This week has been a stressful one, no doubt, but almost all of my stresses are behind me now. I have 91 hours until my plane departs from Copenhagen and I'm debating the best way to make the most of my time left in Odense. Everything was lush and beautiful and breezy when I first arrived; I remember being so relieved to be away from the heat and humidity. Now I look out the window and I'm mesmerized for different reasons. I witnessed the first few flakes of snow yesterday around 7:45am. By noon, there was at least nine inches of snow on the ground and it continued to fall throughout the night. The forest, lake, and the fields were plush instead of lush. When Krista and Leah first suggested going out and playing in the snow, I instinctively said I would observe from the patio. I usually don't enjoy the cold and I always seem to be the first one to suffer, but this snow was so gentle and pretty that I couldn't resist. We ran out into the field and Leah plopped right down and made a snow angel. I wasn't going to go that far, but I did throw a few snowballs. It was a good time.

Snow always has a downside, however, and this time it came just as I needed to get to the university to take my Welfare Studies exam. For the past month, I have debated whether or not I wanted to drop this class, since I have already acquired all the credits necessary for maintaining my scholarship. The better half of my conscience got to me and I decided to take the exam after all. I put my boots on this morning and trudged to the bus stop an hour and a half before my oral examination was scheduled to begin. The weather was a chilly, chilly 11 degrees fahrenheit. I waited for the bus for 35 minutes before a lady came along and told me that some routes had been cancelled and others had been delayed because of the snow. Walking was out of the question, since the university is more than seven kilometers by foot. I suppose this was a sign that I wasn't meant to take my Welfare final. Oh wellll.

Last Thursday was my Scandinavian Modern History exam, and it was very gratifying. The process of examinations in Denmark is very formal. There are several proctors that patrol the room and prepare it before the students enter. You are required to sign your cell phone in at a desk near the doors. Each seat has several envelopes and a stack of carbon paper. The proctors come around and examine your identification card and then you can begin. We had four hours and the use of our books, notes, and laptops to answer two questions. We were required to write on the carbon paper so the university would have multiple copies of our answers, then we put them into color-coded envelopes, and finally we had to have a proctor initial what we had submitted. Then we got a receipt! It was such a great relief to be done!

Our history professor hosted a dinner for the students later that evening, and it was so enjoyable. It really broke the cultural boundaries that the Danes are known to impose on foreign visitors. We took a bus to the countryside and then walked a few kilometers along a gravel and dirt path. The air reeked strongly of manure. It was almost impossible to adapt, but somehow I had to admit it was an essential part of the country charm. Axel's house was nothing short of rustic glamour. He had converted an old barn and stables into a house that reflected the needs and personality of his family. It had a sauna, a loft, a separate apartment for their daughters, and ample entertaining space. He and his wife served the most wonderful food: sausages, bacon, sirloin, halibut, trout, ham, oranges, grapes, among many other items I already forget. It was similar to eating at a Brazilian steakhouse. Perhaps he had overestimated our drinking abilities, but he had more wine than any group our size could handle. I enjoyed the dinner and the conversation very much. I got to know my classmates on a much different level and it made me sad to think that it would probably be the last time I would see most of them.

I spent the rest of my weekend preparing a fifteen-page literature paper. I have the worst tendency to procrastinate, so I ended up writing up until 5:38am the morning it was due. Leah and I had decided to forgo the trip to Rome on the account of a severe lack of funds, which ended up being a wise choice in regards to writing this paper. I would rather see Rome at a steady pace rather than lumping all of the magnificent sites into one day. Now I have another excuse to come back to Europe someday. I still have Rome, Greece, and Ireland.

