Sorry I have been neglectful of writing recently. Life and homework and tutoring kind of took over. I've got some entries in the works, but I haven't had time to get them ready and post them.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you all know that for the next week, I will be folicing around Europe with Kerry. We have just spent our first night of our adventure in Brussels. Today we will frolic around Brussels, and tonight we head to Luxembourg City. Then tomorrow night we head to Paris, where we will spend four days. I am super excited to get to see all these places. I don't know how much time or how much internet I will have while I am here, but I will try to at least journal, so that I can copy some of my first impressions up here when I get back.
Have a lovely day!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
Muchas Cositas—Day 38, March 12, 2010
4Goodness, it’s been a long time since I’ve written. I’m sorry I’ve let so much time pass. I have a lot of things to talk about, so I’ll probably sort of just go through them in a haphazard way.
My “Continuation Period” classes began last week. I am taking "Women Writers of Spain" and "Spain and Immigration," as well as continuing my Lope, Dance, and Cultural Realities classes from before. My professor for Women Writers is Milagros Molina, or Mila. She’s really cute, and kind of has a northern accent. I’m really excited for this class. We are reading a lot of poetry, prose excerpts, novellas/short stories, and two novels. My professor for Immigration is Carmen Castilla—another Carmen, so she will be Prof. Castilla here. She is an anthropologist and a professor at the University of Granada. She is so passionate about anthropology, and she knows so much. I think this class is going to be really interesting. I mentioned before my observations on the beginnings of multiculturalism here, and that is going to be a big topic in the class.
I am tutoring some Spanish children in English, for which I am paid €8 an hour. They are Estefanía, who is ten, Tulio, nine, and María, seven. They are really sweet, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how difficult it could be to teach something as basic to me as my mother language. When I taught clarinet lessons, it was a little different, because clarinet was something I studied and practiced, whereas English I just sort of picked up as a toddler. It’s also hard because there are three of them, and only one of me, and especially now that they are opening up to me, they have a lot of energy. Tulio and Estefanía are in the same grade, and Estefanía is very competitive. I’ve been making them some word searches with vocabulary words, and whenever Tulio or María find a word before Estefanía does, she gets kind of grumpy. But when she finds a word first, she’ll go and circle it on María’s paper for her, and then María will get upset and sad. I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, so when they get all competitive and grumpy, I don’t really know how to handle it, except try to placate whomever is crying and then change the subject. I also have to balance what Estefanía and Tulio are doing, as they are in different classes but the same grade, and therefore have many similar lessons in their classes, but María is two grades below, so she is learning different things. So I have to think of different activities for them, and I have to figure out how to divide my attention between them. I think I am going to start giving them separate word searches or activities, so they don’t get so competitive. I also need to think of some more active games, so they can burn off some of their energy while they’re learning some new vocabulary.
Last Friday, Alicia and I visited el Museo de Bellas Artes (the Museum of Fine Art). That had a large and very nice collection of Renaissance and Baroque Spanish paintings, as well as some other European painters. We weren’t able to see the whole museum, though, so I’m not sure what other collections they have. This spring, they are hosting an exhibition of paintings by Bartolomé Murillo, a seviallano painter, who is quite dear to the hearts of los seviallanos. We kind of had to rush through the end of the exhibit to get home for lunch on time, but it was really nice. I really like the way he used light in his paintings.
I went to Gibraltar last Saturday. I am not going to write a lot about it, because it poured rain the entire time, and was kind of miserable. I am glad I went, as it’s a very geologically interesting place and I will probably not have another chance, but the rain made it rather cold and unpleasant. We did get to see a few of the famous Gibraltar monkeys, though. Apparently, they are everywhere, and they’re not too scared of people, and are really good at stealing people’s lunch. But that day most of the monkeys were hiding from the rain, so we only saw a couple.
It was really sad driving to Gibraltar and back (also to Algeciras to catch the boat to Morocco) because we passed fields and fields that were completely flooded. I saw in a newspaper that the Andalucían harvest has lost €130 million already to rain damage. All this flooding has been really hard on the farmers and people who make a living from the land. The sun has finally come out for four or so straight days, so hopefully the countryside will start to dry out soon, but it’s going to take some time for all that water to go away.
Last Sunday, Alicia, our friend Corey, and I attended a Protestant church in Triana. It was really small, but it had a sense of community that I felt was missing at the Cathedral and even a little bit at the smaller church we’ve gone to a few times. I feel like this lack of community is not uncommon in Europe. I noticed it in St. Giles Kirk in Edinburgh too. People just sort of went to service and left. But at this little church (also the church we went to in Glasgow), there seemed to be much more community. The congregation had studies and mission events during the week, and people lingered a bit to chat after service, although as it wasn’t so small it didn’t have a hall with coffee or anything like my church at home. It was definitely quite refreshing to go somewhere that did have that sort of community, because that’s one of the things I value and enjoy most about church.
This morning, as we now do not have class on Fridays, Kerry, Alicia, and I did some wandering and shopping. And today, finally, I had a churro. I don’t know why it has taken me this long to eat one, but finally I had a chance to sample churros with hot chocolate. And it was delicious. We were able to sit outside in the sun, and we had a big place heaped with little ring-shaped churros, and little cups of thick delicious chocolate. Sigh . . .
There were several other little things like that this week—little things that don’t make great stories, but are so fun to do—but I as they don’t make good stories, I won’t list them all here. We are going to a flamenco show tonight, so that should be exciting. I’ll let you know how it goes. All for now!
My “Continuation Period” classes began last week. I am taking "Women Writers of Spain" and "Spain and Immigration," as well as continuing my Lope, Dance, and Cultural Realities classes from before. My professor for Women Writers is Milagros Molina, or Mila. She’s really cute, and kind of has a northern accent. I’m really excited for this class. We are reading a lot of poetry, prose excerpts, novellas/short stories, and two novels. My professor for Immigration is Carmen Castilla—another Carmen, so she will be Prof. Castilla here. She is an anthropologist and a professor at the University of Granada. She is so passionate about anthropology, and she knows so much. I think this class is going to be really interesting. I mentioned before my observations on the beginnings of multiculturalism here, and that is going to be a big topic in the class.
I am tutoring some Spanish children in English, for which I am paid €8 an hour. They are Estefanía, who is ten, Tulio, nine, and María, seven. They are really sweet, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how difficult it could be to teach something as basic to me as my mother language. When I taught clarinet lessons, it was a little different, because clarinet was something I studied and practiced, whereas English I just sort of picked up as a toddler. It’s also hard because there are three of them, and only one of me, and especially now that they are opening up to me, they have a lot of energy. Tulio and Estefanía are in the same grade, and Estefanía is very competitive. I’ve been making them some word searches with vocabulary words, and whenever Tulio or María find a word before Estefanía does, she gets kind of grumpy. But when she finds a word first, she’ll go and circle it on María’s paper for her, and then María will get upset and sad. I don’t have a lot of experience with kids, so when they get all competitive and grumpy, I don’t really know how to handle it, except try to placate whomever is crying and then change the subject. I also have to balance what Estefanía and Tulio are doing, as they are in different classes but the same grade, and therefore have many similar lessons in their classes, but María is two grades below, so she is learning different things. So I have to think of different activities for them, and I have to figure out how to divide my attention between them. I think I am going to start giving them separate word searches or activities, so they don’t get so competitive. I also need to think of some more active games, so they can burn off some of their energy while they’re learning some new vocabulary.
Last Friday, Alicia and I visited el Museo de Bellas Artes (the Museum of Fine Art). That had a large and very nice collection of Renaissance and Baroque Spanish paintings, as well as some other European painters. We weren’t able to see the whole museum, though, so I’m not sure what other collections they have. This spring, they are hosting an exhibition of paintings by Bartolomé Murillo, a seviallano painter, who is quite dear to the hearts of los seviallanos. We kind of had to rush through the end of the exhibit to get home for lunch on time, but it was really nice. I really like the way he used light in his paintings.
I went to Gibraltar last Saturday. I am not going to write a lot about it, because it poured rain the entire time, and was kind of miserable. I am glad I went, as it’s a very geologically interesting place and I will probably not have another chance, but the rain made it rather cold and unpleasant. We did get to see a few of the famous Gibraltar monkeys, though. Apparently, they are everywhere, and they’re not too scared of people, and are really good at stealing people’s lunch. But that day most of the monkeys were hiding from the rain, so we only saw a couple.
It was really sad driving to Gibraltar and back (also to Algeciras to catch the boat to Morocco) because we passed fields and fields that were completely flooded. I saw in a newspaper that the Andalucían harvest has lost €130 million already to rain damage. All this flooding has been really hard on the farmers and people who make a living from the land. The sun has finally come out for four or so straight days, so hopefully the countryside will start to dry out soon, but it’s going to take some time for all that water to go away.
Last Sunday, Alicia, our friend Corey, and I attended a Protestant church in Triana. It was really small, but it had a sense of community that I felt was missing at the Cathedral and even a little bit at the smaller church we’ve gone to a few times. I feel like this lack of community is not uncommon in Europe. I noticed it in St. Giles Kirk in Edinburgh too. People just sort of went to service and left. But at this little church (also the church we went to in Glasgow), there seemed to be much more community. The congregation had studies and mission events during the week, and people lingered a bit to chat after service, although as it wasn’t so small it didn’t have a hall with coffee or anything like my church at home. It was definitely quite refreshing to go somewhere that did have that sort of community, because that’s one of the things I value and enjoy most about church.
This morning, as we now do not have class on Fridays, Kerry, Alicia, and I did some wandering and shopping. And today, finally, I had a churro. I don’t know why it has taken me this long to eat one, but finally I had a chance to sample churros with hot chocolate. And it was delicious. We were able to sit outside in the sun, and we had a big place heaped with little ring-shaped churros, and little cups of thick delicious chocolate. Sigh . . .
There were several other little things like that this week—little things that don’t make great stories, but are so fun to do—but I as they don’t make good stories, I won’t list them all here. We are going to a flamenco show tonight, so that should be exciting. I’ll let you know how it goes. All for now!
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Asquerosos en las Calles—Day 30, March 4, 2010
Today was a good day, minus one moment of extreme awkwardness. I will start with that first, because it’s a good story, then go on to the good stuff.
I was walking through some of the little winding streets around the Cathedral today, by myself, just minding my own business, and this time not lost or staring at a map. As I was walking down the street, a man, in maybe his mid-thirties said hello (or, rather, “hola”) to me. I had already walked past him when I hear him speak, so just out of instinct, I turned my head back and said hola. I realized then he was still trying to engage me in conversation, so I turned around and walked a little closer t o hear what he was saying. Our conversation went a little something like this, except in Spanish.
Random Guy: Are you American?
Me, in my head: Dang it, am I that obvious? Now you’re going to try to sell me some stupid souvenir that I don’t want.
Me, out loud: Yes.
Random Guy: Are you going to the Cathedral?
Me, wanting to make it very clear that I was not a lost tourist and that I knew where I was going: No, no, I’m going to my school, I’m a student here.
Random Guy: Oh, are you here with a group?
Me: Yes, with el Centro Norteamericano.
Random Guy: Are you from New York, or Chicago?
Me: Haha, no, I’m from New Mexico. It’s in the southwest. The other side of the country.
Random Guy: But you are American, right.
Me: Yes, yes.
Random Guy: Well, you’re very beautiful.
Me, in my head, with the light turning on: Oh, right. Here, talking to men in the streets is basically a form of flirting with them. Dang it.
Me, out loud: Oh, um, thank you.
At this point, Random Guy said something that I didn’t quite understand, but I think it was something along these lines: Would you like to share a restaurant with me?
I, at this point, got smart, and rather than trying to verify whether or not he had actually just asked me out to dinner after a two minute conversation, put on a face of “Oh, I didn’t quite get what you just said, I don’t speak Spanish well,” and said I had to go back to school. The guy wasn’t pushy or anything, he just said “Hasta luego,” which means “see you later.” In my head I thought, no you most definitely will not see me later, and continued on my way to my school. I understand that within the culture of Spain, this wasn’t a creepy interchange. As I think I mentioned before, strangers here don’t really smile or interact very much, so often interaction between men and women who don’t know each other is a sign of romantic interest. European women know this, and therefore they know how to handle themselves; if they are not interested in someone, they say “no” and walk away; as I said, the guy wasn’t pushy when I said no. But to me, this seemed so odd and a little creepy. I have very little experience with dating, but it seems to me that in America people don’t generally ask people out after a two minute conversation in the street. I was proud of myself, though, that once I realized his intentions I knew how to handle myself and didn’t waver awkwardly in ways that, in Spanish culture, might imply a coquettish sort of pseudo-acceptance-but-desire-to-be-pursued-further.
So that was a weird moment. But the rest of the day was lovely. The sun was out today, and as my classes are currently scheduled, during the continuation period, I don’t have class until 5:10 in the evening on Thursdays, and that’s just my dance class. So this morning I wandered around, ran some errands, and enjoyed the sun.
This evening, Alicia and I went to an Indian restaurant. Carmen keeps serving us dishes that remind us of Indian food, but aren’t quite Indian food, and as consequence we have been craving curry. So we did some research, and we found a small little Indian restaurant by Plaza Nervión, the big shopping center in our barrio. It was really small, and there wasn’t a lot of people, but it was really good. We split some chicken curry, rice, and warm naan. It definitely wasn’t very spicy, but it was delicious.
So that’s the story of my good day. Not a particularly good story, but it was a very nice day. I need to tell you about my classes, and the children I’m tutoring in English, but I think for now I’m going to bed. ¡Buenas Noches!
I was walking through some of the little winding streets around the Cathedral today, by myself, just minding my own business, and this time not lost or staring at a map. As I was walking down the street, a man, in maybe his mid-thirties said hello (or, rather, “hola”) to me. I had already walked past him when I hear him speak, so just out of instinct, I turned my head back and said hola. I realized then he was still trying to engage me in conversation, so I turned around and walked a little closer t o hear what he was saying. Our conversation went a little something like this, except in Spanish.
Random Guy: Are you American?
Me, in my head: Dang it, am I that obvious? Now you’re going to try to sell me some stupid souvenir that I don’t want.
Me, out loud: Yes.
Random Guy: Are you going to the Cathedral?
Me, wanting to make it very clear that I was not a lost tourist and that I knew where I was going: No, no, I’m going to my school, I’m a student here.
Random Guy: Oh, are you here with a group?
Me: Yes, with el Centro Norteamericano.
Random Guy: Are you from New York, or Chicago?
Me: Haha, no, I’m from New Mexico. It’s in the southwest. The other side of the country.
Random Guy: But you are American, right.
Me: Yes, yes.
Random Guy: Well, you’re very beautiful.
Me, in my head, with the light turning on: Oh, right. Here, talking to men in the streets is basically a form of flirting with them. Dang it.
Me, out loud: Oh, um, thank you.
At this point, Random Guy said something that I didn’t quite understand, but I think it was something along these lines: Would you like to share a restaurant with me?
I, at this point, got smart, and rather than trying to verify whether or not he had actually just asked me out to dinner after a two minute conversation, put on a face of “Oh, I didn’t quite get what you just said, I don’t speak Spanish well,” and said I had to go back to school. The guy wasn’t pushy or anything, he just said “Hasta luego,” which means “see you later.” In my head I thought, no you most definitely will not see me later, and continued on my way to my school. I understand that within the culture of Spain, this wasn’t a creepy interchange. As I think I mentioned before, strangers here don’t really smile or interact very much, so often interaction between men and women who don’t know each other is a sign of romantic interest. European women know this, and therefore they know how to handle themselves; if they are not interested in someone, they say “no” and walk away; as I said, the guy wasn’t pushy when I said no. But to me, this seemed so odd and a little creepy. I have very little experience with dating, but it seems to me that in America people don’t generally ask people out after a two minute conversation in the street. I was proud of myself, though, that once I realized his intentions I knew how to handle myself and didn’t waver awkwardly in ways that, in Spanish culture, might imply a coquettish sort of pseudo-acceptance-but-desire-to-be-pursued-further.
So that was a weird moment. But the rest of the day was lovely. The sun was out today, and as my classes are currently scheduled, during the continuation period, I don’t have class until 5:10 in the evening on Thursdays, and that’s just my dance class. So this morning I wandered around, ran some errands, and enjoyed the sun.
This evening, Alicia and I went to an Indian restaurant. Carmen keeps serving us dishes that remind us of Indian food, but aren’t quite Indian food, and as consequence we have been craving curry. So we did some research, and we found a small little Indian restaurant by Plaza Nervión, the big shopping center in our barrio. It was really small, and there wasn’t a lot of people, but it was really good. We split some chicken curry, rice, and warm naan. It definitely wasn’t very spicy, but it was delicious.
So that’s the story of my good day. Not a particularly good story, but it was a very nice day. I need to tell you about my classes, and the children I’m tutoring in English, but I think for now I’m going to bed. ¡Buenas Noches!
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Marruecos—Day 28, March 2, 2010
(Note: Sorry it’s taken so long to get this posted. I started it a while ago, but kept putting off finishing it. And sorry for how long it is.)
As I had previously mentioned, I went to Morocco (or, in Spanish, Marruecos) this weekend, arriving back in Sevilla yesterday around six. My review of the trip is going to be somewhat mixed. Morocco the country was beautiful, but the group we went with, We Love Spain, was extremely touristy, in sort of the negative, “let’s just see a caricature of the culture and not the culture itself” sort of way. I knew before going that it probably would be based on the itinerary and the group’s website and such, but I really wanted to be able to see Morocco on one of my three-day weekends, and all the other tours I knew of were 5 or 6 days, so I went ahead with it. And I’m really glad I did, because I learned so much even from my short time there. However, I do have a few complaints that colored my experience a bit.
