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About megpatten

Living life one day at a time.

The Death of a Dream

One of the few difficulties of being abroad is staying in contact with potential employers and scheduling interviews with them for the summer. Luckily enough, Skype has come to the rescue and has allowed me to conduct interview via the internet. Last week, I had one of my first skype interviews and felt pretty confident going in – I had done my research on the interviewer, reviewed my resume, and knew the “ins and outs” of the company. I felt very prepared, however in the middle of asking me about myself, one question threw me for a complete loop and had me thinking for the rest of the day:

“What’s your dream job?”

It’s a question that has been repeatedly asked since we were practically able to talk; we’ve always been expected to have an answer. In elementary school, my response was usually along the lines of professional athlete or President of the United States. Typical, right? In middle school I thought I would make a remarkable lawyer and studied extra hard in my history classes. By the time high school rolled around, I once again changed my mind and applied to most colleges as Pre-Med. Since coming to NYU, I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I contemplated switching majors even after an inter-school transfer – there is just so much that interests me!

“What’s your dream job?”

My first response to the interviewer’s question was, “Quite honestly, any paying job after graduation.” Though my answer elicited some laughter and was wholeheartedly true, I followed up with a more practical response, ” …working in sports, especially media because it is something I am extremely passionate about, so I definitely want to focus in that field.” A nod of the interviewer’s head indicated my response would suffice and we proceeded with some more questions. I, however, was not satisfied with my own answer. I thought to myself, I should have more of a plan. I should know my dreams, but can I be honest with myself? At one point during the interview, the five-year old Meg lingering in the back of my mind wanted to belt out, “I want to be a professional soccer player.” That’s when it became obvious that I needed to get a grip on my dreams – to find out what I truly wanted in life.

At what part in your life is it acceptable to say that you should give up on your dream? Do you reach a certain age when it become too ridiculous to say that you still want to climb Mt. Everest? Or that you want to change professions in the middle of your career? This question regarding the death of our dreams has been bothering me as of late, and although I feel there are some points in our lives where we may not be capable of some of our original objectives, I do feel it is necessary to acknowledge our BIG-HAIRY-AUDACIOUS-GOALS and try to set out to accomplish them.

If anything, I’ve learned that by setting unattainable and unrealistic goals for myself, I’ll never be successful or happy. All I can do is strive to be better, try to find work that makes me want to get out of bed every morning. I need a dream job where I do something great, produce something new, or even kindle new relationships on a daily basis. For me a dream job is no longer one that makes me tons of money or famous, but is one that makes me happy and fulfilled – like my five year old self would want.

In an attempt to try to “find” my dream job, I wrote out a list of professions that I am interested in pursuing as to help focus my thoughts. From this brainstorm, I can tell you that I want to work in sports (duh) and need a somewhat active job. If anybody is hiring (starting May of 2015), let this girl know!

– Professional Soccer Player (a girl can dream right?), College Soccer Coach/Athletic Director, Sports Broadcaster, Sports Agent, USOC/IOC Representative, College Professor (though this may have to wait until I’m actually a professional), International Sports Businesswoman (I’m not entirely sure what this encompasses), NFL Director of Operations/Communications, espnW President

“What’s your dream job?”

That question still is swirling around in my head. Next time should I say something that relates to the company I am interviewing for? How do I convey to potential employers that even though my dream may not be with them, I would still work hard and value the experience I would get working with them if I was hired? From what I’ve experienced, I’m just going to stick with “one that pays the bills”.

Day Tripping: Barçelona

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Every year the NYU Tisch Center honors all Sports Management, Hospitality and Tourism scholar students with over a 3.7 in the junior year by taking them on a research trip somewhere in the world. Last year the group ventured to London to study the upcoming Olympics, but this year they chose Barça. Luckily for me, my advisor, Billy, invited me and two of my fellow Sports Management classmates to dinner in Barcelona and I couldn’t pass up the offer – I had friends on the trip, couldn’t pass up a free dinner and had yet to travel to Barcelona.