Many of the exchange students have already said their goodbyes and made their way home. It's a sobering fact to know that I will most likely never see them again. To think that you spend the most electric four months of your life with people who are also far from home, also working hard in your classes, also celebrating with you on weekends. And then the moment comes that they are gone from your life forever, with the exception of Facebook. I can't help but be sad these last few days. I look around and I remind myself to take it all in because time is fleeting. Yet sometimes I find myself wishing the hours away so that I can be home, indulging in all the wonders of driving, good food, unclogged showers, and midterms. Yes, I miss midterms. Home is finally tangible. However, this time last week, I was very much looking forward to the moment my plane touched down in Columbus. But now, not so much. I won't get to see the person I was expecting to see. And that's slightly heartbreaking because I've been looking forward to home for four months. I should be used to disappointment by now, but that just goes against human nature; you're always expecting things will turn out for the best. Oh well, at least I'll have Bob Evans and Christmas day to mellow out, since we don't do anything on Christmas anyway. Woooo.

As luck always seems to have it, I woke up only twelve minutes before I was supposed to meet Aida and Alina outside the front of the dormitory. I was sleep-deprived, thanks to the birthday celebrations of the boisterous Spaniards, and had turned my alarm on snooze one too many times. So I threw some wrinkled clothes into my bag and it turns out the only thing I forgot was something I now forget. No matter, I was relieved to be on my way to the vibrant Spanish coast, far from the grey and dismal skies of Denmark.

After a brief train ride to Vejle, we were shocked to discover the inconvenient times of the airport transfer buses. So we took a taxi out of sheer desperation. The rain was falling hard, and on top of that the driver was speeding so he wouldn’t exceed his quoted fare. I initially thought the fare calculator was our true speed. Needless to say, I was quite sure we were going to die. Then the meter went past 300 and I felt a sense of relief when I realized it was not measuring kilometers per hour. A fifteen-minute ride to the airport set us back $80, but luckily there were three of us to split the fare.

We arrived in Girona and took a bus about sixty miles into the city of Barcelona. The drive was exactly what I had imagined, with the mountains on one side, the sea on the other. Spanish villas crowded the hillsides and sheep grazed in green pastures. The mountains were unimaginably picturesque. They are impossible to overstate, and the beautiful Mediterranean city is nestled comfortably within them. Barcelona is an interesting mix between Los Angeles, Paris, and Greece. The first thing I saw in the city was a palm tree, and for some reason I was surprised. It was the first of many, many palm trees to come.

We grabbed dinner at a tapas bar and overindulged in fried zucchini and paella con carne. Honestly, I could subsist on Spanish cuisine for the rest of my life and never offer up a complaint. The restaurant we dined at also entertained us with an authentic flamenco show, a great introduction to Spanish culture. By the end of dinner, all of us were relatively exhausted, so I went back to the hostel, lounged around and planned out the next day’s activities. The hostel was very nice and accommodating, but it seems to be a rule of thumb that there will always be one person trying to sleep while you’re trying to get situated, no matter the time of day.

Breakfast was included with the stay, so I had a generous serving of bread and headed off to my first stop in Barcelona, the famed Sagrada Familia. I had seen pictures of the cathedral before and was always perturbed by the obnoxious presence of construction cranes. I thought they were for nearby buildings, but it turns out Sagrada Familia is still under construction and will be for some time to come. I stood for ten minutes admiring all the details in the architecture. That’s what Gaudi, the cathedral’s architect, stood for. He was a man obsessed with details. Michelangelo once said, “I saw the angel in the marble and I set him free.” Gaudi must have taken this sentiment to heart when he designed this magnificent cathedral. I also visited a few other architectural gems of his, La Pedrera and Casa Batllo. The former is a curvy stone building and the latter is meant to resemble an underwater oasis. The roof of Casa Batllo looks like fish scales and the exterior walls trigger flashbacks of scenes from The Little Mermaid.

After walking down Passeig de Gracia, I reached the main square of the city, Catalunya. I braved the flocks of pigeons and predatory pickpockets and headed in the direction of La Rambla. I have desperately wanted to visit La Rambla since my freshman year of high school, so this was a monumental moment for me. La Rambla is a boulevard lined with great shopping, street performers, and many other people trying to make a buck someway, somehow.

