All of the newspaper/magazine (prensa) stands were closed today because the workers are on strike. Not for higher wages mind you, this is a socialist country, but because they can't sell tobacco anymore. When the new tobacco law came into effect in January, the stands stopped being allowed to sell cigarettes. But it turns out that cigarettes account for about 30% of their income.
The struggle with tobacco is interesting, because it seems like the government is against it, whereas the citizens are completely in favor. Much more blantant than in the US, packs of cigarettes sport large bolded messages that read "Fumar Puede Matar (Smoking can kill)" and another phrase about how secondhand smoke is bad for children. Packs are about half as expensive, but perhaps that's because Spain is one of the founding countries of the cigarette phenomenon. Despite this new law, I don't see things changing so dramatically, but it's interesting witnessing the struggle.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Las casas son hechas de papel
This morning I went on a nice run in the bitter cold, came back and was about to sit down for breakfast before my shower when the downstairs neighbor came buzzing at the door. Spanish people speak extremely fast when they get excited, but I did get one thing out of the conversation: el techo en su cuarto de baño se cayó. My señora went downstairs to investigate and came up murmuring "Dios mio," speaking really fast. It seems the whole ceiling of the downstairs neighbor's bathroom fell. As such, under orders from the police and common sense, we can't enter our only bathroom for fear of falling through the floor. As you might imagine, this presents a bit of a problem.
Orange you glad i'm posting again?
You know it’s been raining because there are oranges everywhere – smashed and whole, they sit soggy on the streets and sidewalks. Sevilla is even less prepared for rain than Santa Barbara, if that’s possible, and the calles estrechas become rivers and it’s more likely than not a car will drive in a puddle and get your pants wet. It’s impossible to walk my 30-minute walk and stay dry.
But Seville needs its water, so we all bear it. It’s just really serious about its rain. When it rains, it rains nonstop all day. When it doesn’t, it’s sunny, without a cloud in the sky.
There have been better nights to walk halfway across town to see a concert. But what a concert. Only in Spain. A very British man that spoke perfect Spanish to the crowd, but sang in English; and a very British man that didn’t speak a word of Spanish save “Gracias” and sang in English. It was British pop, recommended to a friend by the owner of an indie record store in the area. Though I’m not used to seeing bands with keyboards instead of drummers, it was very enjoyable. One of my favorite bands is playing in Madrid in a couple weeks, but it’s the same weekend the magazine I’m working for is taking us to Morocco for free…tough break.
But Seville needs its water, so we all bear it. It’s just really serious about its rain. When it rains, it rains nonstop all day. When it doesn’t, it’s sunny, without a cloud in the sky.
There have been better nights to walk halfway across town to see a concert. But what a concert. Only in Spain. A very British man that spoke perfect Spanish to the crowd, but sang in English; and a very British man that didn’t speak a word of Spanish save “Gracias” and sang in English. It was British pop, recommended to a friend by the owner of an indie record store in the area. Though I’m not used to seeing bands with keyboards instead of drummers, it was very enjoyable. One of my favorite bands is playing in Madrid in a couple weeks, but it’s the same weekend the magazine I’m working for is taking us to Morocco for free…tough break.
Albaicín
View of Albaicín from Alhambra.
View of Alhambra from Albaicín.
Mis amigos in a little bar...Sarah, Steven, and Anna (all of which go to the same school in Minnesota).
Kristina, Carrie, and Amanda. There are some more friends, but I don't yet have good pictures of them.
Capilla Real
The reyes católicos are also buried in Granada in the Capilla Real because it was an important city to their unification of España under one religion. The king and queen are carved in marble in front of the altar, and underneath are their actual caskets, all accessible to the public. Ferdinand and Isabella were of course indispensable to the discovery of America, so it was interesting to hear about the links between U.S. history and Spanish history. We also visited the Albaicín, a former Muslim ghetto that offered the most beautiful views of the city, the countryside, and Alhambra.
Algunos amigas enfrente de la Capilla Real... see if you can spot the California girl. From left to right, me (looking a little less goofy and a little more chubby from all the layers I was wearing), Kristina, Sarah, and Amanda (they all go to school in Minnesota).