Friday morning I awoke at 6 to catch the 8AM train to Barcelona. Everything was smooth sailing, until halfway through the trip we stopped on the tracks for an hour – talk about scary stuff. Granted, I was asleep the majority of the trip so the tardiness of the train didn’t really affect me. When we
finally arrived at the Barcelona-Sants train station, I was lacking euros and the walk to the hotel didn’t seem too far (according to my iPhone) so I began my long day of walking. Six hours, two museums, two churches, and a lot of parks later, I made my way back to the hotel on Ramblas de Catalunya. For dinner we went to this cute Italian restaurant where I indulged in this delicious granna salad and pizza de cuatro queso sprinkled with raisins. It was great to be back in the realm of sports as I found myself discussing various issues in the athletic field today with my classmates. The group was accompanied by Billy, my advisor, and Bob Boland, our academic chair and truly one of the greatest professors I’ve met.

Although Perri and I had originally intended on going out, the rest of the group decided to stay in and catch some of the March Madness that was on because a) they had to be up at 6 and b)we’re sports fanatics. Hours later, 4AM to be exact, we retreated to bed only to wake up two hours later to say our goodbyes. Once the group left, I took to wandering the streets and found myself at the train station some hours later. Barcelona was stunning – great weather, tons of art, and very relaxed. I cannot wait to go back this weekend to see Camp Nou and the rest of the city.

One of the many pieces of art

Sagrada Familia by Gaudi

Arc de Triomf

Day Tripping: Las Fallas, Valencia

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To say that I’m “la princesa” of solo day trips might be an understatement – I feel like “la reina”. Maybe it’s because I don’t like staying in hostels by myself or maybe it’s just because I can feel like I can accomplish what I want in a single 24 hour period, but I’ve got the system down. Aside from the school sponsored trip to Segovia, I’ve embarked on two other días de aventuras – last weekend to Fallas in Valencia and this past weekend to Barçelona. Twas a whirlwind, por lo menos, but here’s a recap of one of the two viajes.

FALLAS

Before embarking on my adventures abroad, I met a good family friend, Caity Murphy, for lunch to hear her recommendations while living in Spain. Aside from becoming extremely excited over the

A Steve Jobs Falla

course of the meal, I took away one important tip from our conversation – Go to Valencia and experience Fallas. I was a bit hesitant at first, since I had originally planned on traveling to Ireland for St. Patrick’s day but I am so glad I ended up listening to Caity.

Las Fallas is essentially a large festival that shuts down the whole city for five days in celebration of the coming of Spring. It coincides with Father’s Day (Día de San Jose) and is from Friday to Tuesday, ending with burnings on Tuesday night. I’m not entirely sure how to completely describe the festival, but there’s hundreds of girls wearing thousand dollar dresses, fireworks all day long, lots of mojitos, and these giant fallas that they end up burning at the end of the week. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life. Anyways, I was online and saw that BeMadrid offered a 20 Euro day trip to Valencia on Saturday, so I jumped at the change and signed up to hang with 700 of my closest friends. Though I did know some NYU folks on the trip, I felt “naked” and and alone for the first time since being here because my roommates were in London.

With a Fallera

An early wake up and a five hour bus ride later, I found myself surrounded by thousand of Valencianos, amidst what sounded like a battlefield. We had arrived precisely before las máscletas – the midday fireworks – began. My bones shook with each explosion and though the noise was deafening, I was on cloud nine. Afterwards, a group of us (somehow mostly comprised of BeMadrid tour guides) ended up walking to lunch. After a while of wandering, two girls and I broke off from the large group – Natascha from Cologne, Germany and Mikhalia from Iowa – and grabbed some tapas before the rest of our adventure.