I could hear a great number of birds chirping for several blocks, but I couldn’t understand why, so I was constantly vigilant. If you haven’t realized it by now, I have an irrational fear of anything with the potential to fly at my face or poop on my head. Then I saw dozens and dozens of birdcages from afar. Vendors were selling birds and other animals as though they were hot commodities. I was slightly disturbed by this, since most of the animals seemed crowded and stressed. Honestly, it broke my heart to see ten tiny bunnies crammed into a small cage. I would have rescued them if I could have conjured a feasible plan. And trust me, I thought long and hard. After the open air pet market came the open air floral market, which was much more pleasant because the air was thick with the smell of fresh flowers. Then came the section of La Rambla devoted to the artists. I could choose from a variety of Picasso knockoffs or Marilyn Monroe pencil drawings.

At the end of the boulevard was a proud statue of Christopher Columbus, and his arm was pointing to what I had missed very much… the sea. It’s always so refreshing to see a great, open body of water. Just before the docks was a tented antique market full of compasses, jewelry, thimbles, and other treasures. I was tempted to buy, but the prices weren’t marked and I was too intimidated to strike a bargain. I had looked forward to using my Spanish skills, but I didn’t realize the incredible difference between Spanish and Catalan, the language used in Barcelona.

So, I saved myself a few Euros and walked across a pedestrian bridge called Rambla de Mar. At this point in the day it was nearly 65 degrees and I hastily tore off my jacket. It felt so good to be comfortable in a short-sleeved shirt. I sat on a bench for a few minutes and watched a cruise ship pull into the port, then I walked toward La Barceloneta, the premier beach of the city. It reminded me of Venice Beach, although it was slightly less tacky. Unicyclists parted crowds on the boardwalk and rollerbladers tried their best to avoid the throngs of picture-taking tourists. I plopped down in the sand and stared at the Mediterranean for an unknown amount of time. Soaking up the sun in December was absolute bliss, as was the enjoyment I got from seeing women and men in thongs. If anyone in Barcelona pays for a gym membership, they are a fool. There is workout equipment all along the beach, and a lot of people take advantage of it, especially yuppie-looking men.

After my beach excursion, I wanted to hit up the Picasso Museum, so I took the subway train to the Arc de Triomf. The Spanish Arc is much more vibrant than any of the other triumphant arcs I have seen in Europe. I wasn’t surprised by the bold colors. I meandered along the nearby Gothic Quarter for quite some time, mostly because it was a maze of alleys and pathways. It was romantic, so I didn’t mind. Guitarists played outside cafes and richly colored edifices rose above cobblestone streets, creating foreboding shadows on the streets below. The Gothic Quarter is where Pablo Picasso gathered most of the inspiration for his paintings, so it was the natural setting for his museum. Unbeknownst to me, the first Sunday of each month means free admission to the museum. The line had at least a thousand people stretching out the door. I didn’t want to spend precious daylight waiting in a line, so I told myself I’d come back tomorrow. Unbeknownst to me, the museum is closed on Mondays.

I was hungry and decided to go for something cheap and reliable, KFC. The line for fried chicken was unimaginable. I felt less crowded at the Motion City Soundtrack concert and I was practically suffocated during that ordeal. One woman was standing so close behind me that she must have felt as if she was getting a mammogram. Eventually I was able to enjoy my lunch and planned my next big move while chowing down on chicken strips: the Montjuic Park.