I will start with said complaints. First off, the group was too big. The weekend I went was the weekend of el Día de Andalucía, so all the schools had a holiday that Monday, meaning a lot of people wanted to travel, so the group was huge. They really should have had a cut off on people, even if that meant that I wouldn’t have been able to go, because the hugeness of the group just made us so conspicuous. Moreover, many of the things we did, and the attitudes of a lot of people in the group, were extremely touristy. We went to extremely touristy restaurants with “authentic” dancing and “authentic” food, in which there was not a single native Moroccan eating. I say authentic in quotation marks, not because I think the performances or the food were not authentic, but because I object to the attitude that what is “authentic” about a country is only some sort of caricature of its folk history. Many countries and regions within countries, like Spain and Andalucía, or the U.S., and states within the U.S., have folk culture that they highly value and try to keep alive, but I object to the attitude that this folk culture is the only thing “authentic” about a country. And I don’t need to go to ritzy, touristy restaurants to eat “authentic” Moroccan food—whatever they cook in Morocco is authentically Moroccan. I also highly doubt that the average Moroccan sits in an elegant, highly decorated hall with dancers for most of their meals. And the attitudes of some of the people in our group were, I felt, a bit clueless. We were going to a Muslim country, and yet there were girls wearing extremely tight leggings instead of actual pants and low-cut shirts. Not that I necessarily agree with Muslim ideals of female modesty, but when one is travelling to a country with such standards of modesty, one ought to consider the way one dresses a little more, so as not to draw unwanted attention and as not to display an attitude of insensitivity. Moreover, Muslims do not drink alcohol, and yet there was alcohol available to drink in the hotels and the club that was on the itinerary. It just seemed so odd to me that as visitors in a Muslim country, our group would seek out entertainment activities that were prohibited by the prevailing religion of the country. Add to that, I had a cold that weekend, so that also made me a little grumpy.
That said, Morocco was a fascinating places, and it was a very interesting trip. I often think I am culturally savvy, and that I know a lot about lots of different places, and then I go to said places and realize that I know nothing. I was very surprised by how green Morocco was. Our tour guide explained to us that Morocco is divided into northern and southern halves by a large mountain range (I think he called them the Rift Mountains), and while south of the mountains is the desert, north of it is very green, as I saw. I blush to admit that the image I probably had in my head was of some desert with dusty adobe-like buildings and men with turbans with cloths across their faces to keep the sand out of their lungs. So being able to go to Morocco and learn the error of this impression was definitely worth the €180 it cost.
Anyway, enough prefacing, and onward to actual description. We left Sevilla on Saturday morning. After a two-hour bus ride and a 45-minute ferry, we arrived in Ceuta, which is a Spanish town on the coast of North Africa. We had a quick tour of this town before crossing the border into Morocco. While crossing the border, I had my first glimpse of the way in which at least some, if not many, Moroccan men perceive American women. There were a couple blonde girls wearing, as I said above, very tight leggings and low-cut shirts, and as the Moroccan police officer checking our passports looked over theirs, he made some flirtatious small talk. When he looked at Alicia’s and my passports next, he gave us a quick “ok” and moved on. We were quite grateful that our brown hair and more unremarkable clothing made us appear less exotic and less flirt-worthy, but it was not the only time I observed behaviors that seemed to imply an belief that American girls are easy. It was definitely worse for blondes—I saw once, while we were walking through the streets of Chefchaoen, a guy put his face right up next to a blonde girl’s face, who was just minding her own business, and say something. Not all Moroccan women wore veils, and some even wore pants, but there just seemed to be a fairly prevalent assumption that American girls are an object of flirtation.
I digress. We spent that night in Tetuan. We had some free time when we arrived at the hotel, but it was raining a fair bit, and it was dark, and we were all tired, so after checking into our rooms Alicia and I showered, ate dinner with the group in the hotel restaurant, and went to bed early. When we arrived at the hotel, we were given cups of a tea, which is apparently sort of a traditional tea to serve to guests, in hotels, homes, or other functions with lots of people. It’s sweetened green tea with mint. We had this several different places—both our hotels and the two restaurants we went to. I liked it, although in one hotel it was sweeter and more minty than the others, and I felt like I was drinking heated mouthwash.
The next morning began with a short bus tour of Tetuan, which became a bus ride to the town of Chefchaoen. Our Moroccan guide for the trip was named Larby (or something like that, I am probably spelling it wrong), and I really enjoyed listening to everything he told us. As we were driving through Tetuan, there were Moroccan flags everywhere (a red background with a green five-pointed star, representing the five pillars of Islam). Larby explained that was because the king had just been there, as we had come shortly after one of their big religious holidays, celebrating the birth of the prophet Mohammed. During this holiday, the king has to travel to the city of Rabat, hence why he had journeyed through Tetuan. Larby also told us how this king had studied abroad (he didn’t say where, but I imagine somewhere in Europe), and because of these influences, the current queen of Morocco is the first queen that has ever been known to the public. Usually the weddings are private, and while the public knows the names of the children, the name and face of the queen are withheld from public knowledge. But the current king had a public wedding, and the queen has something of a celebrity status. I think it’s really interesting to observe this change, and reflect on what its implications might be in the coming years.
Chefchaoen was a smaller town than Tetuan, situated in the mountains. We walked for a while through the old city center with local guides. Our guide (I don’t know his name) was so interesting. He was a somewhat elderly man, but certainly not frail. He knew so much about the history of Morocco and Chefchaoen, and he spoke five or six languages. Actually, something else I didn’t know, almost all Moroccans speak at least three languages. They grow up speaking Arabic, or rather a dialect of Arabic, with regionally specific vocabulary. But they also know classic Arabic, the Arabic of the Quran, and they can speak this to people from other Arabic-speaking countries. Then when they are nine or so years old, they learn French in school, because that is the official language of administration of Morocco. About high school age, they learn a third language, choosing between English, Spanish, or German. Most of the people in the area where we were chose Spanish, as we were in the northern part, close to Spain; as such, it was more effective to talk to people in the streets in Spanish than in English.
The streets of Chefchaoen were beautiful. I believe the part we walked around was kind of what might be termed “Old Town,” but there were definitely a lot of residences there, and while there were also some more souvenir-y type shops, there were also the sorts of stores that one visits to carry out one’s daily business. In this area, all the walls and the bricks on the ground were painted a pale blue. Our guide explained that this wasn’t the original color. Originally, everything was painted white, symbolizing peace, or green, symbolizing the body of Muslim believers. The blue color was brought in from the Moors who had conquered Spain and had been living in Granada. Blue symbolizes divinity in Islam, but also it was a color well suited to temperature regulation, as it held heat in the winter and reflected heat away in the summer.
After a tour of the center of Chefchaoen, there was some free time to browse the market place, where such items as jewelry, scarves, pottery, and food were for sale. I wasn’t really in the mood to buy much, as the aforementioned super-touristyness of the group was bothering me a bit, and because bargaining is an accepted part of Moroccan culture, and I really do not like bargaining. It stresses me out a lot. I would much rather just have the shopkeeper or vendor tell me a price, and then pay that price. I did however buy some little pastries to snack on, which were quite good.
We returned to Tetuan for lunch, where we went to probably the single most touristy restaurant in the entire city. As I said above, there was a performance of different types of dance while we ate, and a henna artist doing tattoos for €3, and not a Moroccan face among the diners, except tour guides. I was somewhat unimpressed with the dancing, especially with the belly dancer. I have seen much better belly dancers in the U.S., women who exhibited amazing control over their muscles, who were quite sensual, but not exactly provocative. Despite being scantily clad, these dancers’ motions weren’t supposed to be arousing; rather, they demonstrated an amazing degree of control and self-assertion. This “belly” dancer just sort of pranced around a bit in a flowy skirt and bikini-type top. I might be inclined to think that maybe that is Moroccan belly dancing, and that what I have seen as belly dancing comes from different regions, but the belly dancer in the Morocco pavilion in Epcot belonged more to the first class of belly dancers I described. Many of you are probably thinking, “Really, Christy, did you really just compare Morocco with Walt Disney World?” But the king of Morocco himself oversaw the design of the Morocco pavilion, because he wanted to be sure Disney got it right, so I feel inclined to believe that the belly dancing there is more what one might call “authentic,” whatever that means, and what we saw was just a half-clothed woman to appease tourists with fat wallets. I’m having a little trouble explaining what it was that bothered me so much, but I guess it seemed that the dancing in this restaurant wasn’t art, and the performers weren’t artists. They didn’t seem to have an artistic connection to their work, it was just a job to solicit money from the rich tourists. Aside from all this complaining, though, the food was quite good. I especially enjoyed some chicken they gave us with a spicy sauce, which might have had some lemon in it. For desert, they gave us that minty tea and some pastries with dates and coated with powdered sugar.
After lunch, we toured a bit around the center of Tetuan. Again, our group was just too huge, and walking in this giant group of at least thirty Americans through these tiny little streets was a little uncomfortable. We were an absolute magnet to vendors displaying random assortments of jewelry and handbags and whatnot, although I guess that would have been true of a small group as well. But it was quite interesting to walk through the market and see what was for sale. This was definitely the sort of market where the average person would go to do their day-to-day shopping, although, of course, there were here and there the requisite souvenir-y type shop; it is what one might call downtown, so any tourists to the city would surely go there. But you would see vendors with blankets full of underwear, or remote controls, or movies. We passed several shops that made the traditional gown that women wear when they go out. It’s an ankle length gown with long sleeves, and it comes in many different colors. Women also wear a gown similar to this for their wedding, with the addition of a gold belt. These belts run $15,000 to $16,000, so most women just rent them. We passed a couple shops selling/renting these belts, and they were very beautiful and ornate.
It was also interesting to notice how few women were out. Not that there were no women, but distinctly fewer than men. A lot of the women wore those gowns I mentioned, and veils on their head, but not all. Some wore the gowns, but no veil, and some wore veils, but more “Western” looking pants, blouses, and boots.
We then hopped back on the bus to Tangiers. We dined at, again, the single most touristy restaurant in all the whole city, also complete with dancers, and this time with the addition of men riding horses wielding swords. But the food was also quite good, and being quite tired I was happy to eat. Later that night, beginning at 1 a.m., the group went to the club I mentioned earlier, but I opted not to go. Mostly because I was, as I mentioned, sick with a cold, and by that time feeling tired and kind of lousy, but also because it just struck me as such an odd activity. In Spain, going to clubs and discotecas is not odd, because that is what Spaniards like to do (although I have yet to do so myself). But in Morocco, where no one drinks alcohol, and it’s extremely improper for women and men to dance together in such ways, and where the only clubs are the ones built at hotels for use by tourists, it just wasn’t something I wanted to do. I went to Morocco to see Morocco, to get an idea of what life is like there, however small that idea may be, and I certainly would not achieve that idea by participating in activities that no Moroccan does, in a secluded environment full of only American tourists. Anyway, I took some Sudafed and went to sleep.
The next morning, we went first to ride camels—again, silly and touristy, but I suppose I can now check “riding camels” off my to-do list. It was sort of just a two-minute circle around an expanse of dirt. Camels don’t even live in that part of Morocco; they live in the desert in the south. But it was fun, and I never object to getting to pet/interact with animals, so whatever. After the camels, we went to the Pillars of Hercules, where the Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean meet. There were some cool caves we went in, which looked out onto the ocean. The geology of the site was really interesting, and the sea was beautiful (yeah, I’m a desert child, so water is fascinating). We didn’t have much time there, and left after about twenty minutes to catch our ferry back to Spain.
So conclusions. I would have liked a smaller group. With the group the size it was, walking through the tiny winding streets of Tetuan and Chefchaoen I often felt quite uncomfortably conspicuous. And this definitely wasn’t my ideal tour group. It seemed that the focus of the group and the focus of many of the people with whom I was travelling was to party and shop. I can party or shop anywhere—if I’m going to travel to a distant land, especially for so little time, I want to do things, see things, eat things, learn things that I can only do, see, eat, learn there. There’s a group that CC-CS works with, in which you live with a Moroccan family for a couple days, so you really get to see how the average Moroccan family lives. But all those trips were four or five days, and I wanted a three-day trip, so I could do it in a weekend and not miss class. But despite all that, I am very glad I went. I don’t know when I will get another chance to go Morocco. There is no better way to learn about a culture than to visit it, and I learned a lot about Morocco even in the short time I was there. Even despite the touristy nature of the trip, I was able to acquaint myself a bit with the character of Morocco. So I am definitely glad I went, and I did enjoy my time there a lot, despite all the complaining I seem to be doing in the blog.
This was long. I will stop rambling now. Kudos if you have made it this far. Goodnight!
As I had previously mentioned, I went to Morocco (or, in Spanish, Marruecos) this weekend, arriving back in Sevilla yesterday around six. My review of the trip is going to be somewhat mixed. Morocco the country was beautiful, but the group we went with, We Love Spain, was extremely touristy, in sort of the negative, “let’s just see a caricature of the culture and not the culture itself” sort of way. I knew before going that it probably would be based on the itinerary and the group’s website and such, but I really wanted to be able to see Morocco on one of my three-day weekends, and all the other tours I knew of were 5 or 6 days, so I went ahead with it. And I’m really glad I did, because I learned so much even from my short time there. However, I do have a few complaints that colored my experience a bit.
I will start with said complaints. First off, the group was too big. The weekend I went was the weekend of el Día de Andalucía, so all the schools had a holiday that Monday, meaning a lot of people wanted to travel, so the group was huge. They really should have had a cut off on people, even if that meant that I wouldn’t have been able to go, because the hugeness of the group just made us so conspicuous. Moreover, many of the things we did, and the attitudes of a lot of people in the group, were extremely touristy. We went to extremely touristy restaurants with “authentic” dancing and “authentic” food, in which there was not a single native Moroccan eating. I say authentic in quotation marks, not because I think the performances or the food were not authentic, but because I object to the attitude that what is “authentic” about a country is only some sort of caricature of its folk history. Many countries and regions within countries, like Spain and Andalucía, or the U.S., and states within the U.S., have folk culture that they highly value and try to keep alive, but I object to the attitude that this folk culture is the only thing “authentic” about a country. And I don’t need to go to ritzy, touristy restaurants to eat “authentic” Moroccan food—whatever they cook in Morocco is authentically Moroccan. I also highly doubt that the average Moroccan sits in an elegant, highly decorated hall with dancers for most of their meals. And the attitudes of some of the people in our group were, I felt, a bit clueless. We were going to a Muslim country, and yet there were girls wearing extremely tight leggings instead of actual pants and low-cut shirts. Not that I necessarily agree with Muslim ideals of female modesty, but when one is travelling to a country with such standards of modesty, one ought to consider the way one dresses a little more, so as not to draw unwanted attention and as not to display an attitude of insensitivity. Moreover, Muslims do not drink alcohol, and yet there was alcohol available to drink in the hotels and the club that was on the itinerary. It just seemed so odd to me that as visitors in a Muslim country, our group would seek out entertainment activities that were prohibited by the prevailing religion of the country. Add to that, I had a cold that weekend, so that also made me a little grumpy.
That said, Morocco was a fascinating places, and it was a very interesting trip. I often think I am culturally savvy, and that I know a lot about lots of different places, and then I go to said places and realize that I know nothing. I was very surprised by how green Morocco was. Our tour guide explained to us that Morocco is divided into northern and southern halves by a large mountain range (I think he called them the Rift Mountains), and while south of the mountains is the desert, north of it is very green, as I saw. I blush to admit that the image I probably had in my head was of some desert with dusty adobe-like buildings and men with turbans with cloths across their faces to keep the sand out of their lungs. So being able to go to Morocco and learn the error of this impression was definitely worth the €180 it cost.
Anyway, enough prefacing, and onward to actual description. We left Sevilla on Saturday morning. After a two-hour bus ride and a 45-minute ferry, we arrived in Ceuta, which is a Spanish town on the coast of North Africa. We had a quick tour of this town before crossing the border into Morocco. While crossing the border, I had my first glimpse of the way in which at least some, if not many, Moroccan men perceive American women. There were a couple blonde girls wearing, as I said above, very tight leggings and low-cut shirts, and as the Moroccan police officer checking our passports looked over theirs, he made some flirtatious small talk. When he looked at Alicia’s and my passports next, he gave us a quick “ok” and moved on. We were quite grateful that our brown hair and more unremarkable clothing made us appear less exotic and less flirt-worthy, but it was not the only time I observed behaviors that seemed to imply an belief that American girls are easy. It was definitely worse for blondes—I saw once, while we were walking through the streets of Chefchaoen, a guy put his face right up next to a blonde girl’s face, who was just minding her own business, and say something. Not all Moroccan women wore veils, and some even wore pants, but there just seemed to be a fairly prevalent assumption that American girls are an object of flirtation.
I digress. We spent that night in Tetuan. We had some free time when we arrived at the hotel, but it was raining a fair bit, and it was dark, and we were all tired, so after checking into our rooms Alicia and I showered, ate dinner with the group in the hotel restaurant, and went to bed early. When we arrived at the hotel, we were given cups of a tea, which is apparently sort of a traditional tea to serve to guests, in hotels, homes, or other functions with lots of people. It’s sweetened green tea with mint. We had this several different places—both our hotels and the two restaurants we went to. I liked it, although in one hotel it was sweeter and more minty than the others, and I felt like I was drinking heated mouthwash.