Alhambra
Famous photo of the Palacio Nazaries (Alcazar) with the reflecting pool in front.
Another famous sight... Patio de los leones. A statue of 12 lions, rumored to be a present from the Jewish settlers of Granada to their Muslim king. The 12 lions represent the 12 tribes of Israel.
A fountain from the Generalife, or the retreat palace for the Sultan/King. These fountains have the same infrastructure they had when they were originally built, with the water coming directly from the Sierra Nevada mountains (the ones in Spain).
From what I gathered from our guide, the Muslims built the buildings originally as a sort of royal self-contained city, and los reyes católicos Ferdinand and Isabella later took them over. It was one of the only areas of Muslim architecture they didn’t burn upon reconquest as a symbol of Catholic power. Our guide informed us that Muslims generally use cheap “barato” materials in their architecture with many horizontal and vertical lines. But cheap? How about exquisite? Ornate? Amazing? Where else can you see such sights but in Europe?
IF YOU WANT TO VIEW THE PHOTOS IN A LARGER SIZE, CLICK ON THEM.
Pomegranate
The bus was silent. A bus filled with 50 some college students. At five in the afternoon, the majority were sleeping.
I guess that means our trip to Granada was collectively good.
We made our way east this weekend, a caravan of four buses filled with students who probably shouldn’t have gone out Friday night. Nonetheless, we escaped the rain in Seville this weekend in favor of a little mountain pueblo called Granada, which means pomegranate. Drought considering, I was surprised to find the open terrain of Andalucia very green. The olive trees were plenty, as was the grass, trees… and as we made our way further east, there were mountains. Not much development, not many cars, just the simple beauty of nature.
The weather was dry for awhile. But the clouds became darker, and the streets got wetter, and as we curved our way further into the mountains there were hints of snow. Far off snow-capped mountain peaks you might see on your way to Las Vegas, and then closer hills painted with a layer of white. First there was rain, then sleet, then snow, and pulled into the white wonderland of hills and trees that frame the lovely Spanish city of Granada.
In many respects, Granada looks much like Sevilla. Of course, it snows about as often in Sevilla as it snows in San Diego, but as far as architecture goes, the plazas, fuentes, churches aplenty, and cobble-stoned streets all have a similar look. Granada’s claim to fame is that it was the last Muslim stronghold in Spain before being recaptured by the Catholics. The Middle Eastern ambiance of the city is unmistakable. A group of us piled into a tetería today and experienced an expansive selection of Arab teas, each order coming with a metal tea pot filled with various plants and spices and a little decorative glass a bit larger than a shot glass. We sat on cushioned benches around the perimeter of a tiny room with mirrors that we had to ourselves. It was Spanish, with the language, with the relaxed way of life, but the skinny cobbled streets were lined with colorful wares from Morocco instead of oranges.
With just barely 24 hours to explore, there was limited time to enjoy this important pueblo… but breve y bueno, dos veces bueno, right? (a Spanish saying that’s similar to “short and sweet”) The most magnificent part of the weekend was certainly Alhambra. On the list for the second wonder of the world, I believe, and by far the most diverse, most ornate, most beautiful collection of buildings, gardens, and views I’ve ever seen. I can’t quite explain it in English, because the experience was truly Spanish and truly in Spanish, but perhaps my photos can speak louder than my words.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Not drowning
You know, it's further fitting that I named this blog a la deriva. I keep talking about FISH. Which is funny, because Sevilla is the furthest i've ever lived from the ocean. I'm also about to write an essay about the movie Mar adentro (roughly translated inside/within the ocean). A little encouragement, perhaps, from Ms. Stevie Smith (who's not Spanish at all). I always think of this poem when I look at the ocean.
Not Waving but Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Not Waving but Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.
Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.
Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
One fish, two fish. Red fish, blue fish.
Lo siento all I’ve been writing about lately is food… but my señora’s been getting creative. Besides, the bulk of my real Spanish experience is at home. And when I’m at home, my señora feeds me. The other part of my Spanish experience is from walking the streets for hours a day. But that’s more of a passive experience. You have to be there.
