Sorry itīs been awhile since the last update, but things are settling into routine here. Not to say you have, but if anyone has tried to send me anything, I havenīt gotten it. Dad tried to send some kind of package and it still hasnīt gotten here. But a letter I sent him did arrive, so who knows. Would love to hear everyoneīs Spring Break stories. Because itīs been so long, Iīm splitting this one into the 5th and 6th updates. --Anand

We left off with the Science Fair. On the 18th, it snowed for the first time here. I wish I had had my camera because it looked great. Too bad it was already gone by the next day when I did bring it. That was also the first day of Culture class after we got back from Andalucia. I donīt remember if I told you, but during the Portugal trip, Bentsen and I were making fun of our Culture teacher the whole time. Her name is Isabel and she has a great accent. She teaches our class in a mixture of Spanish and English (because the girls in there couldnīt understand it if it was all Spanish) which usually means she says something in one language and then repeats it in the other. Plus she has these phrases she says all the time, like "Do you know what I mean? Do you say this?" and she told us about this organization called La Mesta, with sheep, or "ovejas". And she would "baa" in class in case we still didnīt know after "ovejas" or "sheep". Plus she has no self-esteem, so she would always stop and ask if she was boring us or if we understand because her English is no good (which it is, we understand exactly what sheīs talking about). Anyway, Bentsen and I reprised our impressions of her during the Andalucia trip as well and pretty much everyone heard it, so we were wondering how the first class back would go. Sure enough, every time she said one of her phrases there was scattered snickering. Meredith had to leave to keep from laughing out loud. It was fun.

On the 21st, it was Aishahīs birthday, so we went out to a restaurant. It was kinda cool because Aishahīs conversation professor came with us. I found out I do not like Roquefort cheese, but the desserts there were magnificent. (I asked if I could just spread my pudding on myself it was so good, and the rest of the table didnīt stop laughing for about a minute.) Afterwards we went to one bar and hung out with the Paris students who were visiting (got to see Elissa! And Tust, your twin Phi was there). Then we went to another place and danced. Chuck and I hadnīt been home since school, so we still had our backpacks, which was kinda lame. The bar was kinda cool at first. Downstairs was all black with neon lights and lasers and stuff. But the music was crappy so Kristin and I left after a while. Tried and liked a Malibu Pineapple.

I forgot to talk about my Spanish haircut. It was the Thursday before leaving for Portugal. I asked my seņora if there was a peluquero nearby and she told me the one her son used to go to was down the street. So I go and...it looks trendy when I walk in (=oh, heck, here we go). So I walk on the hardwood floor up to the counter as the lady dressed in all black is leaving and a guy in all black takes her place. I said no, I didnīt have an appointment, so he calls Jorge (dressed in all black) to come cut my hair. Jorge takes my jacket off of me and hangs it up. I sit down and tell him I just want it shorter. He starts working. It felt like I was in the chair for a while. He used the clippers, the scissors, the water spray, the comb...and the straight razor. Never had that before, freaked me out a little when he made the first stroke, but he knew what he was doing. Then weīre done and it looks pretty cool. So I get up, he helps me put my jacket on again, and starts to figure up the bill, and Iīm thinking, now it comes out. He looks up...10€. So it was all good, not much more expensive than a haircut at home (when he hung up my jacket, he asked if I needed my hair washed too and I said no...someone told me later that *that* is what jacks up the price). The others liked my haircut.

For my culture class, we have to research one of the streets of Madrid. Kory, Kellie, and I were in one group, and we (I mean, I) chose Calle OīDonnell. When I finally looked at it on the map, it looked like I had picked the longest street in Madrid. (Luckily it wasnīt that far a walk once we got there.) Too bad it was raining the Friday we decide to reconnoiter. We were supposed to walk down our street and write down every shop that was on it: banks, restaurants, pharmacies, etc. We were also supposed to take pictures, get historical info, talk to the people and get anecdotes, and then write a 2-3 page paper. So on the miserable day, we only did the shop part and figured weīd come back later for the pictures and such (Kory definitely stepped in a hidden puddle) But we ate lunch at a café and I had my first hot dog here. Kellie and I decided to come back on Tuesday...and it was raining again. I took some photos and tried to get brochures from places and stories...NOBODY would talk to me. Basically, if I wasnīt going to buy anything, I could just leave. It totally sucked. I eventually ran in and stole two napkins from the café we ate at. Another day I went back to try once more to get stories (after telling the program director that our street sucked and she asked which one I had...turns out she lived there, so she told us to ask her apartment porter for stories) This time was more successful and I got business cards from places and stuff. Our street had the first OB/GYN hospital in Madrid and a TV transmission tower and apparently Real Madrid and Atlético Madrid (soccer teams) used to have a field there. We put the paper together at the last minute and stuck the cards to paper and decorated them. And we still got a 100. (Meanwhile another group that spent hours on a decorated piece of posterboard got a 97 for having "confusing visual aids"). Muahaha.