The next morning began with a short bus tour of Tetuan, which became a bus ride to the town of Chefchaoen. Our Moroccan guide for the trip was named Larby (or something like that, I am probably spelling it wrong), and I really enjoyed listening to everything he told us. As we were driving through Tetuan, there were Moroccan flags everywhere (a red background with a green five-pointed star, representing the five pillars of Islam). Larby explained that was because the king had just been there, as we had come shortly after one of their big religious holidays, celebrating the birth of the prophet Mohammed. During this holiday, the king has to travel to the city of Rabat, hence why he had journeyed through Tetuan. Larby also told us how this king had studied abroad (he didn’t say where, but I imagine somewhere in Europe), and because of these influences, the current queen of Morocco is the first queen that has ever been known to the public. Usually the weddings are private, and while the public knows the names of the children, the name and face of the queen are withheld from public knowledge. But the current king had a public wedding, and the queen has something of a celebrity status. I think it’s really interesting to observe this change, and reflect on what its implications might be in the coming years.
Chefchaoen was a smaller town than Tetuan, situated in the mountains. We walked for a while through the old city center with local guides. Our guide (I don’t know his name) was so interesting. He was a somewhat elderly man, but certainly not frail. He knew so much about the history of Morocco and Chefchaoen, and he spoke five or six languages. Actually, something else I didn’t know, almost all Moroccans speak at least three languages. They grow up speaking Arabic, or rather a dialect of Arabic, with regionally specific vocabulary. But they also know classic Arabic, the Arabic of the Quran, and they can speak this to people from other Arabic-speaking countries. Then when they are nine or so years old, they learn French in school, because that is the official language of administration of Morocco. About high school age, they learn a third language, choosing between English, Spanish, or German. Most of the people in the area where we were chose Spanish, as we were in the northern part, close to Spain; as such, it was more effective to talk to people in the streets in Spanish than in English.
The streets of Chefchaoen were beautiful. I believe the part we walked around was kind of what might be termed “Old Town,” but there were definitely a lot of residences there, and while there were also some more souvenir-y type shops, there were also the sorts of stores that one visits to carry out one’s daily business. In this area, all the walls and the bricks on the ground were painted a pale blue. Our guide explained that this wasn’t the original color. Originally, everything was painted white, symbolizing peace, or green, symbolizing the body of Muslim believers. The blue color was brought in from the Moors who had conquered Spain and had been living in Granada. Blue symbolizes divinity in Islam, but also it was a color well suited to temperature regulation, as it held heat in the winter and reflected heat away in the summer.
After a tour of the center of Chefchaoen, there was some free time to browse the market place, where such items as jewelry, scarves, pottery, and food were for sale. I wasn’t really in the mood to buy much, as the aforementioned super-touristyness of the group was bothering me a bit, and because bargaining is an accepted part of Moroccan culture, and I really do not like bargaining. It stresses me out a lot. I would much rather just have the shopkeeper or vendor tell me a price, and then pay that price. I did however buy some little pastries to snack on, which were quite good.
We returned to Tetuan for lunch, where we went to probably the single most touristy restaurant in the entire city. As I said above, there was a performance of different types of dance while we ate, and a henna artist doing tattoos for €3, and not a Moroccan face among the diners, except tour guides. I was somewhat unimpressed with the dancing, especially with the belly dancer. I have seen much better belly dancers in the U.S., women who exhibited amazing control over their muscles, who were quite sensual, but not exactly provocative. Despite being scantily clad, these dancers’ motions weren’t supposed to be arousing; rather, they demonstrated an amazing degree of control and self-assertion. This “belly” dancer just sort of pranced around a bit in a flowy skirt and bikini-type top. I might be inclined to think that maybe that is Moroccan belly dancing, and that what I have seen as belly dancing comes from different regions, but the belly dancer in the Morocco pavilion in Epcot belonged more to the first class of belly dancers I described. Many of you are probably thinking, “Really, Christy, did you really just compare Morocco with Walt Disney World?” But the king of Morocco himself oversaw the design of the Morocco pavilion, because he wanted to be sure Disney got it right, so I feel inclined to believe that the belly dancing there is more what one might call “authentic,” whatever that means, and what we saw was just a half-clothed woman to appease tourists with fat wallets. I’m having a little trouble explaining what it was that bothered me so much, but I guess it seemed that the dancing in this restaurant wasn’t art, and the performers weren’t artists. They didn’t seem to have an artistic connection to their work, it was just a job to solicit money from the rich tourists. Aside from all this complaining, though, the food was quite good. I especially enjoyed some chicken they gave us with a spicy sauce, which might have had some lemon in it. For desert, they gave us that minty tea and some pastries with dates and coated with powdered sugar.
After lunch, we toured a bit around the center of Tetuan. Again, our group was just too huge, and walking in this giant group of at least thirty Americans through these tiny little streets was a little uncomfortable. We were an absolute magnet to vendors displaying random assortments of jewelry and handbags and whatnot, although I guess that would have been true of a small group as well. But it was quite interesting to walk through the market and see what was for sale. This was definitely the sort of market where the average person would go to do their day-to-day shopping, although, of course, there were here and there the requisite souvenir-y type shop; it is what one might call downtown, so any tourists to the city would surely go there. But you would see vendors with blankets full of underwear, or remote controls, or movies. We passed several shops that made the traditional gown that women wear when they go out. It’s an ankle length gown with long sleeves, and it comes in many different colors. Women also wear a gown similar to this for their wedding, with the addition of a gold belt. These belts run $15,000 to $16,000, so most women just rent them. We passed a couple shops selling/renting these belts, and they were very beautiful and ornate.
It was also interesting to notice how few women were out. Not that there were no women, but distinctly fewer than men. A lot of the women wore those gowns I mentioned, and veils on their head, but not all. Some wore the gowns, but no veil, and some wore veils, but more “Western” looking pants, blouses, and boots.
We then hopped back on the bus to Tangiers. We dined at, again, the single most touristy restaurant in all the whole city, also complete with dancers, and this time with the addition of men riding horses wielding swords. But the food was also quite good, and being quite tired I was happy to eat. Later that night, beginning at 1 a.m., the group went to the club I mentioned earlier, but I opted not to go. Mostly because I was, as I mentioned, sick with a cold, and by that time feeling tired and kind of lousy, but also because it just struck me as such an odd activity. In Spain, going to clubs and discotecas is not odd, because that is what Spaniards like to do (although I have yet to do so myself). But in Morocco, where no one drinks alcohol, and it’s extremely improper for women and men to dance together in such ways, and where the only clubs are the ones built at hotels for use by tourists, it just wasn’t something I wanted to do. I went to Morocco to see Morocco, to get an idea of what life is like there, however small that idea may be, and I certainly would not achieve that idea by participating in activities that no Moroccan does, in a secluded environment full of only American tourists. Anyway, I took some Sudafed and went to sleep.
The next morning, we went first to ride camels—again, silly and touristy, but I suppose I can now check “riding camels” off my to-do list. It was sort of just a two-minute circle around an expanse of dirt. Camels don’t even live in that part of Morocco; they live in the desert in the south. But it was fun, and I never object to getting to pet/interact with animals, so whatever. After the camels, we went to the Pillars of Hercules, where the Mediterranean Sea and Atlantic Ocean meet. There were some cool caves we went in, which looked out onto the ocean. The geology of the site was really interesting, and the sea was beautiful (yeah, I’m a desert child, so water is fascinating). We didn’t have much time there, and left after about twenty minutes to catch our ferry back to Spain.
So conclusions. I would have liked a smaller group. With the group the size it was, walking through the tiny winding streets of Tetuan and Chefchaoen I often felt quite uncomfortably conspicuous. And this definitely wasn’t my ideal tour group. It seemed that the focus of the group and the focus of many of the people with whom I was travelling was to party and shop. I can party or shop anywhere—if I’m going to travel to a distant land, especially for so little time, I want to do things, see things, eat things, learn things that I can only do, see, eat, learn there. There’s a group that CC-CS works with, in which you live with a Moroccan family for a couple days, so you really get to see how the average Moroccan family lives. But all those trips were four or five days, and I wanted a three-day trip, so I could do it in a weekend and not miss class. But despite all that, I am very glad I went. I don’t know when I will get another chance to go Morocco. There is no better way to learn about a culture than to visit it, and I learned a lot about Morocco even in the short time I was there. Even despite the touristy nature of the trip, I was able to acquaint myself a bit with the character of Morocco. So I am definitely glad I went, and I did enjoy my time there a lot, despite all the complaining I seem to be doing in the blog.
This was long. I will stop rambling now. Kudos if you have made it this far. Goodnight!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
El Alcázar—Day 23, February 25, 2010
Today was our final field trip day with the Center, and this time my group went to the Alcázar in Sevilla. Unfortunately, it was raining again, so I wasn’t able to stay as long as I would have liked. And I had not replaced my camera battery after Córdoba, so I couldn’t take pictures. However, I get in free with my International Student Identity Card (henceforth to be known as ISIC), so I will most definitely be going back sometime to take pictures and wander the rooms and the gardens, because it is gorgeous. Although much of the palace is not original Moorish construction, the mudéjar style here was also popular, as it was in Córdoba. There are many rooms in the palace that look “Arabian,” but you can tell they are not, because within the geometric designs are lions, symbols of the reign of León, which would never have appeared in the original Muslim design. But between the shapes of the doorways and the geometric tile mosaics on the walls, I felt like I was in Aladdin. I especially loved the gardens, although less so in the rain. There were groves of orange trees and geometrically shaped hedges and fountains sprinkled here and there.
And now for another tangent—shopping and interculturality (they are mostly unrelated, but my first tangent is about to lead to a second tangent). I mentioned earlier how a lot of the shopping is really specific—you go to the papelería for paper products, the ferretería for hardware, the confitería for candy, or El Corte Inglés for everything. I am now going to talk about clothes shopping. There are a few European stores I have discovered which I like. One is H&M, which apparently exists in a few cities in the U.S., but not Albuquerque or Tulsa (go figure), and the other is Zara, which my friend Adrienne had told me about before I came. But aside from these department store type places, I have also discovered that a good way to buy clothes is to wander between all the little “super bargain” clothing stores that pepper the streets. Their selection is somewhat random, and certainly not “brand name” if that’s the sort of thing you care about (I don’t), but you can find fun items for cheap. I bought a pair of black wedges for €5 (about $8) and a pair of black pants for €11 ($16) from two of these places.
(Tangent to interculturality) A lot of these little “super bargain” stores I’ve gone in are owned by Asian immigrants (I think often Chinese, as sometimes I feel like I can almost understand some of what they are saying). I think a lot of Asian immigrants are finding sort of their economic niche in owning these stores, as well as restaurants. You don’t really see many ethnic restaurants here, the way in the U.S. you can drive down the street and pass a Mexican restaurant, a Chinese, an Indian, an Italian, and a Lebanese all in five minutes. But most of the (non-Spanish) restaurants I have seen are either Chinese or Japanese. I keep meaning to try one of the Chinese restaurants, both because I think it’d be interesting to see what it’s like here, and because I’ve really been missing Chinese food.
It’s interesting, because Spain has never really had many immigrants until just recently. As Alicia’s language professor said, people used to say that Spain is not a racist country, but that’s because everyone was the same. But now, they are receiving a lot more immigrants, and all of a sudden, they are having to confront racial differences. There is definitely a degree of racism here, although to my knowledge it has not manifested itself in much violence (I could just be clueless, though). But even my host mom, who isn’t exactly racist, has made some comments that seem to put some distance between her and the Romanian or Chinese or Peruvian immigrants. Things along the lines of “I respect them as people and they have the right to live their lives, but I’m not really interested in learning anything about their culture.” So not exactly racist, but sort of hesitant and distancing herself from new cultural influences. I think this is an interesting time to come to Spain because of that aspect. It’s something I didn’t really know about before coming here. I mean, I’d heard that in many places in Europe, racism towards certain groups is a lot more open than it is in the U.S. My program had available on their website and in the acceptance packet they gave us some advice to African-American students coming to study in Spain, because there are not a lot of people of African descent in Spain. I guess I’m just so used to trying to be racially sensitive (and hopefully succeeding in said endeavor, although I cannot be the judge of my success, only of my intentions) and I’m so used to a society in which racism has been and continues to be an issue of public consciousness, coming to a place where such interracial confrontations had not yet occurred is a little odd. Starting next week I have a class on Spain and Immigration, and after having observed these things, I’m even more excited for this class. It should be really interesting.
So, with those tangents, I think that’s about it, except for a quick side note—I have some Spanish children to tutor in English! I don’t know anything about them, except there are more than one and at least one is a boy, because when their mom called me she said “niños.” I get paid €8 an hour for doing this, which is definitely nice, but mostly I’m just excited for this experience. I taught clarinet in high school, but I’ve never tried to teach my own language to someone who doesn’t speak it. We’ll see. I think I should be able to find a groove, and figure out how they like to learn, and come up with something. I have my first session with them next Wednesday at 3:30, so I’ll let you know how that goes.
Anyway, I have a final for my Intensive Period class tomorrow, and I need to study. ¡Hasta luego!
And now for another tangent—shopping and interculturality (they are mostly unrelated, but my first tangent is about to lead to a second tangent). I mentioned earlier how a lot of the shopping is really specific—you go to the papelería for paper products, the ferretería for hardware, the confitería for candy, or El Corte Inglés for everything. I am now going to talk about clothes shopping. There are a few European stores I have discovered which I like. One is H&M, which apparently exists in a few cities in the U.S., but not Albuquerque or Tulsa (go figure), and the other is Zara, which my friend Adrienne had told me about before I came. But aside from these department store type places, I have also discovered that a good way to buy clothes is to wander between all the little “super bargain” clothing stores that pepper the streets. Their selection is somewhat random, and certainly not “brand name” if that’s the sort of thing you care about (I don’t), but you can find fun items for cheap. I bought a pair of black wedges for €5 (about $8) and a pair of black pants for €11 ($16) from two of these places.
(Tangent to interculturality) A lot of these little “super bargain” stores I’ve gone in are owned by Asian immigrants (I think often Chinese, as sometimes I feel like I can almost understand some of what they are saying). I think a lot of Asian immigrants are finding sort of their economic niche in owning these stores, as well as restaurants. You don’t really see many ethnic restaurants here, the way in the U.S. you can drive down the street and pass a Mexican restaurant, a Chinese, an Indian, an Italian, and a Lebanese all in five minutes. But most of the (non-Spanish) restaurants I have seen are either Chinese or Japanese. I keep meaning to try one of the Chinese restaurants, both because I think it’d be interesting to see what it’s like here, and because I’ve really been missing Chinese food.
It’s interesting, because Spain has never really had many immigrants until just recently. As Alicia’s language professor said, people used to say that Spain is not a racist country, but that’s because everyone was the same. But now, they are receiving a lot more immigrants, and all of a sudden, they are having to confront racial differences. There is definitely a degree of racism here, although to my knowledge it has not manifested itself in much violence (I could just be clueless, though). But even my host mom, who isn’t exactly racist, has made some comments that seem to put some distance between her and the Romanian or Chinese or Peruvian immigrants. Things along the lines of “I respect them as people and they have the right to live their lives, but I’m not really interested in learning anything about their culture.” So not exactly racist, but sort of hesitant and distancing herself from new cultural influences. I think this is an interesting time to come to Spain because of that aspect. It’s something I didn’t really know about before coming here. I mean, I’d heard that in many places in Europe, racism towards certain groups is a lot more open than it is in the U.S. My program had available on their website and in the acceptance packet they gave us some advice to African-American students coming to study in Spain, because there are not a lot of people of African descent in Spain. I guess I’m just so used to trying to be racially sensitive (and hopefully succeeding in said endeavor, although I cannot be the judge of my success, only of my intentions) and I’m so used to a society in which racism has been and continues to be an issue of public consciousness, coming to a place where such interracial confrontations had not yet occurred is a little odd. Starting next week I have a class on Spain and Immigration, and after having observed these things, I’m even more excited for this class. It should be really interesting.
So, with those tangents, I think that’s about it, except for a quick side note—I have some Spanish children to tutor in English! I don’t know anything about them, except there are more than one and at least one is a boy, because when their mom called me she said “niños.” I get paid €8 an hour for doing this, which is definitely nice, but mostly I’m just excited for this experience. I taught clarinet in high school, but I’ve never tried to teach my own language to someone who doesn’t speak it. We’ll see. I think I should be able to find a groove, and figure out how they like to learn, and come up with something. I have my first session with them next Wednesday at 3:30, so I’ll let you know how that goes.
Anyway, I have a final for my Intensive Period class tomorrow, and I need to study. ¡Hasta luego!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
¡Qué mal tiempo!, Or, the rain in Spain has left the plain and migrated to Sevilla—Day 22, February 24, 2010
As I believe I mentioned earlier, it’s been rather chilly here recently, although what I call chilly, the sevillanos call cold. And even when it’s cold, I can deal with cold; it hasn’t been intensely, terribly cold. Inside the houses, it’s been freezing, often colder than outside, which is annoying when I would like to go inside to warm up. But what has been bothering me, and what my title this time refers to, is that it has been raining almost non-stop for the past two weeks. Which is especially annoying when I have to trek across the city via foot, bus, and tram at least twice a day, usually more, to get to class, and when my socks and jeans don’t dry inside because it’s colder inside than outside, and Carmen doesn’t have a dryer. The sun showed his lovely face a little yesterday, but he is hiding again.
You may be thinking, “Christy, you are in Spain. Stop complaining.” A valid point. However, not only is this much rain highly unusual in this area of Spain, it is proving rather harmful. There has been a lot of flooding in several cities, including Granada, I think, because they are not constructed to cope with this much precipitation. So while all this rain is just a thing of discomfort for me, as I would like to have dry shoes, it is much more than uncomfortable for many families in Andalucía. So hopefully it will stop raining soon, and start getting warm.