I sat down to lunch today and saw a bowl filled with a lot of potatoes, some broth, a big green chili, and two white round disks of fish that still had skin and bones intact. I looked at it incredulously, and for the next five minutes while my señora was still in the kitchen I picked off the skin and bones until I was sure there were none left. Though I must’ve looked horrified, the fish was surprisingly mild, and really good. Patatas en blanco, I think it’s called. When I decided I liked it, I asked what kind of fish it was, and she started explaining that it was a big fish, with a big head. Then she gets up and retrieves the leftovers from the refrigerator. A head, some more disks, some skin. Oh, that kind of fish. The raw kind.
My señora sat down and started eating. I don’t know what happened to all her skin and bones, but next thing I know I look over at her and she’s sucking on the big bone that was in her piece of fish. I must’ve given her another horrified look, because she starts laughing, laughing, laughing… “Estoy chupandola como un gato (I’m sucking on [the bone] like a cat).”
She asked me if we eat fish in America. “Yes,” I was trying to say, “yes, but it’s different.” Here it’s common to see smoked pig’s legs hanging in all the restaurant windows; they just shave the meat off while the little black cloven hoof watches. I think if I grew up here I would be sucking on the fish espina like a veteran; my sisters might even be sitting right next to me doing the same. Who knows, maybe with a big plate of nuts alongside? ;-) But to come here as a 20-year-old; I wonder if I’m young enough to embrace this, or if I’ll spend six-months here and come home still thinking that eating these kinds of sea creatures prepared in this way is a little weird and gross.
I sat down to lunch today and saw a bowl filled with a lot of potatoes, some broth, a big green chili, and two white round disks of fish that still had skin and bones intact. I looked at it incredulously, and for the next five minutes while my señora was still in the kitchen I picked off the skin and bones until I was sure there were none left. Though I must’ve looked horrified, the fish was surprisingly mild, and really good. Patatas en blanco, I think it’s called. When I decided I liked it, I asked what kind of fish it was, and she started explaining that it was a big fish, with a big head. Then she gets up and retrieves the leftovers from the refrigerator. A head, some more disks, some skin. Oh, that kind of fish. The raw kind.
My señora sat down and started eating. I don’t know what happened to all her skin and bones, but next thing I know I look over at her and she’s sucking on the big bone that was in her piece of fish. I must’ve given her another horrified look, because she starts laughing, laughing, laughing… “Estoy chupandola como un gato (I’m sucking on [the bone] like a cat).”
She asked me if we eat fish in America. “Yes,” I was trying to say, “yes, but it’s different.” Here it’s common to see smoked pig’s legs hanging in all the restaurant windows; they just shave the meat off while the little black cloven hoof watches. I think if I grew up here I would be sucking on the fish espina like a veteran; my sisters might even be sitting right next to me doing the same. Who knows, maybe with a big plate of nuts alongside? ;-) But to come here as a 20-year-old; I wonder if I’m young enough to embrace this, or if I’ll spend six-months here and come home still thinking that eating these kinds of sea creatures prepared in this way is a little weird and gross.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Plaza de España
Just in case you're in doubt that i'm actually in Spain, here I am. In Spain. Goofy looks are universal.
I'm standing in front of Plaza de España, which is one of the famous landmarks of Sevilla. I don't have a good, classic picture of the whole building, but it's rumored to have been used as a model for some of the sets in Star Wars. It looked as if it is being used for goverment offices now, and some of its beauty is obscured by fences everywhere that say, roughly "Sevilla: Construction from a dream" (somehow I doubt that any kind of construction in Spain is fast... much less from a dream). Reguardless, it's still magestic. The plaza is situated in Parque de Maria Lousia which is full of hidden treasures, statues, gardens. Next time I go i'll bring an extra battery. :-)
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Disclaimer
Obviously, I like to write. And because I’m having so many new experiences here in Sevilla, I have ample topics to write about. This journal is as much for my benefit as anyone else’s, and when I’m old and recalling my experience studying abroad, I don’t want to be censored. One of the topics I’ve been mentioning is the nightlife. Sevillians like their fun. And students like to go out. It is completely the norm to eat dinner at 11, go out at midnight, and stay out ‘til the wee hours of the morning. By American standards, Seville is a safe city. Regardless, I am always with friends and always careful. We often take taxis home, and if we walk, we walk together. I always carry a map, my phone, and pepper spray. Basically what I’m trying to say is please, No preocupes. Don’t worry!