Over the course of the day we walked miles, saw countless Fallas, and indulged in Valencian culture via paella, bañuelos and agua de valencia (a mix between a mimosa and screwdriver). When we grabbed dinner, we luckily found some wifi so I was able to contact Caity and tell her how

Guille and I at Bar Negrito

much fun I was having. What was intended to be a quick thank you, turned into her giving me directions to visit her old roommates at Bar Negrito and the start to one of my favorite nights in Spain. The crowded bar was jamming out to some old school nineties music and as soon as I walked in, I knew it was a cool place. I went up to the first bartender I could find, and asked if he knew Caity’s roommate. As luck would have it, he turned out to be her roommate and took care of the three of us the rest of the night – just goes to show how small this world really is. Guille was quite honestly the sweetest Spaniard I have met since being here, and definitely made my trip to Valencia one to remember.

Following Bar Negrito, the three of us headed to the other side of town to a space that BeMadrid had rented out. After a quick hour of dancing and running into other friends from Madrid, I joined two Spaniards to had out to watch the fireworks. Man, does Valencia love fire works. The whole light show was íncreible – it lasted 20 minutes and was unlike anything I had ever seen before. As soon as they ended, it was a race against the clock to get to the buses by two. Five hours later, I found myself waking up on the bus in front of Plaza de Las Ventas (where the Bull Fighting Stadium is). I dragged my weary body down the steps onto the metro back to Sol and was witness to one of the funniest sights of my life: the metro at 7 on a Sunday morning. Here in Madrid, the metro closes at 1 until 6 so most Madrileños stay out all night to catch the train home the next day, and it is an absolute mess/comedy show the following morning. By the time I reached my apartment, I could barely muster the strength and energy to put my pajamas on before passing out on the couch all day. Though I only went to one day of the festival, I had an amazing 24 hours at Fallas. My only regret is that I didn’t stay longer to see the burning of the constructions.

Natascha, Mikhaila and I with some Falleras

Writing Away

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It seems I’ve caught an extreme case of “Hemingway” – I have been spending all of my free time in cafés, and parks and empty hotel rooms writing away about my enchantment with this foreign land. My love for writing has only gown fonder, as my life has only gotten more interestingly complex. Sometimes I can’t help but think I was born to write and photograph everything around me. Since coming to Spain, it has become second nature, and I often find myself stopping to write something down or snap a photo of yet another spanish monument.

The past few weeks have been an utter whirlwind – midterms, Fallas, friends visiting, and of course the anticipation of Spring Break. March has passed by quicker than you can say ¡rápida! and it scares me to death that my time here is more than halfway done and I haven’t even accomplished half of what I want to do. Hopefully the two weeks of Spring Break will help me complete my spanish to do list.

Before arrive in Madrid, I made a list of 20 things I waned to experience, festivals I wanted to visit and passport stamps I wanted to collect – similar to my “20 Things Before 20” list. here’s what it includes:

Fallas Festival, Valencia Spain – DONE
Spanish Soccer Game – DONE (Bonus – El Clásico)
Go to a flamenco show
Go to Italy
Go to Czech Republic
Go to Portugal
Go to Barcelona, Spain – DONE
Go to San Sebastián, Spain
Go to Sevilla, Spain
Go to Granada, Spain – DONE
See a Spanish Bull Fight
Travel by train – DONE
Go to the Prado and see some art – DONE
See the “Guernica” by Picasso – DONE
Play fútbol with some locals – DONE
Try paella, sangria and chocolate con churros – DONE
Travel Solo – DONE
Go wine tasting – DONE
Ride a moped
Achieve Spanish Fluency

And while I have achieved a vast majority of the items on this list (& so much more) I cannot help but feel incomplete and void of any sense of accomplishment in crossing things off. I feel when you’re abroad there is just so much going on that it’s impossible to achieve everything – but I’m determined (and pretty much refuse to go back to the US) until I cross off everything on the list.