Onward to other topics.
I had heard that classes in the Universidad de Sevilla start off very slowly, but I was not prepared for just how slowly this would be. We spent the first three days of my Lope class going over the syllabus. Granted, it is a long syllabus. There is a list of 9 or 10 obligatory readings (plays by Lope), and then a list of extra books she thinks she should read, which are mostly biographies or commentaries or histories of the Siglo de Oro. But she went over every single work on all of these lists in detail, telling us a little about the work and the author, and how important she thought it was for us to read it and where we could get it . . . on and on. Kerry and I, and the English girl Laura, couldn’t help laughing a little, because we’d spent so much time on this syllabus. I don’t think all the classes are like this. I went to the first day of the Cervantes class I couldn’t take, just to see what it was like, and the professor handed out the syllabus, went over it a little, remarked that we could read it on our own, and then jumped right into a crash course of the history of the Golden Age. It helped that I’d studied the Golden Age before in my Theatre of Spain class, because he talked much faster than my Lope professor, with a very strong Andalucían accent, and was much more difficult to understand. There were also some times that he would ask the class a question, and I knew the answer, but no one was answering. I was quite tempted to raise my hand and answer, but as I knew I wasn’t coming back, that felt silly.
Anyway, back to Lope, I think maybe the slowness of the class is more related to this professor. There are some copies we are supposed to buy from the university copy center. I went in on Monday to get them, but I was told that she hadn’t turned in the pages to be copied yet. Also, last Wednesday, she asked us to read a sonnet and write a commentary about it, saying she’d pick a few students to read their commentaries on Monday. Accordingly, I read the sonnet and wrote a commentary. On Monday, she reminded us that she had asked us to do it, and asked that we have it for Tuesday. On Tuesday, she didn’t say anything about it. On Wednesday, just when I thought that it had gone by the wayside, she asked us to pull it out, because she wanted to have some of us read it. She said that first she’d pick a Spanish student, then un extranjero (a foreigner). Nobody was forthcoming in volunteering, except some fifty-year old guy, who before reading his commentary, had to comment rather smugly how he volunteered before any of the rest of us. After he read his commentary, she began looking for another volunteer, and we all squirmed in our seats. She then asked us if we’d done it, and about three of us, including me, raised our hands. She asked the guy sitting behind me to read his. Just when I was thinking I was off the hook, then, she asked me to read mine as well—gaarrr! I am so super self-conscious of my accent, and a couple times when I talked to my professor after class I think she had some trouble understanding me, and here I was, having to flaunt my gringa accent in front of the entire class. But I sucked it up and read my commentary as clearly as I could. I suppose, on the bright side, that may have earned me some brownie points towards that 7.5 (aka, B) that I am hoping to get.
I suppose, also, I shouldn’t be too worried about my accent in that class, as there are a lot of foreigners, mostly Erasmus students. Aside from Laura, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard some others with British accents, and I think there’s a German girl, as her computer had something that looked like German, and a Canadian girl, as she had a notebook that said “Canada.” There is also a Brazilian guy named Gustavo with whom I talked a little today. He’s really nice, and his Spanish is really good. He asked Kerry and me how long we’d been in Sevilla, and when we said “three weeks,” he told us our Spanish was very good. What I said was “Gracias.” What I was thinking was “YESSS!” I get really excited when people tell me in an earnest, not just polite sort of manner that I am speaking well, because I think maybe my accent isn’t so bad after all, and my grammar isn’t so bad after all. Even though he is Brazilian, and Portuguese is his native language, he probably hears a lot of Spanish living in South America, and I believe a lot of Brazilians learn Spanish, as it’s just handy to know.
I met my intercambio last night. His name is Aleix, and he looks to be about in his mid-twenties. He works for a business that makes small films for other businesses, as well as some of their own small films. But his aspiration is to write scripts for films. He loves the movies, including a lot of American movies. He asked me what kind of movies I like, and when I said I like Disney movies, he said he loves Pixar, and when I mentioned John Lasseter being my hero, he expressed a similar appreciation for John Lasseter. He’s very nice, and kind of artsy, which is cool, and with his appreciation for movies (especially Pixar), we should have a fair amount to talk about. His English is better than my Spanish, but he also told me my Spanish is pretty good. Actually, what he said is “Your Spanish is better than I expected,” because I have a lot of trouble speaking Spanish over the phone, and the first time he called me, he realized I was having trouble and switched to English. So I guess his comment was a compliment. But he also has a bit of an accent, although it’s quite easy to understand, so that makes me feel better about my accent.
And now, a tangent. We had a really interesting discussion in my language class today about some of the cultural differences between Spain and the U.S. There are several things on which I might like to comment, but for now I’d like to comment on the culture of food here. As I believe I mentioned earlier, eating takes a long time, and waiters in restaurants, or even coffee shops, tend to leave you alone for a long time, and when you need to go, you need to ask for the bill. In general, I think this is a better attitude. Food should be enjoyed, not scarfed, as it’s healthier that way, because your brain has time to process that you have eaten, and you miss out on the pleasure of good food if you are just shoving stuff down your throat so you can move on to the next appointment on your agenda. It’s also nice that mealtimes are such a communal undertaking, and that even just a cup of coffee is valuable as a shared experience. That being said, sometimes one is just hungry, or in need of caffeine, and one just needs food, and needs it quickly. I blush to admit I have now been to Starbucks here twice (something else I never thought I would do), because there have been times between classes in which I needed a quick snack, emphasis on “quick.” At Starbucks, you pay at the cash register before you get your food, meaning you can leave as soon as you are done eating. I have also learned that if you want coffee in a paper cup, so you can take it with you, you need to ask for “un café para llevar” (a coffee to take away). If you don’t, you will get it in a ceramic cup. Moreover, food here is just not made to be eaten quickly or on the run. I’ve had to ask for sack lunches a few times from Carmen, as I haven’t had time to return for lunch, and I get a sandwich and a piece of fruit. Usually, I’m still kind of hungry after eating this, especially with both lunch and dinner being eaten so late. But there’s not really anything else I could ask for. She doesn’t have baby carrots, chopped veggies, granola bars, or yogurt cups I could ask for. When one goes shopping in Spain, one buys ingredients for what one is going to cook that day, and possibly the next day. One does not stock up on little snacks to be eaten quickly. And I don’t really want to ask her to buy snacks especially for me. I guess I’ll keep going with what I’ve been taking, and if I find myself really really hungry, maybe I’ll request something.
Something I had observed, and that was commented upon in our class discussion today, people here do not eat while walking or in the streets. I had noticed a few times that if I was eating an apple or a sandwich between my classes at the Center and my university class, people would give me strange looks. Today in class, Prof. Dorado said that it is considered somewhat rude to eat while walking, and it’s something parents will teach their children not to do. Apparently, there’s a myth that if you eat in the streets, you won’t get married—oops. So I will try not to eat in the streets unless it’s an absolute necessity, because I certainly don’t want people looking at me and thinking I’m crude. But I find it odd that when one is both hungry and in a hurry, one cannot multi task by eating and walking.
This has been long—sorry about that. I suppose if I wrote more often, I would not write so much each time. All for now.
You may be thinking, “Christy, you are in Spain. Stop complaining.” A valid point. However, not only is this much rain highly unusual in this area of Spain, it is proving rather harmful. There has been a lot of flooding in several cities, including Granada, I think, because they are not constructed to cope with this much precipitation. So while all this rain is just a thing of discomfort for me, as I would like to have dry shoes, it is much more than uncomfortable for many families in Andalucía. So hopefully it will stop raining soon, and start getting warm.
Onward to other topics.
I had heard that classes in the Universidad de Sevilla start off very slowly, but I was not prepared for just how slowly this would be. We spent the first three days of my Lope class going over the syllabus. Granted, it is a long syllabus. There is a list of 9 or 10 obligatory readings (plays by Lope), and then a list of extra books she thinks she should read, which are mostly biographies or commentaries or histories of the Siglo de Oro. But she went over every single work on all of these lists in detail, telling us a little about the work and the author, and how important she thought it was for us to read it and where we could get it . . . on and on. Kerry and I, and the English girl Laura, couldn’t help laughing a little, because we’d spent so much time on this syllabus. I don’t think all the classes are like this. I went to the first day of the Cervantes class I couldn’t take, just to see what it was like, and the professor handed out the syllabus, went over it a little, remarked that we could read it on our own, and then jumped right into a crash course of the history of the Golden Age. It helped that I’d studied the Golden Age before in my Theatre of Spain class, because he talked much faster than my Lope professor, with a very strong Andalucían accent, and was much more difficult to understand. There were also some times that he would ask the class a question, and I knew the answer, but no one was answering. I was quite tempted to raise my hand and answer, but as I knew I wasn’t coming back, that felt silly.
Anyway, back to Lope, I think maybe the slowness of the class is more related to this professor. There are some copies we are supposed to buy from the university copy center. I went in on Monday to get them, but I was told that she hadn’t turned in the pages to be copied yet. Also, last Wednesday, she asked us to read a sonnet and write a commentary about it, saying she’d pick a few students to read their commentaries on Monday. Accordingly, I read the sonnet and wrote a commentary. On Monday, she reminded us that she had asked us to do it, and asked that we have it for Tuesday. On Tuesday, she didn’t say anything about it. On Wednesday, just when I thought that it had gone by the wayside, she asked us to pull it out, because she wanted to have some of us read it. She said that first she’d pick a Spanish student, then un extranjero (a foreigner). Nobody was forthcoming in volunteering, except some fifty-year old guy, who before reading his commentary, had to comment rather smugly how he volunteered before any of the rest of us. After he read his commentary, she began looking for another volunteer, and we all squirmed in our seats. She then asked us if we’d done it, and about three of us, including me, raised our hands. She asked the guy sitting behind me to read his. Just when I was thinking I was off the hook, then, she asked me to read mine as well—gaarrr! I am so super self-conscious of my accent, and a couple times when I talked to my professor after class I think she had some trouble understanding me, and here I was, having to flaunt my gringa accent in front of the entire class. But I sucked it up and read my commentary as clearly as I could. I suppose, on the bright side, that may have earned me some brownie points towards that 7.5 (aka, B) that I am hoping to get.
I suppose, also, I shouldn’t be too worried about my accent in that class, as there are a lot of foreigners, mostly Erasmus students. Aside from Laura, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard some others with British accents, and I think there’s a German girl, as her computer had something that looked like German, and a Canadian girl, as she had a notebook that said “Canada.” There is also a Brazilian guy named Gustavo with whom I talked a little today. He’s really nice, and his Spanish is really good. He asked Kerry and me how long we’d been in Sevilla, and when we said “three weeks,” he told us our Spanish was very good. What I said was “Gracias.” What I was thinking was “YESSS!” I get really excited when people tell me in an earnest, not just polite sort of manner that I am speaking well, because I think maybe my accent isn’t so bad after all, and my grammar isn’t so bad after all. Even though he is Brazilian, and Portuguese is his native language, he probably hears a lot of Spanish living in South America, and I believe a lot of Brazilians learn Spanish, as it’s just handy to know.
I met my intercambio last night. His name is Aleix, and he looks to be about in his mid-twenties. He works for a business that makes small films for other businesses, as well as some of their own small films. But his aspiration is to write scripts for films. He loves the movies, including a lot of American movies. He asked me what kind of movies I like, and when I said I like Disney movies, he said he loves Pixar, and when I mentioned John Lasseter being my hero, he expressed a similar appreciation for John Lasseter. He’s very nice, and kind of artsy, which is cool, and with his appreciation for movies (especially Pixar), we should have a fair amount to talk about. His English is better than my Spanish, but he also told me my Spanish is pretty good. Actually, what he said is “Your Spanish is better than I expected,” because I have a lot of trouble speaking Spanish over the phone, and the first time he called me, he realized I was having trouble and switched to English. So I guess his comment was a compliment. But he also has a bit of an accent, although it’s quite easy to understand, so that makes me feel better about my accent.
And now, a tangent. We had a really interesting discussion in my language class today about some of the cultural differences between Spain and the U.S. There are several things on which I might like to comment, but for now I’d like to comment on the culture of food here. As I believe I mentioned earlier, eating takes a long time, and waiters in restaurants, or even coffee shops, tend to leave you alone for a long time, and when you need to go, you need to ask for the bill. In general, I think this is a better attitude. Food should be enjoyed, not scarfed, as it’s healthier that way, because your brain has time to process that you have eaten, and you miss out on the pleasure of good food if you are just shoving stuff down your throat so you can move on to the next appointment on your agenda. It’s also nice that mealtimes are such a communal undertaking, and that even just a cup of coffee is valuable as a shared experience. That being said, sometimes one is just hungry, or in need of caffeine, and one just needs food, and needs it quickly. I blush to admit I have now been to Starbucks here twice (something else I never thought I would do), because there have been times between classes in which I needed a quick snack, emphasis on “quick.” At Starbucks, you pay at the cash register before you get your food, meaning you can leave as soon as you are done eating. I have also learned that if you want coffee in a paper cup, so you can take it with you, you need to ask for “un café para llevar” (a coffee to take away). If you don’t, you will get it in a ceramic cup. Moreover, food here is just not made to be eaten quickly or on the run. I’ve had to ask for sack lunches a few times from Carmen, as I haven’t had time to return for lunch, and I get a sandwich and a piece of fruit. Usually, I’m still kind of hungry after eating this, especially with both lunch and dinner being eaten so late. But there’s not really anything else I could ask for. She doesn’t have baby carrots, chopped veggies, granola bars, or yogurt cups I could ask for. When one goes shopping in Spain, one buys ingredients for what one is going to cook that day, and possibly the next day. One does not stock up on little snacks to be eaten quickly. And I don’t really want to ask her to buy snacks especially for me. I guess I’ll keep going with what I’ve been taking, and if I find myself really really hungry, maybe I’ll request something.
Something I had observed, and that was commented upon in our class discussion today, people here do not eat while walking or in the streets. I had noticed a few times that if I was eating an apple or a sandwich between my classes at the Center and my university class, people would give me strange looks. Today in class, Prof. Dorado said that it is considered somewhat rude to eat while walking, and it’s something parents will teach their children not to do. Apparently, there’s a myth that if you eat in the streets, you won’t get married—oops. So I will try not to eat in the streets unless it’s an absolute necessity, because I certainly don’t want people looking at me and thinking I’m crude. But I find it odd that when one is both hungry and in a hurry, one cannot multi task by eating and walking.
This has been long—sorry about that. I suppose if I wrote more often, I would not write so much each time. All for now.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Córdoba—Day 18, February 20, 2010
Today I went with a group from CC-CS to Córdoba, a city about an hour and half by bus northeast of Sevilla. I really liked this city a lot. It was full of charming little winding streets between whitewashed buildings with yellow painted trim around balconies and doorways. I think wandering through the streets of Córdoba was my favorite part of the trip. Apparently in the first week of May there is a festival in Córdoba in which all the families open up their private patios and decorate them with flowers and have dancing and music and food, and there competitions for who has the prettiest patio.
The first thing we visited was the mezquita (the mosque). Although I think it is more properly referred to as la mezquita-catedral, because after the reconquista of Córdoba it was transformed into a cathedral, and Catholic masses are held there to this day. In fact, a cathedral was constructed inside the mezquita, complete with ornate mahogany carvings of saints and giant organs. It seems a little odd, and I wonder why it was so important to construct all of this, instead of just using the available space, but whatever. The mezquita is huge, and extremely beautiful. It has un patio de naranjos, just like La Catedral here in Sevilla, where the Muslims would wash before going in to worship. There is also a large tower in this mezquita, because all mosques have a tower called a minaret. However, in this mezquita, the Christian conqueres built a larger bell tower around the original minaret. The original minaret still exists, but it is completely encased in the new bell tower.
The main hall of worship is this vast open space filled with row upon row of columns of marble, jasper, or granite. On top of the columns are two layers of red and white arches to support the roof. The arches were not made red and white on purpose. They have alternating stripes of brick and limestone, because it’s more structurally sound, but it looks quite pretty, as if it had been made on purpose. None of the columns match, nor do the ornate stones at the tops of the columns (a word which I cannot recall), because they were recycled from previous buildings, as it was much cheaper to harvest these pre-made pieces than to import and carve all the necessary stone. Such lack of symmetry certainly would not appeal to a Neoclassicist sensibility, but I kind of liked it.
As I said, a cathedral was constructed inside the original mezquita. It’s realy interesting to compare the Muslim and the Christian decorations. Muslims believe that only Allah can create life, and as such, they do not use any representations of animals or people in their artwork. Most of their designs, then, involve geometric patterns or Arabic script. Upon entering the Cathedral, though, there are images of saints and Biblical figures everywhere. As my guide in the Cathedral explained, most of the Christian population of this time was illiterate, so the architects of the cathedrals used images to convey Biblical stories.
After the mezquita, we walked through the streets and through the judería, or the old Jewish barrio. According to our guide, there is no longer a Jewish community in Córdoba, as they were all kicked out during the Inquisition. There are still Jewish communities in some of the bigger cities of Spain, like Sevilla, Málaga, Madrid, Barcelona, etc., but not in Córdoba. We also visited the old synagogue, which is no longer a functioning synagogue, only a tribute to the historical legacy of the Jews in the city. There are only three of these old synagogues left in Spain—this one in Córdoba and two in Toledo. Much of the decoration in the synagogue is in the mudejar style, a mixture of Muslim and Christian designs, that was popular in the period after the Reconquista. Many of the artisans were Muslims, and many of the Christians who commissioned buildings liked the geometric designs of the Muslims. However, it is clear that the synagogue actually was a Jewish synagogue because along with the mudejar geometric designs, there were also Hebrew letters.
