You can smell the chlorine but you can't have a swim.

Since my arrival in Spain over seven weeks ago, my only form of exercise has been running.  I have wanted to go swimming (as I used to do weekly in the US) and even took steps to physically do so:  I did online research into the local pools and asked students and friends about where to go.  I was always given the same information that the public pool was nice, but it was always really busy so you either had to wait to swim or, if you got in, you couldn't get a workout in because there were too many people in the pool.  So the suggested solution was to join the gym here in Alcalá.  However, it is expensive:  about $60 a month for a limited access membership where you can just workout from 7 AM - noon, so I wanted to wait until I got paid and got my schedule figured out. Those few excuses led to others and it just became easier not to figure it out and just keep running.

That was until this week, when my knee reminded me that cartilage doesn't grow on trees, so I should probably find something else to do to get my heart pumping.  So, I limped my way up the hill and down the street (about a mile) to the public pool.  I got information on pricing and hours.  If you are 'empadronado'- aka registered in the city as a citizen, then you pay 16.48 € for 5 hours of pool time.  If you are not, you pay 24.98 € for the (same) 5 hours of pool time.  I inquired with the locals as to what that means and it turns out I am (not surprisingly) not a person who is an 'empadronada'.  It requires official registration and paperwork of some sort that I am not even sure I could prove and that also seemed like a lot of work just to use a public swimming pool.  But, I wanted to swim so I thought I would just pay the more expensive price, try it out for 5 times to see how it went and then go from there.

So on Friday I packed my swimming bag and limped my way back up the hill and down the street to the pool.  When I arrived, I was happy to see that there were few cars in the parking lot.  But, I thought it could mean a couple of things: either the pool was closed on Fridays at 3 or I came at a good time to swim.  I entered the front door and told the woman behind the front desk that I wanted to buy a card for 5 hours of pool time.  She said 'ok' and reached for a form while I reached for my money.  'Woah, pardner! What are you doing flashing your money around these parts like that? Pools don't take money, banks take money.  Take this form, limp down the street and hill to the bank and give them the money.  Then, limp back up the hill and down the street with the stamped form (that shows you paid) and we'll let you swim at the public pool.' (I took some creative liberties with my translation of what she said.)  It doesn't sound like much trouble at all (right?) until you consider that I went to the pool at 3 PM on Friday and banks close at 2 on Friday and don't open again until Monday at 8:30.  I realized this in an instant and could see another swim-less weekend laid out before me.  I was so desperate to swim that I forgot I am kind of shy.  I asked the lady if I could just swim today,just to try it out.  She denied my request.  So,with my shoulders slumped and head hung low I limped down the street and hill back home to rest my knee until Monday when I could swim.

Then, I had a great idea.  I thought that on my run on Saturday I would run to the gym (about 1.5 miles away) and get their form that I would have to take to the bank.  I was so proud of myself for thinking ahead like that so I would have everything I needed right when I was ready to sign up for the gym.  Nothing would delay my gym membership.  I had it all figured out now.  When I got there (sweaty and smelly) on Saturday morning and declared my certainty and readiness to become a gym member, I was told that they would need the 100€ (membership fee and first month) in cash that day.  That's right.  They handle the money, not the bank.  Lesson I learned:  I have not figured Spain out yet. Touché, Spain, touché.


Other Adventures:

Thursday brought the end of our gas cylinder (bombona) that heats our water.  José called to get another bombona, but unfortunately it is not available until Monday.  So, I have taken a cold shower the past three days.  Today I refused to freeze myself to death again.  I'm traded 'fresh and freezing cold' for 'stinky and warm'.  What I will do tomorrow before the gas gets here will be the big decision.  I have my private English lesson tomorrow at 9 AM, surely before the gas will get here, so it looks like one more cold shower is in my future.  If only I had swimming pool access and could have showered at the pool, right?

Thursday night I ate, for the very first time, food that was delivered right to my piso in Spain.  Megan, José, Clarisse and I got sandwiches delivered and had a nice dinner at home. So nice, in fact that the man downstairs was upset that he wasn't invited.  We met him in person for the first time the next day (Friday) when Clarisse and I got home from school.  We got on the elevator and pressed '4'. The man got on behind us and pressed '3'. When he saw our floor selection he said, 'Oh, you must be the people who live above me. What were you doing last night- moving furniture? There was all this noise about 12 or 1 o'clock. What did you move- the couch, the table, or something?'  We apologized and confessed to moving both. (We had to move the furniture so that we could all fit at the table and eat.)

The bus to Sevilla

On Saturday we took a trip to Ikea (pronounced 'eee kay uh' in Spain). How do you get there?  Well, step one is to take a one-hour bus ride to Sevilla.  Step two is walking across town to another bus stop/station.  Step three is getting on a bus to Castilleja de la Cuesta and getting off at the nearest stop to Ikea.  Step four is walking approximately half a mile there.  Our objective in going there was to find a comforter for 'winter' but we ended up getting other things instead like food storage containers and a set of two potholders for just 10 cents!  I had my camera but didn't take any photos.  If you want to get a extremely good idea of what Ikea in Spain looks like, please visit your local Ikea. Just covert all the prices to Euros and speak Spanish to the people around you to experience the magic of Spanish Ikea.


More photos of Alcalá:

I have declared this the most dangerous place on my running routes.  It is a part of Alcalá where several lanes of traffic come together at a curve in the road.  Here are the lanes from a distance:

Every time I run here I cross my fingers that no other pedestrian is coming from the other direction. (It has actually happened and I have lived to tell you about it.)