FLASHBACK: Gelato for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner

The cliche American things to do in Italy are to eat gelato, "hold up" the Leaning Tower of Pisa, eat gelato, visit the Vatican City, eat gelato, and shovel pasta—fistfuls at a time—into your mouth...then top it off with gelato. And since I'm American, I did as the Americans would do, minus Pisa—couldn't make the trip.

This gelateria in Florence is just one of the many shops I went to while in Europe. I swear, I ate at least three servings in one day while wandering around Rome. My favorite flavors are coconut and stracciatella, which is basically chocolate and vanilla mixed together. The best I had was next door to a pizza shop called, if I'm not mistaken, Caffè Accademia, right outside the Spanish Steps train stop. That's right, there are train stops near historical monuments in Rome. Your mind would be blown if you exited the Colosseum train stop.

My friend Anna was the most adventurous. She tried a different flavor every time we stopped in every Italian city (Rome, Florence, Venice, and Milan) we traveled to—from mango to Nutella. I always tried hers, but stuck with my beloved coconut. When we returned to Madrid, we "settled" for the gourmet gelato at Giangrossi, two blocks from our apartment. Like in the shops of Chelsea Market, you can watch them make your gelato in their kitchens.

Nowadays, I settle for the Village's Grom whenever I need a fix. $6 for a little vanilla delight. I wouldn't say it's the best, but I will say that I'll be trying a few more places around Bleecker Street this summer.

FLASHBACK: Real Madrid game

The first sporting event I've ever been to was a Yankee game. Like most Americans, I'm a baseball fan. But I've always found soccer fascinating. Probably because I'm athletically challenged and the thought of me running and kicking simultaneously is laughable. Since NYU in Madrid was 1 block from the famous Santiago Bernabeu stadium, my soccer-playing roommate wanted to go to the adjoined mall and buy souvenirs. I tagged along out of boredom. Don't get me wrong. Madrid wasn't boring. The day had been filled with classes and I was in need of excitement. Once we got in the store, my eyes were flooded with how many possible things a brand could put their symbol on. Thongs. There are Real Madrid thongs! I avoided the racy section and bought a drawstring backsack and a water bottle-sized, cylinder-shaped purse for the tiny objects that get lost in my tote. She bought…a lot. Almost 300 euros worth, which apparently gets you 4 free tickets to a game.

Of course, I immediately started begging to be one of the lucky ones since there was five us in the house. Fortunately, one of my other roommates had an admirer who opted to tag along and buy her a ticket as well. (In theory, romantic, but in retrospect, the beginning of a very long, unwarranted and unreciprocated obsession.) We were set! Two Americans, 1 Dominican Black American, 1 Chinese American, 1 Chinese Peruvian American, and 1 Peruvian were about to have an adrenaline-fueled culture shock: a Spaniard soccer game.

Ok technically, it was just me. My four roommates were so busy taking pictures and trying to spot Beckham, they barely watched the game. And my roommate's Peruvian paramore was so busy staring at her and acting like he invented the game, he was barely paying attention. I, on the other hand, was immersed.

The Madrileños were pumped, singing lyrics I couldn't make out, swilling beers, and operatically declaring "GOOOAAAAALLLLL" whenever we scored. Think of a volume meter that goes from 1 to 10. Baseball is a 5. Soccer is a 10. Everything gets turned up. Cheering, jeering, and drinking. It was so intense that every time I heard British voices, fans of the opposing team, I froze, fearing that nearby Madrileños would catapult them off the stands.

The energy was addictive. Other students were at that game too and the next day, most of the student body was talking about meeting up at Retiro park, the Central Park of Madrid, and kicking a ball around. I was tempted. But I had homework and I was exhausted from weekend travel, so I couldn't. Plus, I didn't want to make an ass out of myself, so I passed. But I heard their amateur game was awesome. Madrileños joined in, and my sorority-girl friend Sam scraped her knees to the point of limping the next day, but even she said it was a memory worth making.

Now with the World Cup dominating Facebook, Twitter, and ESPN2, I'm starting to get the itch again. I'd love to go to Central Park with a few friends and kick the ball around, but…I'm trying to avoid any major medical bills. ;)

FLASHBACK: Cerveceria 100 Montaditos

In the summer of 2005, my Chinese friend Anna convinced me to study abroad in Madrid with her for our Junior Spring semester. I mention her ethnicity, because even though I'm Dominican, she was more confident speaking Spanish than I was. Of course, she learned Spanish in a classroom, five days a week, and I learned it in the barrio. Not everyone knows this, but all Spanish people do not speak the same Spanish. We all have our own cultural colloquialisms that get lost in translation once we cross the border, and it can lead to plenty of misunderstandings. Not to mention, Spaniards pronounce the letter "z" as "th," and they use the "vosotros" tense. The idea that I would have to be a mime for 4 months was freaking me out. What I didn't count on—despite my history of being a picky eater—was not liking the food.

When we first arrived, our school treated us to a few snacks at orientation. I passed. I rarely like buffets at meetings. Then they told us to meet them at a restaurant for lunch, and bought us all paella. I rarely if ever eat seafood. Chalk it up to my deep fear of aquatic animals or the fact that it just tastes like salt, so I didn't eat much. To top off the day, a few us met up at a restaurant for dinner—safety in numbers and all that. I had the chicken. It was a little weird. I figured I just needed to get use to Spaniard menus and learn all the translations, and eventually I'd find something I liked. Until then, I was a frequent customer of Burger King and TGI Fridays. Yes I know, how American of me.

As a part of the study abroad program, our school organized several weekend trips to some of Spain's cities. Places, like Segovia and El Escorial, that tourists rarely think to go. On every trip I played it safe: chicken, with a side of chicken, drizzled with chicken. Then one day I saw what looked like spaghetti and meatballs on the menu…only to discover that "meat sauce" was alfredo style with chunks of pork. The Spaniards are HUGE fans of pork. The cow has no stock here. Babe is king. So I gave up. It was no wonder I lost 20lbs in 2 months. With all the walking and the serious lack of food, I might as well have been on a diet.

Then one magical day in Seville, on a birthday weekend trip for one of my roommates, we all went to Cerveceria 100 Montaditos for lunch. It's a restaurant that runs like clockwork. At each table is a list of 100 tapas, small dishes—each for 1 euro. You check off as many as you'd like (or can afford), bring it to the counter, and wait to be called for pickup. I tried my friend's tortilla española: eggs, potatoes, onions, and a shaker-full of salt. At last! It was like my stomach had finally arrived from America. It got stuck in customs, but once it was cleared, it was ready to party. After that, I was a little more adventurous to try more tapas. There were a few hits (ox tail) and misses (patatas bravas - eck!). I was just happy to finally feel like I was in Spain.

Photos by jordanfischer and E Vön Zita