Until next time (and another item crossed off)

Mumford & Sons

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There’s only one way to start Spring Break, and that’s with a bang! So on Thursday night, some friends, Liz, Jess, Kevin, Sarah, and I headed down to La Riviera off the green line to see Mumford & Sons play. Before heading down to the arena, we enjoyed each other’s company while chowing down on some nice tapas and watching a beautiful sunset in La Latina. Though I’m not a huge fan, I found myself singing and belting out the words to most of the songs I did know during the concert. It was crazy to see how many Spaniards were there and how enamored they were when they came on stage.

It was an incredible experience and I am so glad that I had the opportunity to share the experience with such a great group of friends. Here are some photos from Thursday.

View from dinner

The Gang

The Moment I thought I Became A New Yorker

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It’s a mid Friday afternoon. Rain is pouring down (by my California standards) and the tips of my Sperry Top Siders are soaked. My roommates are gone for the weekend – two are in Barcelona, while my third roommate is out and about in Madrid, showing her two friends around our beloved city. I am alone at a café – the first café in Spain I ever went to actually- sitting at a
table with my cappuccino, contemplating getting a crêpe but then I remember the lack of Euros in my wallet. Heck, why not. I’m broke as it is and it’s the perfect day for crêpes and people watching. I have the perfect view of the street – the two large glass doors sit in front of me and my eyes wander to the wonderful wet world outside.

A runner passes by in his bright neon orange shirt and yellow shoes, scuttling away at a casual pace up the hill towards Atocha. A story plays out in my head – he lives with his wife and two kids – a boy, 13, and a girl, 9. Probably a business man, a casual runner, and enjoys a nice whiskey at night. A pair of foreigners sit next to me – speaking in a heavily accented English I can’t quite decipher, sipping each on a café con leche, reminiscing of their youth summers spent somewhere in England. A woman in her late thirties strolls by pushing a stroller, likely a young baby girl wrapped up inside, judging by the pink blankets peeking out from underneath the umbrella. Nothing out of the usual. Spain you’re boring me – Where are the people running to and from the train station as if their life depended upon it? Where are the crazies? Where are my people?

People watching has come to be one of my favorite activities in New York – where else in the world do you have access to individuals as eccentric and as electric and as stubborn and as, well, New York? (Yes, I did just use “New York” as an adjective – you’d only understand if you’ve lived here). Where else can you find a woman dressed in all black, standing tall in five-inch stilettos, sipping on a latté, with three hours of sleep under her belt, living the dream? You simply can’t. Nowhere else in the world will you find people as happy to be killing themselves as you will in New York. They work 70-hour weeks, find time to go out at night, and pay more than a small fortune for a shoebox of an apartment. But they’re living in the Big Apple – hoping, dreaming, wishing that their dream of becoming the next big Broadway star or Wall Street exec will come true. They feign the excitement of working for an asshole and getting next to nothing in return. I guess it’s just part of being a New Yorker.

You will never feel more alone than you do in a city of millions – that much is true. But while living in New York, you’re part of something bigger than yourself, an unspeakable bond unites us – the aspiring actresses, the recent college grads, the wannabe big shots. We eat dollar pizza, not because it’s good, but because it’s a dollar. We go early to clubs so we don’t have to pay a cover. Yet, we will spend $300 on a pair of fabulous heels, because appearance is everything – it’s part of the never-ending illusion of being a New Yorker. But here, in Madrid, in a country more friendly than your creepy neighbor in apartment 2C, in a city where the taxi cabbies smile at you and the men buy you drinks without a second thought – you are more alone than you think. It’s not that you lack friends – the other study abroad students, the foreigners, the Madrileños just don’t understand. There is no mutual understanding of “struggling to make it”– everybody is relaxed, moving at a snails pace, eating dinner for hours on end as if there was nothing else more important in the world. In a country where the conversation is as important as the food on the table, I’m at a loss for words with those around me.