A fish called...
Linda. My friend changed my name last night because we were conversing with a couple of Spaniards who couldn’t grasp the pronunciation of my name. So I became Linda, which in Spanish happens to mean pretty or lovely. It’s a good idea, really, so I have decided to introduce myself as Linda to all Spanish-speakers in the future. No more Issy.
Speaking of kosher
Tonight I got to the table and, to my horror, saw a plate filled with what looked like living shrimp. Shrimp with eyes and legs and tails and skins. They were langostinos. Crayfish. I didn’t know exactly what to do with them. But my señora said they’re caro en Sevilla, so I decided I should eat them reguardless of how many eyes they have. She helped me take the head, tail, legs, and skin off… and they looked and tasted just like shrimp, but a little saltier. Yum!
Eating all this foreign Andalucian food makes me feel very gastronomically sheltered. I said I don’t eat much shellfish at home, and my señora asked if they exist en mi tierra. Well yes, but I don’t eat them. I don’t even think about them. They’re less common, more of a delicacy. I’m eating all this amazing and exciting food here, and what do I eat at home? Chicken and veggies? What do Americans eat? Hamburguesas? There’s nothing wrong with food in America, but it’s just different. I wonder how that happens.
Eating all this foreign Andalucian food makes me feel very gastronomically sheltered. I said I don’t eat much shellfish at home, and my señora asked if they exist en mi tierra. Well yes, but I don’t eat them. I don’t even think about them. They’re less common, more of a delicacy. I’m eating all this amazing and exciting food here, and what do I eat at home? Chicken and veggies? What do Americans eat? Hamburguesas? There’s nothing wrong with food in America, but it’s just different. I wonder how that happens.
El Almuerzo:
I definitely ate what my dictionary translates as “small cuttlefish” for lunch today.
Patatas con choco.
The dish actually looked very much like what we had yesterday. A soupy yellow sauce presumably spiced with saffron. Chunks of potatoes (patatas) instead of pasta. But today, instead of shrimp, there was choco. I wasn’t quite sure what choco was, and my señora’s explanations of it were inconclusive. It was definitely some sort of sea creature with small tentacles. It was white, not too smelly or strong, and a little chewy. It wasn’t bad. In fact, the dish as a whole was warm and very tasty. But I couldn’t get over the choco. So when my señora asked me if I liked it, noting the three pieces of choco left in my bowl, I said “I’m not really sure if I like eating choco.”
I surprise myself, though, because I’ve eaten and liked 99% of her meals. Shrimp. Sausage. Ham. It’s very kosher.
Patatas con choco.
The dish actually looked very much like what we had yesterday. A soupy yellow sauce presumably spiced with saffron. Chunks of potatoes (patatas) instead of pasta. But today, instead of shrimp, there was choco. I wasn’t quite sure what choco was, and my señora’s explanations of it were inconclusive. It was definitely some sort of sea creature with small tentacles. It was white, not too smelly or strong, and a little chewy. It wasn’t bad. In fact, the dish as a whole was warm and very tasty. But I couldn’t get over the choco. So when my señora asked me if I liked it, noting the three pieces of choco left in my bowl, I said “I’m not really sure if I like eating choco.”
I surprise myself, though, because I’ve eaten and liked 99% of her meals. Shrimp. Sausage. Ham. It’s very kosher.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Artistic photo of the day:
The cathedral. And some oranges. I couldn't get a photo to show how big the cathedral is, but this is kinda cool.
Things I've Learned (and will now impart to you)
The socialist party is currently in power in Spain. Zapatero is the president.
All the laborers wear bright blue jumpsuits to work.
I live in 1950s or ’60s high-density socialist housing. (As you might be able to see from the picture).
Cataluña, the province in the North that contains Barcelona, is the richest part of Spain and they want to pay fewer taxes to the Spanish government and have more independence. Negotiations are ongoing.
There is a drought in Andalucía, the province in the South that contains Sevilla. If we’re not careful now, there won’t be enough water and electricity in the middle of the summer to accommodate all the showers that people want to take when it’s 100+.