I had heard people raving about the beauty of the park and all of the sites it has to offer, so I didn’t hesitate to hop on a cable car and head up the mountain. About halfway there, the funicular stops and you have to get out and take an aerial car up the rest of the way. The car ends at an old Spanish castle that was used to defend Port Vell. The castle is situated on steep cliffs and offers fabulous views of the city and the ships in the harbor. It’s a shame my camera couldn’t properly capture the depth and detail of the view. I climbed up on some old artillery for a better view, but seagulls soon joined me and I scrambled off that cannon pretty quickly. My stomach was starting to hurt at this point and time (my KFC chicken strips were a little undercooked), so I decided to walk back down the mountain instead of taking the aerial car. It was a great choice because I got to explore the inside of the 1992 Olympic Stadium and some other parks at sunset. The sun was a glowing orange orb and it dipped slowly down over the Catalonian mountains. I stopped for a minute to consider the surreality of my life.

The Magic Fountain of Montejuic is a light and water show set to Spanish music. I timed my day to coincide with the seven o’clock show and it was worth it. If you have ever seen the fountain show at King’s Island, it is similar to that, but exponentially greater. After the show was over, I went back to the hostel and unwound in lounge. I talked to a UCLA grad for a few hours and then retired to bed.

The next day I took the subway to the outskirts of town, where Camp Nou is located. For most Americans, FC Barcelona means absolutely nothing, but to the rest of the world, FC Barcelona is the greatest soccer team to ever exist. I decided to tour the stadium instead of making a day trip to Monsterrat, and it was definitely a decision I did not regret. For the mere price of 17 Euros, I got to walk along the soccer field of one of the largest stadiums in the world. It wasn’t hard to imagine the energy of the players or fans. We also got to see the chapel, the press conference room, the TV room, sit in the box seats, explore the museum, etc. You are supposed to be able to visit the opposing team’s changing room on any given day, but as my luck would have it, the changing rooms were closed the day I visited. So anyway, I now have a soccer team to root for. I wanted a jersey, but even the cheapest one was priced at $100. No thanks.

I went back to the docks I had visited the day before because I wanted to take a catamaran out to sea. We boarded Las Golondrinas for a 1.5-hour journey and enjoyed a complimentary glass of Sangria. Aside from a few rowdy children throwing garbage over the side of the boat, it was very relaxing and very beautiful. The trip took us 18 miles alongside some desolate beach and past the Olympic Village. I still feel like I’m floating as I write this.

I got some lunch (roast beef on a baguette) and decided to go to Tibidabo. At 2,100 feet above the sea, Tibidabo is the largest mountain in the region. Joey Tribiani made several mentions of it on Friends. It was not easy to get there. I had to take a special subway line from Placa Catalunya and then I waited in line for thirty minutes to board an old-fashioned cable car. After the cable car, I had to wait another thirty minutes to board the funicular, which took us to the very top. The sun was starting to set, so I was racing time. It was worth every minute of the hassle. My jaw dropped at the beauty of the city from atop the mountain. The sun painted everything in a mellow, golden color. But the view was not the most intriguing part of the excursion. On top of Tibidabo is a 100 year-old amusement park. Most of the rides at the top are original, so I questioned people’s judgment on some of the more antiquated attractions. There were cotton candy and popcorn stands and a Santa Claus was leading a crowd of people in a game of Santa Says. I bought some ride tickets and rode the ferris wheel and a roller coaster that extended over the mountainside. It was a dream. Tibidabo was by far the best part of Barcelona and I only went on a whim. Sometimes spontaneity surpasses all else.

Now I’m home and I just put Barcelona as the number two city on my Facebook travel application. Wooo.

So, Thanksgiving. It made me thankful. It started out just like any other day. I went to class and persevered through the boredom of Scandinavian Literary Aspects. The bus took well over an hour, so by the time I got home, the girls had already done most of the preparation. I certainly didn’t mind; The last thing I wanted was to shoulder the burden of ruining the feast. I was in charge of entertainment and mashed potatoes, and the bread. While the duck was roasting, we watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade on a live stream; there was no way I was going to break the habit of welcoming the Christmas season with the Macy’s Santa Claus. As luck would have it, it was time for me to start making the gravy just as the Big Guy was pulling into view. It’s probably why the gravy was subpar, but I don’t think anyone minded too much.