I feel the word lonely is used to describe somebody lost and by themselves – in a somewhat unhappy state, unaware of their own being. And while, yes, I am alone by pure definition of the word; I cannot feel any more aware of myself in this present moment. Nothing screams struggling writer like a twenty-something year old, sitting alone at a Café, sipping on a coffee, dressed in an oversized cream sweater from Urban Outfitters, with a messy bun on top of her head. All she’s missing are some large D&G glasses, a pencil behind her ear and a notebook in an overused black Longchamp. I’m watching myself, aware of my own being, aware of the stares as I type away feverishly. I am aware of my appearance as a New Yorker – jaded, opinionated, and unimpressed of everything around me as I people watch outside the large glass windows.

I first began to refer to myself as a New Yorker when I moved to Spain to study abroad. Every time my Mom skyped me, she would ask if I was home sick? My answer, without fail was – “Yeah, I miss New York terribly”. The disappointment on her face yielded an equally disapproving response in her eyes – “It’s my home, Mom, you’d never understand.” Her only reply “New York has changed you”. Living in the city transformed me from a carefree and laidback California girl to an uptight, busy young adult, whose life is dictated by the calendar appointments in my iPhone. Similar to the bright lights of Times Square – my life in New York is simply an impressive façade. My newfound beauty routine hides my lack of sleep and the slew of friends who pose for pictures with me at clubs usually forget about my existence by the weekends end. I appeared to be a New Yorker on the outside and tricked myself into thinking the same.

I haven’t even lived a full twelve months in the city, yet, when I meet people, I find myself telling them I’m from New York. Spaniards are instantly mesmerized – a bit confused as to why I would ever leave the mystique that is New York, but so am I. Leaving the city has made me realize how much of a New Yorker I am not, but I guess to become one you have to leave and appreciate everything that the city is. The more I realize the way I act and eat and dress and drink and fill-in-the-blank here, the more I realize how much the essence of being a New Yorker is the illusion of having it all together. And while I am rather composed on the outside, I cannot even begin to fit the puzzle pieces together on the inside. A true New Yorker knows what they want and when and are not afraid to tell anybody about it. I, on the other hand, do not know what I want, let alone know who I am. I just know I am not a New Yorker. Not yet anyways.

Quote of the Day: ” One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years” – Tom Wolfe

Leveling the Playing Field

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On March 8^th we celebrate International Women’s Day to commemorate the strides women have made in all aspects of society. This day has been observed since the beginning of the nineteenth century – a point in time where women were granted a number of rights and privileges amidst the rise of fundamental principles we value today. However, a number of women in the sports field, both fans and professionals alike, are still being sidelined. Their “knowledge” of the game comes into play when people criticize female analysts and fans discussing a men’s game. The same rules don’t seem to apply to men in any way, shape or form. It’s time to change that.

I’ve spent my whole life surrounded by sports. Watching football on Sunday was considered a religious holiday and my early February birthday was, and will always be
synonymous with the Super Bowl. I grew up playing on all-guys teams, because the number of
girls interested in playing sports in my community was dismal. My mom introduced me to more sports than I can remember and coached my youth “recreational” days. My dad guided me through the college recruiting process, always making a point to sneak into the athletic facilities while on campus tours. So when the opportunity presented itself to major in Sports Management and move to New York, home to over ten professional sports franchises, there was no question to what my answer would be.

Living in New York City has been a dream come true. Coming from San Diego, where fair-weather fans are as common as the beautiful weather itself, it was a relief to be part of a city where fans bleed for their team. That dream turned into a devastating nightmare when, over the course of the past two years, I began to notice an unsettling trend. Though the uneven ratio of girls to guys at local sports bars has yet to bother me, the attitudes of some of my fellow sports fans have begun to surface. The more people I’ve met, the more I’ve realized how quickly my comments about sporting events are dismissed and marginalized. By the time this past October rolled around, I could barely get a word in about Mathias Kiwanuka’s sack in the 49ers game, let alone comment on Victor Cruz’s yardage stats. I was stunned, confused, and quite honestly a bit angry. Why didn’t my opinion matter to my male friends? Was it because I wasn’t from New York and rooting for the G-Men? Or was it purely because I was a girl, which barred me from making a comment?