Spain, with all its smokers, just passed a law effective 1.01.06 that prohibits smoking in public places. Small bars and restaurants, however, are given the option to choose whether to be smoking and non-smoking. All of the places in Spain are small, and they all choose smoking. Se permite fumar. The college students rebel and smoke in the halls and the university bar anyway.
President Bush went to the University of Seville the other day because apparently one of his daughters wants to take cursos para extranjeros (classes for foreigners) there. Rumor has it he spoke to the director of my program and said it was the best program for students studying abroad in Seville.
Europeans like their baptisms. The big celebrity news this week? The baby of the prince of Switzerland (?) was baptized and named. Last week? Baby Leonora (child of the prince of Spain) was baptized. HOURS of press coverage.
Spanish people listen to a lot of American music. In English.
They also tend to watch a lot of T.V. And everyone has the same 5 or so channels.
Tall boots, festive tights, and red shoes are muy de moda for women.
“Hasta luego” is widely used in place of “Adios.”
A kiss on each cheek is a common greeting and parting gesture, even if you don’t know the person well or they’re a friend of a friend.
“Vale” used like a period at the end of each sentance. Its meaning is very vague and transient to me, but my dictionary says it means valid.
Instead of saying “um,” Spaniards say “eh” when they can’t think of what to say.
Analucians often drop the “s” at the end of words and say “th” instead of “c.” “Gracias,” therefore, becomes, “Grathia,” and “autobus” becomes “autobu.”
No one can say my name. My señora calls me “Issy.” On the other hand, I have three Anna/Anas in my phone. Once my señora gets a phone, there will be four.
In fact, the way the Spaniards speak and the phrases they use are all very interesting to listen to from an outsider’s point of view. The way Americans say “like” incessantly and jumble and combine all their words is probably also ridiculous to an outsider, but we don’t notice it because it’s just how we speak. As I try to imitate the Spanish accent and pronunciation, I’m uncomfortable and self-conscious using “vale” to punctuate every sentence because I feel like it’s a Spanish cultural convention that I’m not a part of. ¿Vale?
All the laborers wear bright blue jumpsuits to work.
I live in 1950s or ’60s high-density socialist housing. (As you might be able to see from the picture).
Cataluña, the province in the North that contains Barcelona, is the richest part of Spain and they want to pay fewer taxes to the Spanish government and have more independence. Negotiations are ongoing.
There is a drought in Andalucía, the province in the South that contains Sevilla. If we’re not careful now, there won’t be enough water and electricity in the middle of the summer to accommodate all the showers that people want to take when it’s 100+.
Spain, with all its smokers, just passed a law effective 1.01.06 that prohibits smoking in public places. Small bars and restaurants, however, are given the option to choose whether to be smoking and non-smoking. All of the places in Spain are small, and they all choose smoking. Se permite fumar. The college students rebel and smoke in the halls and the university bar anyway.
President Bush went to the University of Seville the other day because apparently one of his daughters wants to take cursos para extranjeros (classes for foreigners) there. Rumor has it he spoke to the director of my program and said it was the best program for students studying abroad in Seville.
Europeans like their baptisms. The big celebrity news this week? The baby of the prince of Switzerland (?) was baptized and named. Last week? Baby Leonora (child of the prince of Spain) was baptized. HOURS of press coverage.
Spanish people listen to a lot of American music. In English.
They also tend to watch a lot of T.V. And everyone has the same 5 or so channels.
Tall boots, festive tights, and red shoes are muy de moda for women.
“Hasta luego” is widely used in place of “Adios.”
A kiss on each cheek is a common greeting and parting gesture, even if you don’t know the person well or they’re a friend of a friend.
“Vale” used like a period at the end of each sentance. Its meaning is very vague and transient to me, but my dictionary says it means valid.
Instead of saying “um,” Spaniards say “eh” when they can’t think of what to say.
Analucians often drop the “s” at the end of words and say “th” instead of “c.” “Gracias,” therefore, becomes, “Grathia,” and “autobus” becomes “autobu.”
No one can say my name. My señora calls me “Issy.” On the other hand, I have three Anna/Anas in my phone. Once my señora gets a phone, there will be four.