The night of the first time I went to calle OīDonnell, we went to the bar at Alonso Martinez. Kristin bought me 2 tequila shots and later on we went to Fontana de Oro again (thatīs our spot) and I ended up having 3 or 4 more, so, yes, I was officially drunk for the first time ever. We had a great time sitting and talking. Later, I went upstairs and danced with Kory and Kellie till the Metro opened again at 6:00 AM. Then I went home and went to bed and felt rundown all the next day. Tired, a little dizzy, shaky hands. SO I donīt think Iīll be doing that again.

I did my two presentations that week. Monday was my lit presentation over my short story by Borges. I was freaking out about it but I overprepared as usual and ended up talking for an hour instead of 20 minutes. My phonetics presentation went well. I decided to skip telling the class about science for 10 minutes and instead talked about the conversion to the Euro. I even had pesetas from my seņora to show them. The funny thing was that the day before, Jeromia did his on Spanish food and brought some bottles of wine but forgot a corkscrew so we all just looked at them while we ate our tortillas espaņolas. Why itīs funnier is because Dawn already did her presentation at the beginning of the semester on wine and brought some bottles and forgot the corkscrew then too.

I was standing at the bus stop in front of the school with Lauren Viktor waiting to go home. It was drizzling and I didnīt have a hat, so I had wrapped my homemade scarf around my head and face. Three buses had gone by that werenīt our number and I was getting frustrated. Then I see bus 7 turn the corner and come towards our stop. All of a sudden, this tall middle-aged guy who had been standing on the other end of the bus stop walks up and stands directly in front of me, like 3 inches away from me. The bus doesnīt see anyone waiting for it and goes through the stop. Then he walks back to where he was standing. I was in shock for a few seconds, then I turn to Lauren and Iīm like, "What just happened?" It was definitely very bizarre. Later, bus 16 comes (which Lauren and I can both take) and all *three* of us get on. Lauren and I sat together and the guy kept looking at me every so often. We decided that he must have thought I was a terrorist and considered himself a hero by making sure I didnīt get on that bus. And now here he was to protect this one. Lucky for me he got off before I did. I thought about following him just to creep him out. (Turns out I went home from school just the other day and I saw him again and messaged Lauren...she laughed).

