FELIZ ANO (HAPPY YEAR)!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, everyone!!!  I hope that this e-mail finds you all doing well and off to a great start in 2010!  Practically every New Year’s Eve celebration that I can remember has been spent indoors enjoying the warmth of a cozy house, enjoying the company of family and friends, and of course enjoying the scrumptious appetizers and bubbly drinks.  This year, however, New Years was spent in a venue 360 degrees different than years past.  This year I found myself in three different places that did not correlate with a cozy house, they were the Madrid metro system, a tapas bar and Puerta del Sol. 

Last Thursday night Sarah Crooks and I rushed down the stairs of our apartment and burst into the cool night air, our destination being La Moreleja metro stop.  Upon arrival we were greeted with two other blonde hair beauties.  The four of us proceeded to greet each other Spanish style, a kiss on each cheek and then we promptly laughed at ourselves because not one of us was Spanish.  Anyway, we boarded the Metro and headed into the bowels of Madrid.  We decided to get off at Tribunal so that we could bar hop a bit and try some different tapas before heading into Sol for the countdown.  Uff, a great plan that was.  Little did we know that on New Year’s Eve, every restaurant and bar in Madrid is closed until after midnight when the people come out to party until 8 o’clock in the morning.  Even McDonalds was closed.  We boarded the metro once more in hopes that there would be some bars open near the Puerta Del Sol. 

It was during this metro ride to Sol that we encountered a few of Madrid’s finest riffraff, lowlifes, scumbags and vermin.  Looking back on the situation I only wish that I would have known enough Spanish in which to tell these punks exactly what I thought of their pathetic little lives.  The following scene is as follows...     

English speaking lady to Melisa, “I must say that your armpit smells rather nice!”

    Melisa, “Ummm, thanks, ha”
    Lady, “It’s not everyday that one has the opportunity to smell the armpit of a stranger.”
    Melisa, “Yea, I guess you’re right about that.”
    Sarah Crooks, “This man just had his hand in my purse!”
    Leslie, “What?”
    Sarah, “Yea, he was just trying to steal something out of my purse! Watch your bags, does everyone have everything?”
    Melisa, “I was feeling something before, too”
    Leslie, “Now look at him, he’s doing funny things with his hand to make it look like it was an accident that his hand made it’s way into your purse!”
   
The metro stops and people get off, including the man and the english speaking woman.  I kept my eyes on the man and the woman and to my surprise they exited our section of the train and re-boarded on a section of the train just ahead of ours. 

This was my first experience dealing with professional pickpockets.  Looking back on the situation, it all made sense.  The woman started up a random and completely absurd conversation with Melisa in hopes of distracting all of us while her partner in crime attempted to sneak his grimy little hands into Sarah’s purse.  When Sarah caught the man red-handed, he feigned confusion by not responding whatsoever and then continued to wiggle his hand in a way that would make a person think that the man had some sort of physical handicap.  Coincidentally the woman immediately stopped her friendly chatter upon hearing Crook’s accusation of her scrawny little partner.  I honestly couldn’t believe that they exited the train and then got right back on through a different set of doors, obviously in hopes of taking some other unsuspecting tourist by surprise.  On a busy night like New Years, this incident was a nice reminder that we needed to keep our bags tightly by our sides. 

I always look back on situations like these and wish that I would have acted differently or said something to the two culprits, but instead I stand in complete shock, frozen with disbelief.  I try and take comfort in telling myself that if the man would have successfully stolen something that I would have snapped out of my coma and confronted him, or at least given him an uppercut to the jaw.

Puerta de Sol, filled to capacity.

The rest of the night was quite fun and we did end up stumbling across a little nook that was serving tapas, so we pushed our way to the bar and put in an order for tortilla, galician cheese and croquettes.  Around 11:45pm we braved the crowds and systematically maneuvered our way back into Puerta del Sol.  Mamma mia, there were a lot of people.  People that were wearing brightly colored wigs, festive hats and these enormous plastic sunglasses.  The four of us were not wearing anything of the sort, but we did have one thing in common with the masses and that was a champagne glass full of 12 grapes.  At the stroke of midnight when the clock chimes twelve times, this is the moment when the grapes are supposed to be eaten.  If each grape is consumed before the last chime of the clock then good luck will be bestowed upon the successful soul during the new year.  There were so many people, however, that we didn’t even hear the chimes of  the clock, but we did see the fireworks that sizzled and exploded into the air from atop a neighboring building. 

Melissa, Me, Sarah and Melissa, with our champagne glasses filled with grapes!

Fuegos artificiales or Fireworks!

 All in all, New Years 2010 was a pretty rockin time, one which will definitely stand apart from the cozy, quiet confines of suburban living in Minnesota. 