In fact, the way the Spaniards speak and the phrases they use are all very interesting to listen to from an outsider’s point of view. The way Americans say “like” incessantly and jumble and combine all their words is probably also ridiculous to an outsider, but we don’t notice it because it’s just how we speak. As I try to imitate the Spanish accent and pronunciation, I’m uncomfortable and self-conscious using “vale” to punctuate every sentence because I feel like it’s a Spanish cultural convention that I’m not a part of. ¿Vale?
Las calles estrechas de Sevilla
Most of the streets look like this in El Centro (downtown). Cobblestoned, skinny, with little or no sidewalk. It makes it interesting when cars go by. It also makes it interesting to walk around in heels!
Mateos Gago
This is one of my favorite little streets. It is right behind the cathedral and I take it everyday to get to school. There are lots of little tapas bars that are hoppin' during siesta time. Also, notice the ORANGES on all the trees! It's so cool walking around, the streets lined with oranges.
Virgen de Lujan
The main drag in Los Remedios. I walked down this street to get here (to the internet cafe)! There are a lot of little stores, and a lot of housing, obviously.
My Apartment
That door ahead there, numero TRES, that's mine. I'm on the third floor, but my window faces the other side of the building. As you can see, it's very high density. I was out very very late last night, and like every other morning at ungodly hours, the upstairs neighbors were pounding on the floor. Not much sleep. The downside of high-density housing. In this particular area of Los Remedios, there are about 10 buildings/blocks such as this, so there are quite a lot of people around.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Ojalá
Attempts at dancing thwarted once again!
Typical of the Spanish, that the one Thursday we get our butts to a club for free salsa lessons, they don’t have them. But next week.
Got all dressed up, wore heels, and took a taxi out to Egypt to talk to people outside of the club. Oh but it was a very nice outside. There was the guy we thought was Spanish, but he actually turned out to be American. There were the Spaniards who thought we couldn’t understand them, but they were very keen on getting us to go to another club with them. An offer which we declined. And then there were the English folk (and one German) who we walked with half of the way home. They were highly amusing and friendly with their “American” accents and funny words. Then we stopped for helado, my two new friends and I, because there are places for coffee and ice cream here that are open past 10:00. Still wasn't out til 5. But there's time for that.
Maybe tonight. ;-)
Typical of the Spanish, that the one Thursday we get our butts to a club for free salsa lessons, they don’t have them. But next week.
Got all dressed up, wore heels, and took a taxi out to Egypt to talk to people outside of the club. Oh but it was a very nice outside. There was the guy we thought was Spanish, but he actually turned out to be American. There were the Spaniards who thought we couldn’t understand them, but they were very keen on getting us to go to another club with them. An offer which we declined. And then there were the English folk (and one German) who we walked with half of the way home. They were highly amusing and friendly with their “American” accents and funny words. Then we stopped for helado, my two new friends and I, because there are places for coffee and ice cream here that are open past 10:00. Still wasn't out til 5. But there's time for that.
Maybe tonight. ;-)
Department Storería
Sevilla has an H&M. It’s three levels and it’s glorious. I bought a pair of slippers (zapatillos) there, among other things, because my señora informed me today that I would get a sore throat from walking on the cold tile in my socks.
In addition to H&M, I experienced the Spanish equivalent of a department store today. This is a new concept because, as I’ve said, they have separate stores for everything. And it wasn’t just a department store – El Corte Ingles is a city. I forgot how many floors it was. At least five huge department store floors, filled with food, clothes, shoes, drug store items, makeup, all rolled into one. And since it’s sale season, rebajas everywhere. It was slightly, no completely, overwhelming, and they didn’t have school supplies unless I missed them somewhere. Go figure, the paper they use here is taller and skinnier than paper in the U.S.
I think I might finally get to go dancing tomorrow night. I was supposed to go Saturday to a club called Voz, which actually turned out to be called Boss (they sound the same), but they wouldn’t let us in. Then we walked to “Kool,” but that cost 10€ and it was already 2.30. My friend’s señora laughs at him if he comes home before three… but where I come from, 2.30’s pretty darn late.