For my culture class, we have another project where we have to pick a pueblo in the Comunidad de Madrid (the 17 Comunidades Autonomas are like states) and go research it. So on March 1, Lauren Lundell, Kellie, and I went to San Agustín de Guadalix. Itīs about 30 minutes away by bus. Kellie had been out partying all night and was definitely drunk...the whole day. Kellie ran up and we got on the bus about 1 minute before it left Madrid (like in Lisbon). When we got to our pueblo, we went to the town hall and asked the guy there most of our questions and took one of every single printed thing they had. (the more crap we put in our presentations, the better) Turns out the town is pretty boring; there is no tourist office. We took pics of the town hall, the old folks home, and the church, which apparently only opens for Mass. On our way to photograph the one hotel in the town, we met this Moroccan guy named Mohammed. He of course was flirting with Lauren (who is engaged) and Kellie (who was drunk). Well, we ended up talking to him for so long that he invited us to a friendīs bar (in the only hostel in the town) so we sat and talked with him (Kellie had some red wine, hey, why stop now?). He wrote Kellieīs name in Arabic. Interesting conversation...he wanted Lauren to ask her boyfriend how he was "handling" her being gone and he kept inviting Kellie to use his bed. The funny part was that for some reason he could not understand a single word Kellie was saying; I donīt know if it was her accent or she was drunk or what. It seemed perfectly normal to me. Plus Lauren has a very soft voice. So I ended up being our interpreter for the whole adventure. (Kellie got very frustrated at this) After wasting at least an hour and a half in the bar, we decided to go, but he invited us to see his place, and since seeing a native habitat would probably be good, we agreed to go. Mohammed stays with his brother, who is married. We found out San Agustín is one of those places married people move to and commute from to Madrid. His room was very small, but we took a picture on his bed. And he gave Lauren a necklace and Kellie a bracelet, just like that. Then he took us back to the café and left us to eat while he slept. When we were done, surprisingly enough, there he was again. Since he apparently doesnīt have a job, he was eager to take us all around the pueblo. We saw the Plaza de Toros (which was closed, but he lifted Lauren up to take a pic), the rec center, the rich neighborhood, and a kind-of hospital. Then we took a very long footpath to the Laguna de los Patos (the duck lake), which, sadly, is considered one of the attractions of this particular pueblo. So we watched the ducks for a while. Kellie definitely took 6 or 7 pictures of them, after going crazy taking pictures of the houses. Then we walked through mud, under a bridge, through the woods (I was a little nervous about being with someone we didnīt know in a town we didnīt know in the woods) and crossed this riverish thing and then we bent down and walked through this drainage tunnel under the highway...turns out that is how the local teens get to one of the three clubs in the city, which happens to be across the highway from the town. We finally got back to the town hall plaza. That weekend was Carnaval in all of Spain, so the town was gearing up for its parade. There were people all over in costumes (Kellie went crazy again taking pictures of all the cute kids and unnerving their parents) and a big float of a chariot pulled by lions. We met Mohammedīs nieces too. I got postcards (I was surprised the place even had any) and after going to see the parade end at the rec center (after Mohammed bought us drinks in a cafe), he left us and Lauren and I ran in to see the church during Mass. We ended up leaving the pueblo pretty late, so it was a long day. But all in all, it was fun, and I got some good pictures of the place.

Oh, the haircut. Chuck is on a budget here and he keeps going through money faster than he means to, so when he found out Melissa could cut hair, he decided free was better than paying. The thing is, sheīs never cut guyīs hair, but Chuck is pretty adventurous (he seriously broke his wrist after car surfing...heīs got a metal plate and three screws in it now and a wicked scar...my new role model) so what the heck. Kristin, Chuck, Melissa, and I piled into the second floor menīs bathroom to accomplish this task. First Melissa trimmed Kristinīs hair. Then she went to work on Chuckīs (my job was filming on Chuckīs videocamera). She was a little nervous but he was like, no, just cut it real short, donīt worry. We didnīt have a comb or a spray bottle and she was using the kind of scissors you keep in the kitchen drawer, but whatever! It turned out ok, although the layers were very visible. There was so much hair on the ground afterwards. Chuck used his undershirt to collect it and we threw it in the womenīs bathroom trash can. Oh, that same day was Ash Wednesday, so I gave up Coke as usual, which kinda stinks here. I was drinking that every night with dinner and taking cans of it with me to lunch. And when people went out drinking, thatīs what Iīd get instead. That day for lunch, we went to Burger King to celebrate exams being almost over and since it was a sunny day we brought our food back to eat on the benches at the school. Well, as weīre coming back, Kristin reminds me I canīt drink the Coke I just accidentally purchased with my meal. So I ended up having a dry lunch and Chuck drank my Coke. Since then, all Iīve been drinking here is milk, tap water, and pineapple juice.

Everybody has been making Spring Break plans. I donīt really want to go on a cruise with all the girls around Paris, nor do I want to go with Chuck and Bentsen to wind up in a jail somewhere in Eastern Europe, so I decided to go visit Scotland...on my own. Whatever. I bought tickets from the travel agency that Bentsen has been visiting. He goes there so often that he jokes with the agent (she tolerates him, like the rest of us). So, this is me being on a 6-day tour of Scotland by myself. But thatīs cool, Iīve wanted to go to Scotland/Ireland for a while now.

Exams were not bad. We were all freaking out about them, especially culture (the others were also concerned about art history, but Iīm not taking it, haha). They ended up being pretty easy. And now I know where Starbucks is after studying there. Caramel frappuccino without coffee...mmm. (I ended up getting Aīs on all of the midterms.)

Continued in the 6th update.