We went next to the Alcázar, or the palace. Unfortunately, my camera battery died just as we were entering, so I have no pictures to show you. But the gardens of the Alcázar were gorgeous, with fountains and groves of orange trees and statues of grim looking kings that, in my nerdiness, reminded me of the Argonath in The Lord of the Rings (if you don’t know what the Argonath are, I will let you look it up and refrain from explaining). There were also some plants with little peppers growing on them, that looked kind of like those little red peppers you will see in Chinese cooking. I really wanted to try one and see if they were hot, but I thought stealing peppers from the garden of the king might be a poor idea.
We had some free time then to wander through the streets at our leisure. I didn’t do any shopping (except for some chocolate ice cream), because I needed to watch my budget, but I just loved all the charming little streets and patios. We were sometimes able to see into people’s private patios, but I felt odd taking pictures of people’s homes. However, when I got back, Carmen mentioned something about the festival and how we (she, Alicia, and I) should go see it, so potentially I might be going back to Córdoba in May, then photographing private homes will not only be accepted, but encouraged.
I suppose that’s all for now. Alicia and I did a little shopping when I got back from Córdoba, but I won’t bore you too much with those details. Apparently one of the items on our itinerary in Morocco is to go toe club in our hotel in Tangiers, and having never been to a club ever, I don’t have anything club-worthy to wear, so I wanted to find something for that. I will let you know how the club goes . . . I have a feeling I won’t be staying too long.
The first thing we visited was the mezquita (the mosque). Although I think it is more properly referred to as la mezquita-catedral, because after the reconquista of Córdoba it was transformed into a cathedral, and Catholic masses are held there to this day. In fact, a cathedral was constructed inside the mezquita, complete with ornate mahogany carvings of saints and giant organs. It seems a little odd, and I wonder why it was so important to construct all of this, instead of just using the available space, but whatever. The mezquita is huge, and extremely beautiful. It has un patio de naranjos, just like La Catedral here in Sevilla, where the Muslims would wash before going in to worship. There is also a large tower in this mezquita, because all mosques have a tower called a minaret. However, in this mezquita, the Christian conqueres built a larger bell tower around the original minaret. The original minaret still exists, but it is completely encased in the new bell tower.
The main hall of worship is this vast open space filled with row upon row of columns of marble, jasper, or granite. On top of the columns are two layers of red and white arches to support the roof. The arches were not made red and white on purpose. They have alternating stripes of brick and limestone, because it’s more structurally sound, but it looks quite pretty, as if it had been made on purpose. None of the columns match, nor do the ornate stones at the tops of the columns (a word which I cannot recall), because they were recycled from previous buildings, as it was much cheaper to harvest these pre-made pieces than to import and carve all the necessary stone. Such lack of symmetry certainly would not appeal to a Neoclassicist sensibility, but I kind of liked it.
As I said, a cathedral was constructed inside the original mezquita. It’s realy interesting to compare the Muslim and the Christian decorations. Muslims believe that only Allah can create life, and as such, they do not use any representations of animals or people in their artwork. Most of their designs, then, involve geometric patterns or Arabic script. Upon entering the Cathedral, though, there are images of saints and Biblical figures everywhere. As my guide in the Cathedral explained, most of the Christian population of this time was illiterate, so the architects of the cathedrals used images to convey Biblical stories.
After the mezquita, we walked through the streets and through the judería, or the old Jewish barrio. According to our guide, there is no longer a Jewish community in Córdoba, as they were all kicked out during the Inquisition. There are still Jewish communities in some of the bigger cities of Spain, like Sevilla, Málaga, Madrid, Barcelona, etc., but not in Córdoba. We also visited the old synagogue, which is no longer a functioning synagogue, only a tribute to the historical legacy of the Jews in the city. There are only three of these old synagogues left in Spain—this one in Córdoba and two in Toledo. Much of the decoration in the synagogue is in the mudejar style, a mixture of Muslim and Christian designs, that was popular in the period after the Reconquista. Many of the artisans were Muslims, and many of the Christians who commissioned buildings liked the geometric designs of the Muslims. However, it is clear that the synagogue actually was a Jewish synagogue because along with the mudejar geometric designs, there were also Hebrew letters.
We went next to the Alcázar, or the palace. Unfortunately, my camera battery died just as we were entering, so I have no pictures to show you. But the gardens of the Alcázar were gorgeous, with fountains and groves of orange trees and statues of grim looking kings that, in my nerdiness, reminded me of the Argonath in The Lord of the Rings (if you don’t know what the Argonath are, I will let you look it up and refrain from explaining). There were also some plants with little peppers growing on them, that looked kind of like those little red peppers you will see in Chinese cooking. I really wanted to try one and see if they were hot, but I thought stealing peppers from the garden of the king might be a poor idea.
We had some free time then to wander through the streets at our leisure. I didn’t do any shopping (except for some chocolate ice cream), because I needed to watch my budget, but I just loved all the charming little streets and patios. We were sometimes able to see into people’s private patios, but I felt odd taking pictures of people’s homes. However, when I got back, Carmen mentioned something about the festival and how we (she, Alicia, and I) should go see it, so potentially I might be going back to Córdoba in May, then photographing private homes will not only be accepted, but encouraged.
I suppose that’s all for now. Alicia and I did a little shopping when I got back from Córdoba, but I won’t bore you too much with those details. Apparently one of the items on our itinerary in Morocco is to go toe club in our hotel in Tangiers, and having never been to a club ever, I don’t have anything club-worthy to wear, so I wanted to find something for that. I will let you know how the club goes . . . I have a feeling I won’t be staying too long.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Oreos y Mantequilla de Cacahuete—Day 17, February 19, 2010
This may be kind of a short entry, as I don’t have too much to talk about, but there are just a few tidbits to update you all on.
Yesterday was one of our field trip days. My group went to La Itálica, the ruins of a Roman city that housed some of their soldiers during the Punic Wars. In the center was a giant gladiator ring. The professor who was guiding us told us how these gladiator games weren’t just entertainment, they were sort of religious sacrifices to appease their gods of war, and that people attended these games with a sense of reverence. Unfortunately, it was raining while we were there, so we didn’t stay long, but I actually kind of liked it in the rain. It seemed to fit with all the memories and the history of the place (ok, now I’m waxing silly and pseudo-poetic; I shall move on).
You may be wondering about the title of this entry. We (Kerry, Alicia, and I) decided that we were extremely craving a few American type foods, namely, Oreos, peanut butter, and chips. Most of the food here in Spain is very fresh and unprocessed, and when you go grocery shopping, generally you go to the frutería to buy fresh fruit, and the carnicería (butcher shop) to buy meat, and the panedería (bakery) to buy bread, and rather than shopping for a week’s worth of food, you go every day or too. If you want to buy something packaged and processed like Oreos, or peanut butter, which, as in Scotland, hardly even exists here, you have to go to a supermercado, which are rather less common than all the little specialized stands. So, we ventured once again to El Corte Ingles, because we knew if any place in Spain would have such distinctly American foods, it would be El Corte Ingles. And sure enough, we found them, although it took some searching to find the peanut butter. When I checked out, my purchase consisted of a package of Oreos, a jar of peanut butter, a package of Snickers bars, and a bottle of Diet Coke. My blood pressure wept at the purchase, but my taste buds rejoiced.
A random side note here: I have been having to come to terms with the fact that I am probably going to have to kiss my academic virginity good bye. TU requires that language majors who study abroad take a class at the local university; accordingly, I am taking the class on Lope de Vega that I mentioned earlier. However, European university class structure and grading are very different from those in America. Rather than giving you homework assignments throughout the year, the only grades are a final exam and maybe a final paper at the end of the semester. The students are expected to pace themselves, and study and do the reading as needed to be ready for the final. Furthermore, they grade on a scale of 1 to 10, with a 5 being a passing. Most Spaniards consider it a huge accomplishment to get a 6. It’s not exactly that American grading is inflated, but while an A is considered good but totally attainable in the U.S., here a 10 is almost unheard of. The problem is, that a 6 translates in an American grading system to a C. Michele Duran, the academic director of my program, said once they had a student who worked really hard at his university class and got a 7.5, and the professor wrote “excelente” on his final paper, and it was the highest grade they have ever seen—but a 7.5 still only translates to a B. Michele explained that anyone who looks at a transcript and sees that someone got a B from the University of Sevilla will know what that means, will know how much work that cost, and furthermore understand that it was work done in a second language. And I understand this. But still . . . I really like my 4.0. A lot. And although I know that’s not the most important thing for life or even for getting into grad school, I am rather upset about losing it. Because it seems impossible that I will get a 9, which is the minimum to translate to an A. It’s extremely frustrating knowing that no matter what I do or how hard I work, my beautiful, unsullied little 4.0 will become after this semester a 3.8 or .9 or something. My only hope is that TU might have a different system of translation, and adjust a 7.5 differently, but I have very little hope of that. If this is the price I have to pay as a language major to study abroad, then it is definitely worth it. My semester here in Spain is worth far more than 0.1 GPA point. But still . . . sigh.
I suppose with that somewhat emo note I am done for now. Tomorrow I am going to Córdoba, and a week from tomorrow I am going to Morocco—so super excited!
Yesterday was one of our field trip days. My group went to La Itálica, the ruins of a Roman city that housed some of their soldiers during the Punic Wars. In the center was a giant gladiator ring. The professor who was guiding us told us how these gladiator games weren’t just entertainment, they were sort of religious sacrifices to appease their gods of war, and that people attended these games with a sense of reverence. Unfortunately, it was raining while we were there, so we didn’t stay long, but I actually kind of liked it in the rain. It seemed to fit with all the memories and the history of the place (ok, now I’m waxing silly and pseudo-poetic; I shall move on).
You may be wondering about the title of this entry. We (Kerry, Alicia, and I) decided that we were extremely craving a few American type foods, namely, Oreos, peanut butter, and chips. Most of the food here in Spain is very fresh and unprocessed, and when you go grocery shopping, generally you go to the frutería to buy fresh fruit, and the carnicería (butcher shop) to buy meat, and the panedería (bakery) to buy bread, and rather than shopping for a week’s worth of food, you go every day or too. If you want to buy something packaged and processed like Oreos, or peanut butter, which, as in Scotland, hardly even exists here, you have to go to a supermercado, which are rather less common than all the little specialized stands. So, we ventured once again to El Corte Ingles, because we knew if any place in Spain would have such distinctly American foods, it would be El Corte Ingles. And sure enough, we found them, although it took some searching to find the peanut butter. When I checked out, my purchase consisted of a package of Oreos, a jar of peanut butter, a package of Snickers bars, and a bottle of Diet Coke. My blood pressure wept at the purchase, but my taste buds rejoiced.
A random side note here: I have been having to come to terms with the fact that I am probably going to have to kiss my academic virginity good bye. TU requires that language majors who study abroad take a class at the local university; accordingly, I am taking the class on Lope de Vega that I mentioned earlier. However, European university class structure and grading are very different from those in America. Rather than giving you homework assignments throughout the year, the only grades are a final exam and maybe a final paper at the end of the semester. The students are expected to pace themselves, and study and do the reading as needed to be ready for the final. Furthermore, they grade on a scale of 1 to 10, with a 5 being a passing. Most Spaniards consider it a huge accomplishment to get a 6. It’s not exactly that American grading is inflated, but while an A is considered good but totally attainable in the U.S., here a 10 is almost unheard of. The problem is, that a 6 translates in an American grading system to a C. Michele Duran, the academic director of my program, said once they had a student who worked really hard at his university class and got a 7.5, and the professor wrote “excelente” on his final paper, and it was the highest grade they have ever seen—but a 7.5 still only translates to a B. Michele explained that anyone who looks at a transcript and sees that someone got a B from the University of Sevilla will know what that means, will know how much work that cost, and furthermore understand that it was work done in a second language. And I understand this. But still . . . I really like my 4.0. A lot. And although I know that’s not the most important thing for life or even for getting into grad school, I am rather upset about losing it. Because it seems impossible that I will get a 9, which is the minimum to translate to an A. It’s extremely frustrating knowing that no matter what I do or how hard I work, my beautiful, unsullied little 4.0 will become after this semester a 3.8 or .9 or something. My only hope is that TU might have a different system of translation, and adjust a 7.5 differently, but I have very little hope of that. If this is the price I have to pay as a language major to study abroad, then it is definitely worth it. My semester here in Spain is worth far more than 0.1 GPA point. But still . . . sigh.
I suppose with that somewhat emo note I am done for now. Tomorrow I am going to Córdoba, and a week from tomorrow I am going to Morocco—so super excited!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Miércoles de Ceniza—Day 15, February 17, 2010
¡Uy! Sorry it’s been so long since I updated. Homework and school kind of attacked. I will try to update you on everything important that has happened in the interim. I can’t believe I’ve been in Sevilla for two weeks now.
Saturday morning, Alicia, Kerry, and I went for a walk around the barrio of Triana. Alicia has a book of neighborhood walks that point out historical sites and various points of interest throughout neighborhoods in the city. Triana is on the other side of the river from Nervión, where I live. It’s famous for its ceramic factories, where they make the beautiful azulejo that I love. Now, most of the actual factories where they fire the pieces have been moved outside the city to reduce the pollution in the city, but a lot of artisans still have shops where they paint ceramics in Triana. We visited several, and I bought a couple pieces. We also saw the Mercado de Triana (the Triana Market). The building in which it is housed is fairly modern, but there has been a market there for generations. Inside, it was filled with walled off stands, each one with a specialized product, like fruits, meats, fish, cheese, etc. I really liked it because it seemed that the people who worked there were really into their work. It wasn’t the sort of place where the employees just scan barcodes and countdown the hours until they get off. The butchers knew meat, and the fruit sellers knew fruit, knew how to recognize good products from bad products, and enjoyed sharing their knowledge.
On Sunday morning, Alicia and I went to mass in a smaller church close to where we live. It’s the church where Carmen usually goes, and her brother was a priest there. Grand as the Cathedral is, I liked this church a lot better, because it was a lot smaller and more personal. But they used a lot of incense in the mass, which made my throat extremely dry.
Sunday evening, a group of us went out to celebrate Laura’s birthday. We went to a tapas bar near the Cathedral that had vino de naranja (orange wine). There is actually a place a couple doors down that is more famous for their vino de naranja, but it was pretty small and crowded, and there were six of us, so we opted for the larger one. I tried a glass of the vino de naranja. It was very thick and quite sweet, almost like a desert wine. I was able to drink it straight because it was so sweet, but it kind of had an aftertaste like orange flavored candy. I’d like to try the vino de naranja from the other bar, where it’s famous, but I don’t know that I liked it enough to get it again otherwise.
On Monday, my class at the Universidad de Sevilla began. I was not able to get into the Cervantes class I wanted, but I am taking a class about Lope de Vega, one of the foremost playwrights in baroque Spain. The professor is very nice, but she talks much faster and with a heavier accent than my professors at the center do. They all know to slow down for Americans, but Profesora de los Reyes can’t really cater to foreigners. There are, however, several foreigners in the class besides Kerry and I, including an English girl named Laura, with whom I’ve talked a few times. She is in this program called Erasmus, which is a European program for people studying languages at the university level. She said that all students studying a language have to spend at least one year abroad (a year in one country if they’re studying one language, or a semester each in two separate countries if they are studying two languages). She’s been here for a semester already, and she is teaching an English class at the university. She’s really friendly, and I love love love her accent. I kind of want to tell her how much I like it, but she would probably find that weird.
As a side note, there has been some confusion with the end date of the university class and my program, and I will be coming home about a month earlier than originally planned. I don’t want to go into details here, just wanted to let it be known. I’m a little miffed about it, but I still have three and a half months here.
I do however have some very exciting news—I am going to Morocco a week from Saturday! I am so stoked. I had been hoping to be able to make it down there. There is a group that CC-CS works with to send students to Morocco, but those trips are all four days at the least, and I didn’t want to miss a day of school. But a found a program called We Love Spain that sends students there for three-day trips. The girl working at the office when I booked said it’s a really good length of time to get a taste of Morocco, figure out what parts she might like to visit again.
And now for a few more assorted ramblings and observations:
In my language class, we were discussing vocabulary that has to do with non-profit organizations, and my professor told us that there is a group here in Spain called Clowns without Borders (Payasos sin Fronteras). They go to hospitals to entertain ill children. I think this is really cool.
We learned a phrase in my language class that is basically the equivalent of “Go jump in a lake.” It’s “véte a freír espárragos,” which literally translated means “Go fry an asparagus.”
It has rained almost every day this past week, and I am very ready for the sun to come out. My socks and shoes and pants get extremely wet, and with the houses as cold as they are, they don’t dry very quickly. This rain, however, may be a very good excuse to go buy a new pair of rain boots, as my old ones broke.
I am getting more comfortable with Spanish, but at the same time, language fatigue is definitely starting to set in. I can understand it pretty well, I’m getting better at using subjunctive verb forms, and I’m finding myself incorporating the words I learn in class in my everyday speech. But there are times where my brain just does not want to speak Spanish at all, and I start making elementary mistakes I don’t normally make. Hopefully that will pass soon.
That’s all I can remember for now. Buenas noches.
