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!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)