The question stems from a simple, “is it because I’m a girl?” and develops into a more complex question – “is it because of our cultural upbringing?” Sports are valued as a sign of masculinity, which makes it taboo for women to watch ESPN with the boys. Our society has created such a competitive culture, that girls have to compete for their right to express an opinion concerning the questionable call in the MNF game. It appears to me that there’s something seriously wrong within the sport culture and the mindset of American sports fans. The verdict is out: when one group of fans isn’t taken seriously, the ref needs to throw his flag and blow the whistle.

Last week, Danica Patrick made history at Daytona. No, she did not finish first, nor did she break any time barriers. She simply made headlines by being the first female to win a pole position in the Sprint Cup Series, finishing eighth overall – the best finish by a woman. Though she didn’t get the result she was looking for, she made the news for being a female in a male dominated sport. She has proven that she can race, yet the male commentators failed to mention the strides she had made in the past five years – they only pointed out her differences, the fact that she was a woman and didn’t have what it takes to be the best. What they failed to recognize was that she wouldn’t be on the tracks, unless she could compete. What failed to happen was recognizing a woman for her accomplishments as professional, not as a member of the opposite sex. This system of thinking as portrayed in various media forms has extended to all aspects of life for females in the sporting world – the glass ceiling for female professionals has yet to be broken and the same goes for female sport fans. There is still an unseen, yet unbreakable barrier that keeps us from rising to the upper rungs of the sports world, regardless of our education and achievements. We’ve come a long way since allowing women into the sports world, why don’t we still have respect?

But there’s more…

Earlier this year, the New York Rangers posted a female fan submission to their website titled the “Girls Guide to Watching the Rangers”; to say that I was infuriated would be a severe understatement. This sexist article sparked a fire within me and led me to question my fellow
sports fans across the country and around the globe. Just because I was born a girl, did that make me inferior to the Blueshirt next to me? Was I not allowed to scream at Lundqvist for letting in a soft goal because the gift shop carries pink sparkly t-shirts in my size? Though this article was quickly taken down, it was a wake up call to the sports community. The controversy it caused, brought to light to the number of female fans who take hockey, and any sports for that matter, seriously. But it also brought forward another important point – men aren’t the only ones to blame. Girls who take no interest in the game, yet ask if Gaborik scored a touchdown during the second half are at fault here as well. There is a large difference between learning about the game and being a bimbo wearing a Callahan jersey at a sports bar near MSG.

I can only wish that the next generation of sports fans, will grow up and see women at a bar discussing the game and not question it. I can only wish that those to come will be as nonchalant about a woman analyzing a football game as our society is about a woman analyzing the latest spring fashions. We obviously still have some ways to go.

Similar to some of my male counterparts, I am not a casual fan, either. I’ve spent a pretty penny on my fair share of athletics gear and events – I emptied my bank account for tickets to playoff games and paid more than necessary on sports memorabilia at various stadiums around the world. I’ve woken up at absurd times to watch World Cup matches and blown off parties to catch highlights on Sports Center. I am simply captivated by the stories of the underdog athletes; by every flip on the uneven bars, every kill on the court and of course every slide tackle on the soccer field. Athletics are beautiful in a million different ways – the tears shed are compiled of a little more than hard work and dedication, and the smiles are purer than the gold medals hanging loosely around each neck. So when you say I don’t know what I’m talking about, or ignore my comment, I take offense. You’re killing my livelihood. You’re killing my dream as a sports fan. There is a large number of female fans that bleed their team colors, that don’t want pink and sparkly rhinestones on their jerseys and most importantly know more about what is going on during the game than many men.