The next day, January 1st, we had practice, but not until 5:30pm.  After practice we quickly showered, packed up our bags and drove to the airport.  Our next destination was, Ibiza. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ibiza.  Ibiza is an island that is located 79km off the south eastern coast of Spain in the Mediterranean sea.  The flight was a short 40 minute jaunt from Madrid.  Saturday was game day and our itinerary was almost a carbon copy of what would have taken place during a college road game (Abby, your itineraries are much more clear, though;))  We had breakfast in the morning, followed by a walk through town, then a scouting report which lead to our pre-game meal, afterwards everyone took a siesta and then we got ready for the game. 

The gym facilities on this island were not all sparkle and glitz, let me tell you.  The floor was awfully faded and made out of some sort of rubber.  The court lines ran everywhere and were mixed in with a dizzying amount of other lines.  The building was not large but the sound reverberated off the chipped, white walls something fierce which made understanding our point guard rather difficult.  Combine that with a set of drums that were being pounded on by an old man in the front row and you’ve got a lousy situation.  We were trailing by 14 points when we started to make our run.  With 28 seconds left of regulation time the score was tied 68 all.  We had possession of the ball and ran down as many seconds as possible before throwing up a shot, which did not hit the rim.  The shot clock expired and the ball was immediately handed over to the opposition.  They took a time-out and were then given the ball at half court. 

The team in the harbor.

The ball was thrown in bounds with 5 seconds remaining.  A penetration was made, help was given and the ball was kicked out to a lone player standing on the baseline behind the 3pt line, in the corner.  This particular player had shot a total of 2 shots all game, none of them being 3s.  She threw up the shot in desperation and we all turned our heads as we watched it get closer and closer to the rim.  Swish.  71-68, one second left on the game clock.  We inbounded the ball and through up a half court shot that fell no where near the rim.  Uff, and we were on the island until 8pm the next day. 

The one incredibly relieving thing about losing with this team is that our coach, Charly, never blames his players for the loss.  When we lose, he always accepts full responsibility for the game. This might sound crazy for some of you because obviously it is not 100% his fault, but as a player this act of acceptance means the world to me.  Of course I am mad about the loss and I immediately reflect back on my errors and the things that I could have done better, but just knowing that our coach does not blame us takes the stress right off our shoulders.  Charly loves the game of basketball and is a very dedicated coach; He is also a phenomenal human being and it’s a culmination of all these things which makes me want to work hard for him and win for him.  I desperately hope that we can get back on the winning track because he deserves it. 

The loss did not prevent the team from going out that night, let’s be honest, these people are still Spanish.  So, we went out for dinner as a team to a wonderfully charming italian restaurant with rich cherry furnishings and dark brown wood.  2 hours later, around midnight, we had satisfied stomachs but we weren’t home bound yet.  We headed to a nearby bar where people ordered coffee, hot chocolate and of course a few adult beverages.  While we were sitting in the bar a young boy of about 8 years walked past me, followed by his father and then by his mother who was pushing a stroller and in this stroller was a baby that looked no more than 1 month old.  At this moment I fully realized the extent to which these people are accustomed to staying out at night.  Ever since they can remember they have spent many a late night out in a bar, and so to not stay out until at least 6am on a weekend would feel strange to them. 

The next day was Sunday and Crooks and I found that we were the only two people in our group that even considered going down for breakfast.  Everyone else rolled out of bed around noon, purchased a chocolate croissant and a coffee for breakfast and were good to go.  The weather was virtually perfect.  Blue skies, warm sunshine and a gentle breeze.  Ok, this e-mail is becoming rather lengthy so the gist of this walk was that we went to a lookout spot atop this old brick wall where we could see a large portion of the harbor and of the island.  Almost every house in Ibiza is made of white stucco, very beautiful.  We returned awhile later, had lunch and took off for the airport.

Soaking up some Mediterranean rayas de sol.

Julie and Julia attempted to make a special spanish salad this week.  It turned out to be kind of a disaster, you would have thought that a salad would be easy enough.  Better luck next week, chicas. 

Leslie’s Loose Ends

 Normally when you eat salad with a group of people everyone eats out of the same salad bowl.  This means that one person is put in charge of putting the oil, vinegar and salt on the salad and then mixing it all together.  There is never another type of salad dressing that is brought to the table, and nobody ever asks for one.  The exact words of my coach were “we don’t need all those other dressings like Ranch, Italian and Ceasar!”   Ok.

 Someone please tell me if we have things like this in the States or if this is just some open minded European thing.  My roommates came home with a hunk of cheese the other day and I asked what kind it was, they responded, “queso de tetilla.”  Queso meaning cheese and Tetilla meaning exactly what it sounds like, tit.  The shape of the cheese did in fact look like it belonged to Madonna.  Perhaps these are things I should leave out of my e-mails, but I found this rather amusing. 

 A spanish deck of cards is very different from an American deck of cards.  For starters they do not have the numbers 8 or 9.  Lastly they do not use hearts, spades, clubs or diamonds.  Instead they use Copas (an adult beverage), Oros (money coins), Bastos (looks like a caveman club), and Espadas (sword).  When they play poker, however, they use american cards. 
Alright, have a great rest of your week everyone and great job to the gopher women’s team for taking down Iowa!  I am proud of you all!!!

besos,
Leslie