Sunday, January 10, 2010

Fiesta sin siesta = muerte

With my belly full of fish, rice and chocolate mousse, day three is graciously drawing to a close. I'm lounging in my 8x12 foot room and sitting on my bed that smells like wet socks and stale cigarettes. The walls of my cozy quarters alternate bright hues of orange and yellow with a window looking out onto the street two stories down. Down the hall are three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room and living room, all vibrantly painted like my room. After walking over a mile from the hotel, (dragging my enormous suitcases behind me) I arrived at la casa de Mabel.

My host mother is an eccentric 52-year-old dressed in a belted purple sweater dress, leggings, and leather boots, her wavy hair framing her bespectacled face. With the deep rough voice of a long-time smoker, she speaks without the classic Spanish lisp. Her daughter, 13-year-old Paula talks like a minnie mouse version of an auctioneer, baiting her mother and poking fun at the other foreign students, especially when they don't understand her quick tongue. I adore her already.

Tomorrow is our first day of Spanish class from 12-3 so I'll take bus 24 from the stop across the street to the University 15/20 minutes away. After coming home from the barrio at 7:30 this morning, I'm in dire need of rest before meeting my first Alicante professor.

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