It was the best food I’ve had in a long time. We had duck, mashed potatoes, stuffing, green beans, corn, macaroni and cheese, cranberry sauce, bread, cherry pie, ice cream, and apple cider. Three words: God Bless America.Afterward, we all gathered around and decorated a Christmas tree my mom had sent in a care package. It was a charming ending to a good evening. Krista and Beth went to the French Café afterward, but the mere thought of more food had me spinning, so I went down to my room and passed out for a few hours.

On Saturday morning, I woke up and had zero motivation to do anything. So I Googled “how to overcome procrastination” and the advice I found actually worked, slightly. I wrote a few pages of my culture paper and then decided to go to the Christmas Market in the center of town. I say the word “charming” a lot, but this really was charming. Christmas lights hung over the brick streets, people meandered around in historical costumes, the smell of roasting nuts permeated the air, and everything felt so authentically European. I walked around for about an hour and looked at all the trinkets for sale in the booths, drank some hot cocoa, watched blacksmiths work their magic, etc.

I went to go look for my bike because it was starting to drizzle, of course. Well, I couldn’t find my bike anywhere. I walked up and down the streets several times. Then it dawned on me that the alley I had parked it in must have been a private alley. They had shut the doors over the entrance. Sigh. I waited outside what I thought was the entry, but no one entered or exited for quite sometime. So, I took a look at the calling board and the list of names. I picked one that sounded non-Danish, Connie Salling, and I pushed the button. The door opened and I walked in and found my bike. I said, “Thank you, Connie.” not thinking anyone was around. Midway through unlocking my bike, I look up and Connie Salling is staring me down from her window. She said, “Do I know you?” And I proceeded to explain that I had accidentally parked my bike there without knowing. She then said, “Someone has been stealing our bicycles. I hope it is not you.” Naturally, I started to get nervous. She didn’t seem very trusting and was very intent on interrogating me. After a few minutes of questions and explanations, she eventually let me go and I rode my bike home…. in the rain, of course.

Later that evening was the lighting of the town Christmas tree. It was pouring down rain, of course, so I put on several layers of clothes and headed up the road to meet Krista. The entire population of Odense had gathered around the 50-foot tall tree and there was no shortage of children. After a speech by the mayor, which we didn’t understand, the whole crowd started counting down in Danish. I actually did participate in the countdown, but only because I knew the numbers one through six from playing the Danish version of Yahtzee. Santa was lifted to the top of the tree by a firefighting ladder and at 6pm, a burst of sparks ignited and the entire town square was lit up. It was beautiful, despite the weather.

Sunday was the second day of the Christmas Market, so I returned with Beth and Krista. Krista let me use her digital SLR camera, so I got in some much needed photography practice while I was there. And, of course, it rained, so I had to put the camera away soon after we got there. On Monday, we had our last culture class. Our professor, Mogens, brought in a special Danish holiday drink called glygg. Glygg is a warm, red wine with spices and raisins. He mixed in a little bit of rum in there too. I probably could have done without the rum. By the end of class, he was slightly tipsy and begging us to drink the liquor so that he wouldn’t be caught dancing with the secretaries. Seriously, it’s not something I would put past this guy. We then attempted to sing Danish Christmas carols

In other news, Patrick informed me that my beloved fish Arnold passed away. I’ll admit, I was pretty upset. Leah had to witness my emotional breakdown while we were working on presentations for the next day. He may be just a fish, but both Patrick and I invested a lot of time and effort into the little guy. He was our fish and I enjoyed his company in my room. I was lucky enough to see him a day before he died, however, since Pat would show him to me on webcam on occasion. I was really hoping he would pull through so I could see him again. But now he gets to rest in peace.

Tomorrow I’m off to Barcelona. Weather will be in the sixties and I’ll get to visit a Mediterranean beach. I’m stoked.