I’ve gotten used to it now. I entered into this field knowing that it wasn’t going to be easy. The stares are icy cold, the comments are as callous and uncultured as the calluses on my feet, and the confidence in us (or lack thereof) seems to exude from the pores of my fellow fans. “You’re just a girl, what do you know?” The words rattle my bones, and light a fuse within. But it’s time to change our sporting culture. It’s time to stand up and be the twelfth man. It’s time to root for the girls. Next time you’re with one of us, watching a game, please, before your blurt out “what do you know?” or quiz us on the roster, take the time to listen to us. Give us a chance. We aren’t just female fans, we’re just like you. Give us a chance to prove ourselves. Let us sit with you on Sundays and cheer on our team. We’re all rooting for the same side, why should we stand divided?

Chocolatería de San Gínes

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Europe knows chocolate: chocolate and wine, chocolate and fruit, and our new found obsession – chocolate and churros. One of Spain’s most famous desserts, these fried dough pastries and thick chocolate drink are perfect for any occasion.

Interestingly enough, Spaniards order this insanely delicious combination at any time of the day – including breakfast. Yes, chocolate for breakfast – count me in! The most famous chocolatería and where we are the most famous per se, is Chocolatería de San Gínes, a mere three minute walk from the Sol Metro, right between Calle Arenal and Calle Mayor. To say that we are regulars here would be quite the understatement, but somehow we still don’t seem to care that they know us so well.

San Gínes, as we affectionately call it, is easily one of the most touristy places in all of Madrid, but that doesn’t stop us from indulging in our favorite late night treat. Open 24 hours a day (dangerous, I know), this chocolate and churro hang out is the place to go if you want a taste of Spanish culture. Though most people order the typical chocolate con churros, I definitely recommend Porras, which are thicker versions of churros. They have a very simple menu – churros, chocolate, tea, café, and ice cream, but I would recommend staying with the original masterpiece.

A Trip to the Mercado

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Mercado de San Miguel

Nestled between a group of apartment buildings, right behind Calle Mayor, off of the Sol Metro stop, sits the glass-enclosed Mercado de San Miguel. One of the most famous markets in Madrid, this Eataly-style building is filled to the brim with brightly colored fruits and vegetables, the aroma of fresh pincho de tortilla, and hundreds of tourists on the weekends. Luckily enough, I live only a few minutes walk from the Mercado and have been able to leisurely walk between the permanent food stalls without the rush of people pushing me every three seconds.

Pincho de Tortilla

Though you do not have to go to the Mercado to find one of my new favorite foods, I first tried this recipe at the Mercado San Miguel (by accident) and immediately fell in love. My favorite Spanish dish so far has to be the delicious Spanish Omelet, also known as Tortilla Española. Filled with eggs, potatoes, onions, and sometimes a splash of cheese, I usually get a pincho (single serving size) of this delicacy. Served either at room temperature or warmed up, with a side of bread, pincho de tortilla is the perfect midday snack and will fill you right up. Partnered with a glass of wine or copa de Sangria, this dish will win over your heart at first bite.

Comida Fresca

After going on my long runs on the weekend, I like to cool down and walk around the market to see if anything catches my eye. Though the thought of an ice cream cone is enticing, I usually opt for a banana or salad. The Mercado de San Miguel, is not only home to warm dishes such as pasta and croquetas, but also to fresh fruit, meats, and fish. My favorites are the fruits and the spinach salad with white asparagus, walnuts, tomatos and balsalmic dressing; and the bananas Though it tends to be a bit more expensive than Corte Ingles (which is a grocery store – Bloomingdales – Spa – Target-all-in-one), I indulge and reward myself.

Everything Else

In the market, you can also find couples sipping on very full glasses of red wine, walking around trying various tapas. A slew of green olives, sushi, and empanadas, among many other things, are at your disposal at Mercado San Miguel. Your taste buds are in heaven at San Miguel and I promise you, once you go, you’ll find it very difficult to stay away.

Recap of Granada

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School trips are usually given a bad rap because you’re “stuck” sight seeing all day, then forced to stay in crappy hotels, and so wiped that you can’t even go out and explore the city on your own. This was not the case with NYU and Granada.