Saturday morning, Alicia, Kerry, and I went for a walk around the barrio of Triana. Alicia has a book of neighborhood walks that point out historical sites and various points of interest throughout neighborhoods in the city. Triana is on the other side of the river from Nervión, where I live. It’s famous for its ceramic factories, where they make the beautiful azulejo that I love. Now, most of the actual factories where they fire the pieces have been moved outside the city to reduce the pollution in the city, but a lot of artisans still have shops where they paint ceramics in Triana. We visited several, and I bought a couple pieces. We also saw the Mercado de Triana (the Triana Market). The building in which it is housed is fairly modern, but there has been a market there for generations. Inside, it was filled with walled off stands, each one with a specialized product, like fruits, meats, fish, cheese, etc. I really liked it because it seemed that the people who worked there were really into their work. It wasn’t the sort of place where the employees just scan barcodes and countdown the hours until they get off. The butchers knew meat, and the fruit sellers knew fruit, knew how to recognize good products from bad products, and enjoyed sharing their knowledge.
On Sunday morning, Alicia and I went to mass in a smaller church close to where we live. It’s the church where Carmen usually goes, and her brother was a priest there. Grand as the Cathedral is, I liked this church a lot better, because it was a lot smaller and more personal. But they used a lot of incense in the mass, which made my throat extremely dry.
Sunday evening, a group of us went out to celebrate Laura’s birthday. We went to a tapas bar near the Cathedral that had vino de naranja (orange wine). There is actually a place a couple doors down that is more famous for their vino de naranja, but it was pretty small and crowded, and there were six of us, so we opted for the larger one. I tried a glass of the vino de naranja. It was very thick and quite sweet, almost like a desert wine. I was able to drink it straight because it was so sweet, but it kind of had an aftertaste like orange flavored candy. I’d like to try the vino de naranja from the other bar, where it’s famous, but I don’t know that I liked it enough to get it again otherwise.
On Monday, my class at the Universidad de Sevilla began. I was not able to get into the Cervantes class I wanted, but I am taking a class about Lope de Vega, one of the foremost playwrights in baroque Spain. The professor is very nice, but she talks much faster and with a heavier accent than my professors at the center do. They all know to slow down for Americans, but Profesora de los Reyes can’t really cater to foreigners. There are, however, several foreigners in the class besides Kerry and I, including an English girl named Laura, with whom I’ve talked a few times. She is in this program called Erasmus, which is a European program for people studying languages at the university level. She said that all students studying a language have to spend at least one year abroad (a year in one country if they’re studying one language, or a semester each in two separate countries if they are studying two languages). She’s been here for a semester already, and she is teaching an English class at the university. She’s really friendly, and I love love love her accent. I kind of want to tell her how much I like it, but she would probably find that weird.
As a side note, there has been some confusion with the end date of the university class and my program, and I will be coming home about a month earlier than originally planned. I don’t want to go into details here, just wanted to let it be known. I’m a little miffed about it, but I still have three and a half months here.
I do however have some very exciting news—I am going to Morocco a week from Saturday! I am so stoked. I had been hoping to be able to make it down there. There is a group that CC-CS works with to send students to Morocco, but those trips are all four days at the least, and I didn’t want to miss a day of school. But a found a program called We Love Spain that sends students there for three-day trips. The girl working at the office when I booked said it’s a really good length of time to get a taste of Morocco, figure out what parts she might like to visit again.
And now for a few more assorted ramblings and observations:
In my language class, we were discussing vocabulary that has to do with non-profit organizations, and my professor told us that there is a group here in Spain called Clowns without Borders (Payasos sin Fronteras). They go to hospitals to entertain ill children. I think this is really cool.
We learned a phrase in my language class that is basically the equivalent of “Go jump in a lake.” It’s “véte a freír espárragos,” which literally translated means “Go fry an asparagus.”
It has rained almost every day this past week, and I am very ready for the sun to come out. My socks and shoes and pants get extremely wet, and with the houses as cold as they are, they don’t dry very quickly. This rain, however, may be a very good excuse to go buy a new pair of rain boots, as my old ones broke.
I am getting more comfortable with Spanish, but at the same time, language fatigue is definitely starting to set in. I can understand it pretty well, I’m getting better at using subjunctive verb forms, and I’m finding myself incorporating the words I learn in class in my everyday speech. But there are times where my brain just does not want to speak Spanish at all, and I start making elementary mistakes I don’t normally make. Hopefully that will pass soon.
That’s all I can remember for now. Buenas noches.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Visitas y Paseos—Day 9, February 11, 2010
Yesterday morning, class ended two hours early so that we could go on tours of a few different sites in Sevilla. We were divided up into three groups, each with a professor or two as our guide. My group went to the Cathedral, so I was able to see it in more detail. I took some pictures, but there is no way they can possibly convey how giant and grand this place was. It used to be a mosque, but after the Reconquista, los Reyes Católicos turned it into a cathedral. But there are still remnants of the original mosque, including La Giralda, which is the giant tower and the tallest building in Sevilla (although the very top part is not original, as there was an earthquake that knocked the original top off) and the Patio de Naranjas (Patio of Oranges) with the fountains where the Muslims would wash to purify themselves before worship. The Cathedral itself has elements of Gothic, Baroque, and Renaissance architecture. Also within the Cathedral is the tomb of Christopher Columbus. Apparently lots of different places claim to have the real remains of Columbus, but, according to my professor, these are the real ones (of course, my professor may just be biased in favor of Sevilla). I’ll try to post some pictures here, when I have internet that’s more reliable.
That afternoon, after my dance class, I went with a group from our program to take a short tour of one of the buildings of the University of Sevilla. The university is divided into facultades, which are like the colleges in an American university. But they are not located together one campus. Rather, the buildings are spread out all over the city. We went to the Facultad de Filología, of humanities, which is where I will be taking my literature class. It used to be a tobacco factory, and is actually the tobacco factory in which the opera Carmen is set. The building is gorgeous, with many interior patios with fountains, and shiny marble floors and marble statues of naked men in the staircases. I must say, it was extremely intimidating. Not like American universities, which do all they can to make visitors feel welcome. There was just this sort of cold face to the University. In Spain, students don’t generally live on college campuses, and they usually just go to the university in their home city, so going to college isn’t the same sort of undertaking as it is in the States. We got a lot of odd looks, as we were a group of fifteen to twenty Americans, taking pictures. I felt like a prospee (prospective student), but I imagine the Universidad de Sevilla doesn’t exactly get prospees.
After the University tour, there was an open-air market going on in the Plaza Nueva. Kerry, Alicia, and I poked around for a bit, and I bought a scarf for 5 euro. There were a lot of different things, like scarves and hats and jewelry and food. I also bought some honey roasted (or some such thing) cashews to munch on, which were thoroughly delicious. I haven’t had a lot of nuts since I’ve been here, so I enjoyed them a lot.
Tonight, Tiffany, a friend from TU who is spending the full academic year in Granada, came into Sevilla. She is heading to the Carnaval in Cádiz this weekend (sort of Spain’s Mardi Gras), but she’s staying in Sevilla for a few nights. She, Laura, Kerry, I, and our roommates went out for tapas. We went to a place that the manager of Tiffany’s hostel recommended called Taberna Colonias. The prices were fairly cheap, with good portion sizes, and our waitress was extremely friendly. Among the dishes we tried was patatas a la brava, which consisted of fried potato coins with a spicy red sauce and a white sauce that can best be described as being like ranch. I really liked this one a lot. It also had no pork, which was definitely a plus.
I am starting to feel more integrated into the culture here. On Thursday, my group returned from our visit before Alicia’s group, and since I wasn’t sure when she would get back, I went ahead and headed home. Walking alone through the streets of Sevilla gave me this thrill, because I felt like I fit in. I wasn’t yapping in English, I knew where I was going and didn’t have to pull out a map, and the public transit didn’t faze me at all. I felt like someone could look at me and maybe mistake me for a sevilliana. Although, according to one of Carmen’s neighbors, I have a very English face. Not exactly sure why, and I don’t think I could recognize an English face, but I’m ok with looking English.
All for now. ¡Hasta luego!
That afternoon, after my dance class, I went with a group from our program to take a short tour of one of the buildings of the University of Sevilla. The university is divided into facultades, which are like the colleges in an American university. But they are not located together one campus. Rather, the buildings are spread out all over the city. We went to the Facultad de Filología, of humanities, which is where I will be taking my literature class. It used to be a tobacco factory, and is actually the tobacco factory in which the opera Carmen is set. The building is gorgeous, with many interior patios with fountains, and shiny marble floors and marble statues of naked men in the staircases. I must say, it was extremely intimidating. Not like American universities, which do all they can to make visitors feel welcome. There was just this sort of cold face to the University. In Spain, students don’t generally live on college campuses, and they usually just go to the university in their home city, so going to college isn’t the same sort of undertaking as it is in the States. We got a lot of odd looks, as we were a group of fifteen to twenty Americans, taking pictures. I felt like a prospee (prospective student), but I imagine the Universidad de Sevilla doesn’t exactly get prospees.
After the University tour, there was an open-air market going on in the Plaza Nueva. Kerry, Alicia, and I poked around for a bit, and I bought a scarf for 5 euro. There were a lot of different things, like scarves and hats and jewelry and food. I also bought some honey roasted (or some such thing) cashews to munch on, which were thoroughly delicious. I haven’t had a lot of nuts since I’ve been here, so I enjoyed them a lot.
Tonight, Tiffany, a friend from TU who is spending the full academic year in Granada, came into Sevilla. She is heading to the Carnaval in Cádiz this weekend (sort of Spain’s Mardi Gras), but she’s staying in Sevilla for a few nights. She, Laura, Kerry, I, and our roommates went out for tapas. We went to a place that the manager of Tiffany’s hostel recommended called Taberna Colonias. The prices were fairly cheap, with good portion sizes, and our waitress was extremely friendly. Among the dishes we tried was patatas a la brava, which consisted of fried potato coins with a spicy red sauce and a white sauce that can best be described as being like ranch. I really liked this one a lot. It also had no pork, which was definitely a plus.
I am starting to feel more integrated into the culture here. On Thursday, my group returned from our visit before Alicia’s group, and since I wasn’t sure when she would get back, I went ahead and headed home. Walking alone through the streets of Sevilla gave me this thrill, because I felt like I fit in. I wasn’t yapping in English, I knew where I was going and didn’t have to pull out a map, and the public transit didn’t faze me at all. I felt like someone could look at me and maybe mistake me for a sevilliana. Although, according to one of Carmen’s neighbors, I have a very English face. Not exactly sure why, and I don’t think I could recognize an English face, but I’m ok with looking English.
All for now. ¡Hasta luego!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Llevo una semana—Day 8, February 10, 2010
I have now been in Spain a full week. It’s strange to think about, and yet I feel like I’ve been here much longer. I’m starting to get used to a lot of things, like public transit. Especially now that I have my bus card, it’s much easier and less scary.
Alicia and I were late to class yesterday. There was much more traffic at 8:30 than we expected, meaning we waited for the bus a good fifteen minutes. Luckily, though, our professors were both very understanding. Maybe it’s the more laid back Spanish culture, or just that our professors understand the difficulty of adjusting to the rhythms of such a different city. Whatever the cause, I am grateful.
My professor for Cultural Realities is Luis Delgado. Thus far I like him, although after only one hour it is difficult to form much of an opinion. We’ll be doing of lot of discussions of current events in that class, as well as a weekly journal about various subjects related to contemporary Spanish culture. Afterwards, I had my dance class. We are learning the sevillano, which is related to flamenco, but different. It’s a partner dance, to be done in social settings. I’m not a good dancer, and I’m not very good at it. But that’s ok. It’s fun, and something distinctly sevillano (as the name would imply). Lola, our professor, told us that unlike other classes, we should not practice out of class. I think she doesn’t want us to remember wrong.
After classes, Kerry, Jenny, Alicia, and I met up with a friend from TU. Her name is Laura, and she is also studying here in Sevilla, but with a different program. It was very nice to see a familiar face. We went to Café de Indias and spent a while talking.
When Alicia and I returned to our home, Carmen’s sister and brother-in-law were visiting. Her brother-in-law had brought over his recently published doctoral thesis. Carmen introduced us, and we spent some time talking. I realized this was the first time I had really heard a group of Spaniards conversing together, because they used slang and turns of phrase that they generally avoid when they know they’re talking to Americans. For instance, they would use “hombre,” as a form of address/interjection, even when talking to women. I suppose it’s kind of how we might use “dude.”
This morning, Alicia and I overslept. We awoke with enough time to dress and get to class on time, but just enough. I took me forever to explain to Carmen that we overslept and so we didn’t have time to sit down for breakfast, and no, it was our fault, not hers (as she got up after we did, because she didn’t hear us moving around), and I’d like a piece of bread for the road, but it’s fine as it is, I don’t need jam, or butter, or oil, no really, plain bread is fine . . . sigh. I think I got everything I meant to say across, but this language barrier can be exhausting.
And now for a few assorted impressions and observations:
I’ve heard that one of the biggest causes of culture shock is food, but I have had very little problems with that. Granted, my host mom doesn’t like pork, so that has made adjusting my diet much easier. But although there are some things I’ve had that are very different, I like just about everything I’ve had. It seems to me that the flavors of Spanish cuisine are more muted and subtle than those of say Mexican or Indian or Chinese cuisine. As I mentioned before, the flavor for a lot of dishes comes from olive oil. Everything is very savory, but not bland; there’s a depth to the flavor. This may be partially because my señora has high blood pressure, so she doesn’t put much salt or spices in her food. But although I often like very strong flavors (like chile or curry), I don’t find the food here bland at all. The desserts are less sweet than those in the U.S., but sweeter than those I had in Scotland. Also, one more random observation concerning food, I asked Carmen for café con leche in the mornings (coffee with milk), and rather than giving me a cup of brewed coffee with some millk to add in, she boils a pot of milk, and then gives me instant coffee to stir in. Generally I prefer the flavor of brewed to instant coffee, but I must say, I really like the milk base. I think also they drink whole milk here (at least, the milk in our hotel was whole milk), so that makes it very creamy.
People here are very pushy especially when boarding or getting off the bus, or going through doorways. But they’re not as cold and grouchy as I thought they would be. In general, you don’t see strangers talking, or making eye contact, or being friendly with each other. I’ve heard from people that they’ve asked strangers directions, and received looks of “why are you talking to me?” But when there’s a reason to speak to a stranger—asking the price of something, sometimes asking directions, ordering in a restaurant—there are many who are very friendly, even with us obvious Americans. There was that lady in the tapas restaurant the other night, and a very nice man who explained to me how to recharge my bus card. It’s interesting, because socializing with friends and family is so important here. Meals take forever, because we sit at the table talking, and even still Carmen comments on how Alicia and I are always “in a hurry.” And in restaurants, the waiters tend to leave you alone long after you’ve finished eating—it’s not bad service, it’s letting you take your time. And yet, even though this aspect of a social life is so important, being friendly with strangers is so much less common (from what I have heard, this is even more true in other European countries).
There is a lot of construction around the city, or at least on my bus route. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but there seems to be a fair amount of growth in the city. There’s also a lot of restoration going on in all the historical sites (Plaza de España, the Cathedral, etc.). I don’t know if there’s usually this much restoration, or if there’s something big going on. Maybe they start this type of restoration every year before Semana Santa since they know a lot of tourists will be coming in.
I knew all the adults here, including the men, would be very well dressed, but what I wasn’t expecting was how well dressed the children would be. All the girls have cute little coats and cute little shoes, and they all wear skirts or dresses with stockings, and have little ribbons in their hair. The little boys all have little polos or button-up shirts tucked into little slacks, or sometimes shorts. I saw this one boy, maybe 7 or 8, riding a bicycle, wearing khaki slacks, a pale pink button-up shirt, with a pea green sweater tied around his neck, and his golden blonde hair nicely combed to the side, and all I could think was how very European he looked. We’ve commented on this in my language class and Prof. Dorado (she wants us to call her Carmen, but I’ll be more formal here so I don’t confuse her with Carmen, my host mom) said that all the parents want their children to be “principes y princesas” (princes and princesses).
It’s been a little chilly and a little cloudy, with a fair amount of rain, recently. But what I call rather chilly, sometimes cold, the seviallanos consider freezing. I see them walking around with heavy winter coats and thick scarves, while I am taking off my winter coat because I am getting warm. It is however, very cold inside the houses, sometimes colder than it is outside. Prof. Dorado said it’s because most of the houses are prepared to deal with the heat that comes in the summer.
All for now! ¡Hasta luego!
Alicia and I were late to class yesterday. There was much more traffic at 8:30 than we expected, meaning we waited for the bus a good fifteen minutes. Luckily, though, our professors were both very understanding. Maybe it’s the more laid back Spanish culture, or just that our professors understand the difficulty of adjusting to the rhythms of such a different city. Whatever the cause, I am grateful.
My professor for Cultural Realities is Luis Delgado. Thus far I like him, although after only one hour it is difficult to form much of an opinion. We’ll be doing of lot of discussions of current events in that class, as well as a weekly journal about various subjects related to contemporary Spanish culture. Afterwards, I had my dance class. We are learning the sevillano, which is related to flamenco, but different. It’s a partner dance, to be done in social settings. I’m not a good dancer, and I’m not very good at it. But that’s ok. It’s fun, and something distinctly sevillano (as the name would imply). Lola, our professor, told us that unlike other classes, we should not practice out of class. I think she doesn’t want us to remember wrong.
After classes, Kerry, Jenny, Alicia, and I met up with a friend from TU. Her name is Laura, and she is also studying here in Sevilla, but with a different program. It was very nice to see a familiar face. We went to Café de Indias and spent a while talking.
When Alicia and I returned to our home, Carmen’s sister and brother-in-law were visiting. Her brother-in-law had brought over his recently published doctoral thesis. Carmen introduced us, and we spent some time talking. I realized this was the first time I had really heard a group of Spaniards conversing together, because they used slang and turns of phrase that they generally avoid when they know they’re talking to Americans. For instance, they would use “hombre,” as a form of address/interjection, even when talking to women. I suppose it’s kind of how we might use “dude.”
