other under-21 friends, etc., etc.  It’s all been done. 

So why even bother studying abroad?  Because it doesn’t matter how clichéd it is if you’ve never done it.  And because there’s so much beyond all those clichéd moments, like slurping water from your cupped hands in the Louvre’s bathrooms, eating gyros in the shadow of Notre Dame, or struggling to figure out how to get through the gates and off the platform in the train station. 

But mostly because of the same reason we chose to come to AU: we know there’s a world out there, and we want to be part of it.

Clint Rice is a junior in the School of Communication. Follow his journey in Paris during the fall semester on The Eagle’s new blog, The Eagle Takes Flight!

GRANADA, Spain—First of all, let me just say that packing for an epic four month journey is much harder than it seems. The week before my departure to Madrid, my gigantic black suitcase (which fits both me and my dog comfortably, I discovered) sat in the middle of my room judging me. I tried to find the motivation to pack as I attempted to stare it down with equal stealth. When packing for a trip abroad, they always tell you to stack up what you intend to bring and then remove half. But they, whoever those evil souls are, never took into account the fact that I would have to pack for 90 AND 30 degree weather. And keep my bag under 51 pounds. And the fact that I like shoes. A lot. As the stacks of clothes grew, I sadly removed half of them, as told, and even left room in my suitcase for the eight pairs of Spanish leather shoes I intend to buy. Suitcase: 0. Tamar 1.

Now, after being in Spain for over a week, I feel grossly under packed. It doesn’t help that it regularly tops 90 degrees and that Spaniards for some reason don’t believe in air conditioning. Or washing machines, as is the case with the dorm we’re staying in. Alas, I’ve spent my first week in Spain shvitzing in reused clothes. Yesterday I went to a tapas bar in gym shorts and today I was stuck wearing pants and a long sleeve shirt in the midday heat. Suitcase: 30. Tamar: 1.

Aside from the smelly recycled clothing, Spain is phenomenal. When our group of 25 AU students arrived, we spent our first two nights in Madrid, where we’ll be living, and then took a four hour bus ride south to Granada, a city with its heyday in the Middle Ages and now a vibrant hippie college town. Here it seems rat tails, dreadlocks and mullets never went out of style. We’re now on day eight of our 11 day orientation, where we’re taking intensive Spanish classes, three-hour siestas and dutifully learning the subtleties of sangria (a common wine, triple sac and fruit drink).

So far, we’ve had a great time exploring Granada’s steep alleyways and cheap bars (one and a half Euros for a beer and tapa!) and the Mediterranean coast’s immaculate beaches. This weekend, a big group of us went to Nerja, a town on the Costa del Sol apparently popular with topless, overweight British tourists, where I did my best to get a tan. Naturally, I now resemble a tomato.

Or at this point, a tomato in gym shorts.

We officially move into our homestays on Thursday. Expect more on the epic suitcase battle and hopefully nothing else about red produce. Hasta luego!

Tamar Hallerman is a junior in the School of Communication. Follow her misadventures throughout Madrid and the Mediterranean region during the fall semester on The Eagle’s new blog, The Eagle Takes Flight!