Architecture at La Alhambra

When I say Granada was absolutely stunning, what I actually mean is that you should probably need to pack up a bag, get on the next plane to Spain and drive to Granada. Nestled at the base of the Sierra Nevadas (no, not the ones in California as I was reminded), Granada is not only home to the largest “college population” in Spain, but also to the world famous La Alhambra. We had the distinct opportunity to go to La Alhambra, the Cathedral of Granada, El Albacín, and La Capilla Real de Granada (where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel are buried).

Looking out onto my kingdom

On Saturday morning, we were up bright and early for a buffet style breakfast (yum) at the hotel, and then immediately on the bus to La Alhambra. Once we arrived, we were immediately separated into our Spanish and English groups and on our way into the giant palace/fortress/mini town (if that’s what you’d like to call it). Though I speak decent Spanish (just enough to get around, flirt with a waiter, and ask for directions), listening to our teacher for 4-5 hours in pure Spanish is mentally taxing as well as a tad boring – I ended up staying interested by taking millions of pictures. I felt as if I could have spent all day at La Alhambra – it was beautiful, intricately detailed, and quite simply impressive. With panoramic views of Granada, the mountains, and the village below, I was in heaven. We were definitely incredibly lucky to go on such a beautiful day (I think it was close to 65-70 degrees), seeing as it was February and it’s usually not that pleasant.

Following La Alhambra, we were taken to a wonderful lunch at Mirador de Morayma. They sat all fifty of us down on this beautiful terraza overlooking La Alhambra and served us until we could no longer stuff our faces. We began with glasses of red wine, cheese, olives, bread with a scrumptious blue cheese dip, toasted almonds, and various sausage meats. The next courses included a fish wrapped in vegetables; Salmorejo with avocados (like gazpacho but even better); onions and peppers over hardened crackers; salmon and lettuce salads; and a cheese cake for dessert. To say that we were full at the end of our meal would be an understatement.

Lunch overlooking La Alhambra

NYU was smart enough to have us “walk off” our lunch and led us on a walking tour of El Albacín. We trudged down the hill, towards the river and back to the city. I was really surprised at how close everything was. From the top of La Alhambra you can see the whole city, yet everything is all in walking distance or close proximity to the next sight. We ended up at La Catedral de Granada – a strikingly different church than the one we found in Segovia. It was extremely large, a lot lighter (in terms of colors) and surprisingly enough, hidden among what appears to be ordinary buildings. We didn’t spend much time here, because people were starting to say “If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all?” I used to think like that, but the more churches and cathedrals I go to, the more interesting and distinct they seem to me.

Catedral de Granada

On Sunday, we packed up our things, but before leaving the city we made a final stop at La Capilla Real de Granada and a walking tour through Albacín again. This is the final resting spot for Los Reyes Católicos (Fernando y Isabella), which is unique because the other kings and queens of Spain are buried together somewhere else.

We may or may not be slightly dysfunctional – going delusional on the last day

I took over 1000 pictures this weekend and not a single one can illustrate how amazing this trip truly was. By the end of the excursion, I was not only known as the crazy photographer, but also as the “dog photographer” by many of my friends and classmates. Every time there was a pup within a hop, skip, or jump I’d be there snapping away. I think on the last day, I had “photo shoots” with over nine different dogs – maybe I should start a blog/portfolio? Dogs of Europe anybody?

This is Macho the Border Collie. My favorite dog I’ve photographed so far.

Meg Patten

Creative Project Manager. Sports Marketer. Event Specialist.

Author Archives: megpatten

About megpatten

The Death of a Dream

Day Tripping: Barçelona

Day Tripping: Las Fallas, Valencia

Writing Away

Mumford & Sons

The Moment I thought I Became A New Yorker

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Chocolatería de San Gínes

A Trip to the Mercado

Recap of Granada