This morning, Alicia and I overslept. We awoke with enough time to dress and get to class on time, but just enough. I took me forever to explain to Carmen that we overslept and so we didn’t have time to sit down for breakfast, and no, it was our fault, not hers (as she got up after we did, because she didn’t hear us moving around), and I’d like a piece of bread for the road, but it’s fine as it is, I don’t need jam, or butter, or oil, no really, plain bread is fine . . . sigh. I think I got everything I meant to say across, but this language barrier can be exhausting.
And now for a few assorted impressions and observations:
I’ve heard that one of the biggest causes of culture shock is food, but I have had very little problems with that. Granted, my host mom doesn’t like pork, so that has made adjusting my diet much easier. But although there are some things I’ve had that are very different, I like just about everything I’ve had. It seems to me that the flavors of Spanish cuisine are more muted and subtle than those of say Mexican or Indian or Chinese cuisine. As I mentioned before, the flavor for a lot of dishes comes from olive oil. Everything is very savory, but not bland; there’s a depth to the flavor. This may be partially because my señora has high blood pressure, so she doesn’t put much salt or spices in her food. But although I often like very strong flavors (like chile or curry), I don’t find the food here bland at all. The desserts are less sweet than those in the U.S., but sweeter than those I had in Scotland. Also, one more random observation concerning food, I asked Carmen for café con leche in the mornings (coffee with milk), and rather than giving me a cup of brewed coffee with some millk to add in, she boils a pot of milk, and then gives me instant coffee to stir in. Generally I prefer the flavor of brewed to instant coffee, but I must say, I really like the milk base. I think also they drink whole milk here (at least, the milk in our hotel was whole milk), so that makes it very creamy.
People here are very pushy especially when boarding or getting off the bus, or going through doorways. But they’re not as cold and grouchy as I thought they would be. In general, you don’t see strangers talking, or making eye contact, or being friendly with each other. I’ve heard from people that they’ve asked strangers directions, and received looks of “why are you talking to me?” But when there’s a reason to speak to a stranger—asking the price of something, sometimes asking directions, ordering in a restaurant—there are many who are very friendly, even with us obvious Americans. There was that lady in the tapas restaurant the other night, and a very nice man who explained to me how to recharge my bus card. It’s interesting, because socializing with friends and family is so important here. Meals take forever, because we sit at the table talking, and even still Carmen comments on how Alicia and I are always “in a hurry.” And in restaurants, the waiters tend to leave you alone long after you’ve finished eating—it’s not bad service, it’s letting you take your time. And yet, even though this aspect of a social life is so important, being friendly with strangers is so much less common (from what I have heard, this is even more true in other European countries).
There is a lot of construction around the city, or at least on my bus route. I’m not sure what they’re doing, but there seems to be a fair amount of growth in the city. There’s also a lot of restoration going on in all the historical sites (Plaza de España, the Cathedral, etc.). I don’t know if there’s usually this much restoration, or if there’s something big going on. Maybe they start this type of restoration every year before Semana Santa since they know a lot of tourists will be coming in.
I knew all the adults here, including the men, would be very well dressed, but what I wasn’t expecting was how well dressed the children would be. All the girls have cute little coats and cute little shoes, and they all wear skirts or dresses with stockings, and have little ribbons in their hair. The little boys all have little polos or button-up shirts tucked into little slacks, or sometimes shorts. I saw this one boy, maybe 7 or 8, riding a bicycle, wearing khaki slacks, a pale pink button-up shirt, with a pea green sweater tied around his neck, and his golden blonde hair nicely combed to the side, and all I could think was how very European he looked. We’ve commented on this in my language class and Prof. Dorado (she wants us to call her Carmen, but I’ll be more formal here so I don’t confuse her with Carmen, my host mom) said that all the parents want their children to be “principes y princesas” (princes and princesses).
It’s been a little chilly and a little cloudy, with a fair amount of rain, recently. But what I call rather chilly, sometimes cold, the seviallanos consider freezing. I see them walking around with heavy winter coats and thick scarves, while I am taking off my winter coat because I am getting warm. It is however, very cold inside the houses, sometimes colder than it is outside. Prof. Dorado said it’s because most of the houses are prepared to deal with the heat that comes in the summer.
All for now! ¡Hasta luego!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Empiezan las Clases—Day 6, February 8, 2010
I am sitting right now in the Café de Indias, which I believe is sort of the Starbucks of Spain (although there are several Starbucks here) and drinking my first Spanish hot chocolate, something I was very excited to try. It is like a cup of melted chocolate chips, with a little milk added as an afterthought. I think I am in love.
Yesterday morning, Alicia and I went to mass at the cathedral. Neither of us are Catholic, but we wanted to see what mass in such a giant and old building. I was able to understand much of the mass and the homily. Of course, it helps that I’ve been to mass in English with Kerry several times, but I didn’t have too much trouble with the Spanish. For lunch, Carmen made us a tortilla. For those of you who don’t know, a Spanish tortilla is kind of like an omlette, with potatoes and other vegetables (peppers, onions) and I think often ham cooked in eggs. I liked it much more than I thought I would. Not that I thought I would dislike the tortilla, but I eggs aren’t my favorite food, something I can take or leave. But it didn’t taste particularly eggy. There were more potatoes than eggs, and most of the flavor came from the olive oil it was cooked in. It’s also traditional in Spain to eat toast with olive oil for breakfast. I’ve generally eaten half of my toast with olive oil, and the other half with jam. I tell you, all this olive oil is going to be the death of me. I suppose it’s “good” fat, and it has lots of antioxidants, but there’s just so much of it.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as there were few places open. Spain isn’t a particularly religious country anymore—much of the population is “Catholic,” but non-practicing—but it seems that Sundays are a day to spend with family (there’s still a big emphasis on family and friends and social relations in general. So a lot of cafes were open in the evening, but not the shops or the cervecerías. The mall was open, and Alicia ended up there on a wild internet hunt, as we don’t have it in our house. A series of misfortunes including dying batteries, lack of outlets, and poor signals prevented us from successfully finding and using wi-fi, but I suppose we got some exercise, and I had a yummy café vienés. Apparently a good place to get wi-fi and use Skype is McDonalds. I never thought I would go to McDonalds in Spain, but I went yesterday at the Plaza de Nervión, and it was the classiest McDonalds I have ever seen.
As we were walking back to our house, we passed our host mom out with some friends. She was going with them for a churro and chocolate. We walked a little more, and returned home around 8. Carmen didn’t get back until around 10, and by that time we were very hungry. She apologized profusely for being late, as we were planning to have dinner at nine or nine thirty, and I felt that it was a strange reversal of roles that our seventy-something year old host mom was out later than we two twenty-somethings, and that she was apologizing for us for being late. As if I don’t feel enough like an old lady at home, when my friends go out on the weekends and I go to bed. Only in Spain, I suppose.
We had our first class today. I am in Advanced Present-Day Spanish Usage with Profesora Carmen Dorado. Kerry is also in my class. This class is three hours and forty-five minutes long, five days a week, for the next three weeks. Based on how the class scored on our placement exams, we are focusing on increasing our vocabulary and learning when to use various advanced grammatical structures. I like Profesora Dorado very much. She’s very energetic (as it seems all Spanish women are) and very friendly. She’s probably in her forties, maybe early fifties, but she’s very pretty, and when she smiles or laughs, she looks much younger. Spanish women also seem to age very well. Maybe it’s all the olive oil?
I was finally able to buy a bus card today. We’ve had a lot of trouble buying one for some reason. We were told we could get them in the tobacco shops (los estancos), but every time we went to un estanco, we were told they didn’t have the cards, or that the machine was broken, or some other excuse. Kerry’s host mom said that sometimes they don’t like to help tourists. But Alicia and I finally found un estanco in our area, which is much less touristy, in which the guy working was very friendly and sold us our cards. So that’s one less thing to worry about.
I suppose that’s all for tonight. I need to go do some homework. It’s always difficult to get back in the homework-doing mode, but I don’t think I’ll have too much, or that at this point it will be too hard. Tomorrow, in addition to my language class, I have “Cultural Realities” and my dance class. I will try to write about them tomorrow.
¡Buenas Noches!
Yesterday morning, Alicia and I went to mass at the cathedral. Neither of us are Catholic, but we wanted to see what mass in such a giant and old building. I was able to understand much of the mass and the homily. Of course, it helps that I’ve been to mass in English with Kerry several times, but I didn’t have too much trouble with the Spanish. For lunch, Carmen made us a tortilla. For those of you who don’t know, a Spanish tortilla is kind of like an omlette, with potatoes and other vegetables (peppers, onions) and I think often ham cooked in eggs. I liked it much more than I thought I would. Not that I thought I would dislike the tortilla, but I eggs aren’t my favorite food, something I can take or leave. But it didn’t taste particularly eggy. There were more potatoes than eggs, and most of the flavor came from the olive oil it was cooked in. It’s also traditional in Spain to eat toast with olive oil for breakfast. I’ve generally eaten half of my toast with olive oil, and the other half with jam. I tell you, all this olive oil is going to be the death of me. I suppose it’s “good” fat, and it has lots of antioxidants, but there’s just so much of it.
The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, as there were few places open. Spain isn’t a particularly religious country anymore—much of the population is “Catholic,” but non-practicing—but it seems that Sundays are a day to spend with family (there’s still a big emphasis on family and friends and social relations in general. So a lot of cafes were open in the evening, but not the shops or the cervecerías. The mall was open, and Alicia ended up there on a wild internet hunt, as we don’t have it in our house. A series of misfortunes including dying batteries, lack of outlets, and poor signals prevented us from successfully finding and using wi-fi, but I suppose we got some exercise, and I had a yummy café vienés. Apparently a good place to get wi-fi and use Skype is McDonalds. I never thought I would go to McDonalds in Spain, but I went yesterday at the Plaza de Nervión, and it was the classiest McDonalds I have ever seen.
As we were walking back to our house, we passed our host mom out with some friends. She was going with them for a churro and chocolate. We walked a little more, and returned home around 8. Carmen didn’t get back until around 10, and by that time we were very hungry. She apologized profusely for being late, as we were planning to have dinner at nine or nine thirty, and I felt that it was a strange reversal of roles that our seventy-something year old host mom was out later than we two twenty-somethings, and that she was apologizing for us for being late. As if I don’t feel enough like an old lady at home, when my friends go out on the weekends and I go to bed. Only in Spain, I suppose.
We had our first class today. I am in Advanced Present-Day Spanish Usage with Profesora Carmen Dorado. Kerry is also in my class. This class is three hours and forty-five minutes long, five days a week, for the next three weeks. Based on how the class scored on our placement exams, we are focusing on increasing our vocabulary and learning when to use various advanced grammatical structures. I like Profesora Dorado very much. She’s very energetic (as it seems all Spanish women are) and very friendly. She’s probably in her forties, maybe early fifties, but she’s very pretty, and when she smiles or laughs, she looks much younger. Spanish women also seem to age very well. Maybe it’s all the olive oil?
I was finally able to buy a bus card today. We’ve had a lot of trouble buying one for some reason. We were told we could get them in the tobacco shops (los estancos), but every time we went to un estanco, we were told they didn’t have the cards, or that the machine was broken, or some other excuse. Kerry’s host mom said that sometimes they don’t like to help tourists. But Alicia and I finally found un estanco in our area, which is much less touristy, in which the guy working was very friendly and sold us our cards. So that’s one less thing to worry about.
I suppose that’s all for tonight. I need to go do some homework. It’s always difficult to get back in the homework-doing mode, but I don’t think I’ll have too much, or that at this point it will be too hard. Tomorrow, in addition to my language class, I have “Cultural Realities” and my dance class. I will try to write about them tomorrow.
¡Buenas Noches!
Saturday, February 6, 2010
¡Vale!—Day 4, February 6, 2010
(Disclaimer: There is not internet in the house where I stay, so my access to both this blog and any other online accounts will be sporadic.)
I think I am already in love with this city. I love the way it comes alive at night. As we walked along Avenida de la Constitución last night after the activities fair, the sidewalks were filled with street musicians and performers, from a guy playing blues guitar and singing in English, to another man playing Beatles song on the folk harp, to a lady making giant bubbles with a huge bubble wand. Granted, I loved the night life less when I was trying to sleep and the people at the cervecería across the street talked and laughed and filled the street with a constant babble until at least one in the morning. Nonetheless, when I speak of night life, it’s not just people drinking and clubbing (although there is much of that as well). It’s a sort of verve and spirit that is so infectious.
Something else I noticed yesterday but forgot to mention—I love the tile (or, azulejo in Spanish). I am kind of obsessed with it. At the Plaza de España today (which I will detail more later) there was so much of it everywhere, and I decided that there is just about no way I’m coming back to the states without it.
When I left you yesterday, I was headed to the Center for an activities fair. Alicia, Kerry, Kerry’s roommate Jenny, and I ended up getting rather severely lost in all the little winding streets in downtown Seville—lots of little tiny things that were either pedestrian only streets, or could only allow one car, and no pedestrians on either side, to pass at a time. I have decided that urban planning is my new love, and we should be announcing our engagement soon. We did however manage to find our way out of the labyrinth and to the center, only a little late. We also found in our wandering, the Texas Lone Star Saloon, purportedly the best Tex-Mex east of Dallas! We will definitely make a stop there sometime, but I didn’t want to go to such an blatantly touristy/silly place so early in our stay here.
For dinner last night, Carmen made us a noodle soup and this delicious dish of just lots of sautéed vegetables and egg. I think maybe it’s the olive oil that made it so delicious. Before I came here, I wondered if I would gain or lose weight. I figured I would be walking a lot, and that European portion sizes are smaller than American. But all the olive oil might counteract that. Moreover, Carmen doesn’t seem to save leftovers. It may be because she doesn’t have a microwave. And being so tiny she doesn’t have a particularly big appetite. But she doesn’t like to throw away food (quite understandably), so she keeps pressing Alicia and me to eat more, even when we say we are quite satisfied. Her food is delicious, and we certainly don’t want to offend her, so we find ourselves helping ourselves to more.
This morning, CC-CS took us on a bus tour of the city, pointing out some of the sights along the way. Afterwards, we had some time to wander through the Plaza de España. This was built in 1929 for the Ibero-Americano Exposición, designed by Spanish arquitect Aníbel Gonzalez, who also designed many of the buildings in the area. I’m not positive what the exactly the Ibero-Americano Exposición was, but I believe it was something along the line of the World’s Fair, only smaller, and its purpose was to foster unity and boost the economy. The plaza is absolutely gorgeous. It’s semicircular, like a hug. There was a large fountain in the center, and lots of azulejo everywhere, including azulejo pictures for all the regions of Spain. Unfortunately there was a fair amount of construction going on, but I suppose that’s a necessary evil.
After lunch, Alicia and I walked to El Corte Inglés, a department store here in Spain. Except department store is putting it extremely lightly. The best way for me to describe it is that Target and Macy’s had a baby, who then went on to take steroids. It was six stories tall, with at least one other floor underground that we didn’t have time for, with cosmetics, shoes, men’s fashion, women’s fashion, junior’s clothing, baby clothing, home products, sporting goods, and even a full blow restaurant on the top floor. We will definitely have to go back, because there was not time to see everything, and we had just gone for some necessities.
This evening, there was a movie at the Center, just as another chance for the program participants to get to know each other. After the movie, Kerry, Alicia, Jenny, and I went to a little tapas restaurant. I don’t know if it’s the best tapas restaurant in the city, as it’s in a kind of touristy area, but it was very good, and our hostess was extremely nice. She was patient with our bad accents and imperfect Spanish, explained to us what unfamiliar menu items were, and discretely warned us via written note when some young boys who may have been looking for someone to rob were loitering around. We were aware of the boys and were keeping an eye on our bags, but we very much appreciated her warning. I had my first paella in Spain, as well as tinto de verano. Tinto de verano is like sangria in that it’s a mixture of red wine and fruit juice, but it does not have any sort of carbonated drink mixed in, as sangria does.
I believe that is all to report for now, and my battery is dying anyway. Entonces, hasta luego, y buenas noches a todos.
I think I am already in love with this city. I love the way it comes alive at night. As we walked along Avenida de la Constitución last night after the activities fair, the sidewalks were filled with street musicians and performers, from a guy playing blues guitar and singing in English, to another man playing Beatles song on the folk harp, to a lady making giant bubbles with a huge bubble wand. Granted, I loved the night life less when I was trying to sleep and the people at the cervecería across the street talked and laughed and filled the street with a constant babble until at least one in the morning. Nonetheless, when I speak of night life, it’s not just people drinking and clubbing (although there is much of that as well). It’s a sort of verve and spirit that is so infectious.
Something else I noticed yesterday but forgot to mention—I love the tile (or, azulejo in Spanish). I am kind of obsessed with it. At the Plaza de España today (which I will detail more later) there was so much of it everywhere, and I decided that there is just about no way I’m coming back to the states without it.
When I left you yesterday, I was headed to the Center for an activities fair. Alicia, Kerry, Kerry’s roommate Jenny, and I ended up getting rather severely lost in all the little winding streets in downtown Seville—lots of little tiny things that were either pedestrian only streets, or could only allow one car, and no pedestrians on either side, to pass at a time. I have decided that urban planning is my new love, and we should be announcing our engagement soon. We did however manage to find our way out of the labyrinth and to the center, only a little late. We also found in our wandering, the Texas Lone Star Saloon, purportedly the best Tex-Mex east of Dallas! We will definitely make a stop there sometime, but I didn’t want to go to such an blatantly touristy/silly place so early in our stay here.
For dinner last night, Carmen made us a noodle soup and this delicious dish of just lots of sautéed vegetables and egg. I think maybe it’s the olive oil that made it so delicious. Before I came here, I wondered if I would gain or lose weight. I figured I would be walking a lot, and that European portion sizes are smaller than American. But all the olive oil might counteract that. Moreover, Carmen doesn’t seem to save leftovers. It may be because she doesn’t have a microwave. And being so tiny she doesn’t have a particularly big appetite. But she doesn’t like to throw away food (quite understandably), so she keeps pressing Alicia and me to eat more, even when we say we are quite satisfied. Her food is delicious, and we certainly don’t want to offend her, so we find ourselves helping ourselves to more.
This morning, CC-CS took us on a bus tour of the city, pointing out some of the sights along the way. Afterwards, we had some time to wander through the Plaza de España. This was built in 1929 for the Ibero-Americano Exposición, designed by Spanish arquitect Aníbel Gonzalez, who also designed many of the buildings in the area. I’m not positive what the exactly the Ibero-Americano Exposición was, but I believe it was something along the line of the World’s Fair, only smaller, and its purpose was to foster unity and boost the economy. The plaza is absolutely gorgeous. It’s semicircular, like a hug. There was a large fountain in the center, and lots of azulejo everywhere, including azulejo pictures for all the regions of Spain. Unfortunately there was a fair amount of construction going on, but I suppose that’s a necessary evil.
After lunch, Alicia and I walked to El Corte Inglés, a department store here in Spain. Except department store is putting it extremely lightly. The best way for me to describe it is that Target and Macy’s had a baby, who then went on to take steroids. It was six stories tall, with at least one other floor underground that we didn’t have time for, with cosmetics, shoes, men’s fashion, women’s fashion, junior’s clothing, baby clothing, home products, sporting goods, and even a full blow restaurant on the top floor. We will definitely have to go back, because there was not time to see everything, and we had just gone for some necessities.
This evening, there was a movie at the Center, just as another chance for the program participants to get to know each other. After the movie, Kerry, Alicia, Jenny, and I went to a little tapas restaurant. I don’t know if it’s the best tapas restaurant in the city, as it’s in a kind of touristy area, but it was very good, and our hostess was extremely nice. She was patient with our bad accents and imperfect Spanish, explained to us what unfamiliar menu items were, and discretely warned us via written note when some young boys who may have been looking for someone to rob were loitering around. We were aware of the boys and were keeping an eye on our bags, but we very much appreciated her warning. I had my first paella in Spain, as well as tinto de verano. Tinto de verano is like sangria in that it’s a mixture of red wine and fruit juice, but it does not have any sort of carbonated drink mixed in, as sangria does.
I believe that is all to report for now, and my battery is dying anyway. Entonces, hasta luego, y buenas noches a todos.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Orientación—Day 3, February 5, 2010
It’s my third day in Spain, and I have just moved into my home for the semester. I live in a barrio called Urbión. My host mom’s name is Carmen. She’s a single woman, probably in her seventies. She’s very friendly and is always quite concerned that we get enough to eat. My roommate’s name is Alicia. She’s from California, and she attends Point Loma University. Although it’ll be weird living with someone else after living with Kerry for so long, I like her a lot. We’re both English Lit and Spanish double majors, so we already have a lot in common there.
This entry is probably going to be a little disorganized, with kind of scattered impressions of what I’ve done so far. Everything is so new now, and there’s so much to tell, that I’m not sure what’s the best way to organize it. Hopefully once I’ve got the sensory overload out of my head, I can be a little more orderly.
While staying at the Hotel Plaza de Armas I was able to do a little exploring. There is a very nice walking path along the river, where lots of people were walking or running. There were also a lot of people kayaking on the river—apparently that’s a popular pastime here. The streets are all very curvy, and lots of them are one way. On several there is very little sidewalk, so walking down them makes me a little nervous. Although I love the feeling of history this city has, as in Edinburgh, the seeming arbitrariness of the streets makes me love urban planning and grid systems even more.
The city has an interesting smell, especially at night. I’ve tried to describe it, but I can’t seem to find just the right words. It’s a little musty, a little “planty.” I think part of the smell comes from all the orange trees. They’re everywhere, with bright orange fruit all over them. But my host mom says that the oranges on most of the trees are very sour, and not many people like them. However, I have had some delicious oranges here, some of the best I’ve ever had. They are so sweet and juicy and flavorful.
Already I am a huge fan of the siesta. I knew it would be one of the things I’d probably enjoy most about Spain. I was told by professors and such that businesses all close down during siesta, and everyone goes home, and that if you’re out at siesta it’s assumed you’re up to no good, or you are a tourist, and therefore you’re a target of those who are up to no good. However, there seem to be a fair amount of people out still. There’s a cervecería (a beer store) right across the street from where I’m staying, and there are a lot of people outside of it (it’s about 3:30 as I’m writing this). So maybe siesta can involve relaxing in more ways than just going home to nap or hang out with the family. I’ll let you know when I learn more about it.
This morning began with a walk around what I guess one might term “downtown” Seville. We basically walked from our hotel to the CC-CS building (or, as it’s known here, el Centro Norteamericano de Estudios Interculturales. Seviallanos will go there to take English classes). We were divided into six different groups, with a professor guiding each of us and pointing things out along the way. We passed an arena where they have bull fights, called the Plaza de Toros. The professor guiding us told us how there is currently controversy in Spain about bull fights, and how a lot of people view them as animal cruelty (I tend to agree with that camp). He said that in Cataluña (the region of Spain where Barcelona is located) they have banned bull fights, and there’s some possibility that the Parliament of Europe (or something like that) might ban them everywhere. He said that although he tends to think that bull fights are animal cruelty, there are thousands of jobs involved in the bull fighting industry, and if bull fights were banned, that species of bull would die out. So it’s not really a black-and-white issue. Although I see these points, I still plan to avoid going to a bull fight if possible, as I don’t think I could stomach it.
We also passed the cathedral of Sevilla, which is the third largest in the world, after St. Paul’s in the Vatican and the one in London (whose name I don’t currently remember). It’s this massive and gorgeous building, with elements of Gothic and baroque architecture. I know Kerry is planning on going to mass there, so I’ll probably join her.
After our walk, we had a placement exam at the Center so they would know in which level Spanish class to place us. Then we walked back to the hotel, checked out, and took taxis to our respective homestays (or I guess to the residence halls for those students living there). When Alicia and I arrived, our host mom showed us our room, gave us time to unpack, and served us lunch—arroz con pollo, a salad, fresh bread from a panadería (a bread bakery), and for dessert one of those delicious oranges I mentioned earlier. I was worried I would have to eat a lot of pork while in Spain, but luckily, my host mom doesn’t really like pork either, so she said she wouldn’t serve it much. So that takes care of one of my worries.
This afternoon there’s an activities fair at the Center so we can find out what kind of groups we can get involved in. I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of volunteer opportunities they have. They also have a tutoring program, where we can tutor kids learning English. It pays 8 euro an hour, which is definitely a perk, but I also think it will be cool just to be able to have that kind of exchange with a sevillano. So hopefully I’ll be able to do that.
Anyway, I must wrap up. It’s time to go see if we can figure out the bus system and head to the center for said activities fair. As an aside, I am a huge fan of public transit in theory, as it’s much better on the environment, but in practice, it scares me a lot. It’s just because I’m not used to taking it, since neither Albuquerque nor Tulsa have much of a public transit system, so that should pass once I’ve had some practice.
¡Hasta Luego!
This entry is probably going to be a little disorganized, with kind of scattered impressions of what I’ve done so far. Everything is so new now, and there’s so much to tell, that I’m not sure what’s the best way to organize it. Hopefully once I’ve got the sensory overload out of my head, I can be a little more orderly.
While staying at the Hotel Plaza de Armas I was able to do a little exploring. There is a very nice walking path along the river, where lots of people were walking or running. There were also a lot of people kayaking on the river—apparently that’s a popular pastime here. The streets are all very curvy, and lots of them are one way. On several there is very little sidewalk, so walking down them makes me a little nervous. Although I love the feeling of history this city has, as in Edinburgh, the seeming arbitrariness of the streets makes me love urban planning and grid systems even more.
The city has an interesting smell, especially at night. I’ve tried to describe it, but I can’t seem to find just the right words. It’s a little musty, a little “planty.” I think part of the smell comes from all the orange trees. They’re everywhere, with bright orange fruit all over them. But my host mom says that the oranges on most of the trees are very sour, and not many people like them. However, I have had some delicious oranges here, some of the best I’ve ever had. They are so sweet and juicy and flavorful.
Already I am a huge fan of the siesta. I knew it would be one of the things I’d probably enjoy most about Spain. I was told by professors and such that businesses all close down during siesta, and everyone goes home, and that if you’re out at siesta it’s assumed you’re up to no good, or you are a tourist, and therefore you’re a target of those who are up to no good. However, there seem to be a fair amount of people out still. There’s a cervecería (a beer store) right across the street from where I’m staying, and there are a lot of people outside of it (it’s about 3:30 as I’m writing this). So maybe siesta can involve relaxing in more ways than just going home to nap or hang out with the family. I’ll let you know when I learn more about it.
This morning began with a walk around what I guess one might term “downtown” Seville. We basically walked from our hotel to the CC-CS building (or, as it’s known here, el Centro Norteamericano de Estudios Interculturales. Seviallanos will go there to take English classes). We were divided into six different groups, with a professor guiding each of us and pointing things out along the way. We passed an arena where they have bull fights, called the Plaza de Toros. The professor guiding us told us how there is currently controversy in Spain about bull fights, and how a lot of people view them as animal cruelty (I tend to agree with that camp). He said that in Cataluña (the region of Spain where Barcelona is located) they have banned bull fights, and there’s some possibility that the Parliament of Europe (or something like that) might ban them everywhere. He said that although he tends to think that bull fights are animal cruelty, there are thousands of jobs involved in the bull fighting industry, and if bull fights were banned, that species of bull would die out. So it’s not really a black-and-white issue. Although I see these points, I still plan to avoid going to a bull fight if possible, as I don’t think I could stomach it.
We also passed the cathedral of Sevilla, which is the third largest in the world, after St. Paul’s in the Vatican and the one in London (whose name I don’t currently remember). It’s this massive and gorgeous building, with elements of Gothic and baroque architecture. I know Kerry is planning on going to mass there, so I’ll probably join her.
After our walk, we had a placement exam at the Center so they would know in which level Spanish class to place us. Then we walked back to the hotel, checked out, and took taxis to our respective homestays (or I guess to the residence halls for those students living there). When Alicia and I arrived, our host mom showed us our room, gave us time to unpack, and served us lunch—arroz con pollo, a salad, fresh bread from a panadería (a bread bakery), and for dessert one of those delicious oranges I mentioned earlier. I was worried I would have to eat a lot of pork while in Spain, but luckily, my host mom doesn’t really like pork either, so she said she wouldn’t serve it much. So that takes care of one of my worries.
This afternoon there’s an activities fair at the Center so we can find out what kind of groups we can get involved in. I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of volunteer opportunities they have. They also have a tutoring program, where we can tutor kids learning English. It pays 8 euro an hour, which is definitely a perk, but I also think it will be cool just to be able to have that kind of exchange with a sevillano. So hopefully I’ll be able to do that.
Anyway, I must wrap up. It’s time to go see if we can figure out the bus system and head to the center for said activities fair. As an aside, I am a huge fan of public transit in theory, as it’s much better on the environment, but in practice, it scares me a lot. It’s just because I’m not used to taking it, since neither Albuquerque nor Tulsa have much of a public transit system, so that should pass once I’ve had some practice.
¡Hasta Luego!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
España, Aquí Vengo—Day 1, Arrival
So. As I’m sure is quite obvious by now, I’m not very good at keeping up with this whole blogging thing. Hopefully someday I’ll finish writing about my Scotland trip (thought perhaps I will have to be less detailed), but that’s going to have to go on hiatus. Because as of today, February 3, 2010 (I’m not sure when I’ll get a chance to post this), I am spending the spring semester studying in Sevilla, Spain. I am going with a program called the Center for Cross-Cultural Studies. It’s a fairly small study abroad program; it only has programs in Spain and Argentina, and sometimes, though not currently, Cuba. I will be taking most of my classes at CC-CS’s program center, but I will also be taking one class at the Universidad de Sevilla. I have not been able to sign up for said class yet, as I believe I have to pass some sort of placement exam first. However, I can tell you about my CC-CS classes. For a three week Intensive Period, when we just have one class to focus on getting comfortable speaking Spanish, I will be taking Advanced-Present Day Spanish Usage. For the remainder of the semester, I will be taking Women Writers of Spain, Spain and Immigration, Cultural Realities of Spain (a one hour required class to help us deal with culture shock and contemporary Spanish cultural phenomena—I hear it’s pretty easy and fun), and Regional Folk Dance.
Beginning in a few nights, I will be staying with a host family. Right now, though, I am staying in the Hotel NH Plaza de Armas, where we will have our orientation for a few days. I got in about three and a half hours ago, after which I promptly took a shower, called my parents, and then fell asleep for a few hours.
The trip in was fairly uneventful. The only thing I can think of worthy of remark that for a little while, early in the morning, somewhere over Portugal, western Spain, and the Atlantic, outside the plane window was a sea of cloud, unbroken for as far as I could see, tinged with pink and orange with the sunrise. Other than that, it was an average flight, although oddly empty, such that most of the passengers in the main cabin had a row to themselves.
I was rather nervous throughout the trip, because although I’ve been abroad before, I’ve always had someone to hold my hand through customs and everything. This time, I was on my own. But everything went fine. Quite honestly, the thing I was most scared of for the entire semester was getting a cab from the Sevilla airport to this hotel. But luckily, I met up with some others in my program at the airport, so I was able to share a cab. And even if I hadn’t been able to share one, I think I was worrying too much. It ended up being a quite easy process. But there you go—I like to worry about silly things like taking taxis.
The hotel seems like a fairly nice one. There are some kind of generic paintings of bowls of fruit and cups of coffee on the wall. And of course there’s a wet bar with ridiculously priced beverages, including whisky and Bacardi. The window opens onto a Plaza of some sort—perhaps the Plaza de Armas for which the hotel is named—with a semi circle of blue poles in the center. There’s a shopping center off to the left of the plaza.
My impressions of the city so far are limited to my taxi ride and the view from my window. There’s more graffiti than I expected, but then again, it is a city. It had kind of an odd smell, too. Mostly, though, I felt how close everything was, as I often do in settings any more urban than Albuquerque (which, for those of you who have not been to my lovely hometown, is a legitimate city, but is much more open and spaced out then large, urban centers I’ve visited like San Francisco or Edinburgh). Such settings often make me feel kind of nervous, but I suppose I will get used to it. The descent upon Sevilla from the plane, though, was beautiful, as was the descent into Madrid. There are beautiful, tall, snow-capped mountains everywhere, and most of you know how I love the mountains. I really hope I have the opportunity to go hiking in them at some point.
Anyway, I will wrap up, as I’m mostly just rambling. The people I met at the airport and I were thinking of doing some exploring once siesta ended. I believe it ended a half hour ago, so perhaps we’ll go out soon, and then I may have something more interesting to say.
Beginning in a few nights, I will be staying with a host family. Right now, though, I am staying in the Hotel NH Plaza de Armas, where we will have our orientation for a few days. I got in about three and a half hours ago, after which I promptly took a shower, called my parents, and then fell asleep for a few hours.
The trip in was fairly uneventful. The only thing I can think of worthy of remark that for a little while, early in the morning, somewhere over Portugal, western Spain, and the Atlantic, outside the plane window was a sea of cloud, unbroken for as far as I could see, tinged with pink and orange with the sunrise. Other than that, it was an average flight, although oddly empty, such that most of the passengers in the main cabin had a row to themselves.
I was rather nervous throughout the trip, because although I’ve been abroad before, I’ve always had someone to hold my hand through customs and everything. This time, I was on my own. But everything went fine. Quite honestly, the thing I was most scared of for the entire semester was getting a cab from the Sevilla airport to this hotel. But luckily, I met up with some others in my program at the airport, so I was able to share a cab. And even if I hadn’t been able to share one, I think I was worrying too much. It ended up being a quite easy process. But there you go—I like to worry about silly things like taking taxis.
The hotel seems like a fairly nice one. There are some kind of generic paintings of bowls of fruit and cups of coffee on the wall. And of course there’s a wet bar with ridiculously priced beverages, including whisky and Bacardi. The window opens onto a Plaza of some sort—perhaps the Plaza de Armas for which the hotel is named—with a semi circle of blue poles in the center. There’s a shopping center off to the left of the plaza.
My impressions of the city so far are limited to my taxi ride and the view from my window. There’s more graffiti than I expected, but then again, it is a city. It had kind of an odd smell, too. Mostly, though, I felt how close everything was, as I often do in settings any more urban than Albuquerque (which, for those of you who have not been to my lovely hometown, is a legitimate city, but is much more open and spaced out then large, urban centers I’ve visited like San Francisco or Edinburgh). Such settings often make me feel kind of nervous, but I suppose I will get used to it. The descent upon Sevilla from the plane, though, was beautiful, as was the descent into Madrid. There are beautiful, tall, snow-capped mountains everywhere, and most of you know how I love the mountains. I really hope I have the opportunity to go hiking in them at some point.
Anyway, I will wrap up, as I’m mostly just rambling. The people I met at the airport and I were thinking of doing some exploring once siesta ended. I believe it ended a half hour ago, so perhaps we’ll go out soon, and then I may have something more interesting to say.
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