In addition to H&M, I experienced the Spanish equivalent of a department store today. This is a new concept because, as I’ve said, they have separate stores for everything. And it wasn’t just a department store – El Corte Ingles is a city. I forgot how many floors it was. At least five huge department store floors, filled with food, clothes, shoes, drug store items, makeup, all rolled into one. And since it’s sale season, rebajas everywhere. It was slightly, no completely, overwhelming, and they didn’t have school supplies unless I missed them somewhere. Go figure, the paper they use here is taller and skinnier than paper in the U.S.
I think I might finally get to go dancing tomorrow night. I was supposed to go Saturday to a club called Voz, which actually turned out to be called Boss (they sound the same), but they wouldn’t let us in. Then we walked to “Kool,” but that cost 10€ and it was already 2.30. My friend’s señora laughs at him if he comes home before three… but where I come from, 2.30’s pretty darn late.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
At the risk of sounding stupid
“Cincuenta y cuatro.” (Direct translation: fifty-four)
I looked at my collection of euros and tried to remember what “cincuenta” means in English, and how many bills I should give her. Euros aren’t much different from dollars, but they look so foreign under pressure. I had a five, some tens… cincuenta, is that FIFTY!? My thought progression didn’t seem unusual, at school we regularly pay exorbitant prices for 10-20 pieces of paper bound into a reader. Fifty seems like a lot, I don’t have fifty.
“Centavos.” Duh.
I then spent another minute or so trying to figure out which coin was which. They like coins here in Spain.
So ended my adventure at Minerva Copistería, the place to buy readers at the Universidad de Sevilla. Copistería, as you might discern, is a store that sells copies. In Spanish you can add “ería” onto almost any word and turn it into a store. Perfumería, Fruitería, Zapatería, I see them all on my way to school.
Today I learned that in order to get over my fear of sounding utterly idiotic when I speak to Spaniards, I have to do it anyway. Regardless of how I sound, they can usually understand what I’m saying and I can more often than not understand them. Only with the word “euro” do I draw the line. Spaniards have a unique way of pronouncing it, instead of melding the “e” and the “u” like English-speakers, they pronounce both. I practice when I’m walking the street, when I’m laying in bed, when I’m eating, but I can’t seem to get it right. The first day I was here my señora and her granddaughter laughed at my attempts. When I learn to pronounce euro, I’ll know that I’ve mastered the Spanish language.
I looked at my collection of euros and tried to remember what “cincuenta” means in English, and how many bills I should give her. Euros aren’t much different from dollars, but they look so foreign under pressure. I had a five, some tens… cincuenta, is that FIFTY!? My thought progression didn’t seem unusual, at school we regularly pay exorbitant prices for 10-20 pieces of paper bound into a reader. Fifty seems like a lot, I don’t have fifty.
“Centavos.” Duh.
I then spent another minute or so trying to figure out which coin was which. They like coins here in Spain.
So ended my adventure at Minerva Copistería, the place to buy readers at the Universidad de Sevilla. Copistería, as you might discern, is a store that sells copies. In Spanish you can add “ería” onto almost any word and turn it into a store. Perfumería, Fruitería, Zapatería, I see them all on my way to school.
Today I learned that in order to get over my fear of sounding utterly idiotic when I speak to Spaniards, I have to do it anyway. Regardless of how I sound, they can usually understand what I’m saying and I can more often than not understand them. Only with the word “euro” do I draw the line. Spaniards have a unique way of pronouncing it, instead of melding the “e” and the “u” like English-speakers, they pronounce both. I practice when I’m walking the street, when I’m laying in bed, when I’m eating, but I can’t seem to get it right. The first day I was here my señora and her granddaughter laughed at my attempts. When I learn to pronounce euro, I’ll know that I’ve mastered the Spanish language.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Living Room
This is the teeny living room. I eat here every morning, afternoon, and night. There's a heater under the table that's amazing when it's cold.
Los Remedios
This is a view over the river to my neighborhood, Los Remedios. I don't live anywhere near the river... but I walk over the bridge everyday to get downtown (to the left).
I'm at an Internet cafe
Not having easy internet access is really throwing off my habits. I get the urge to write, but I have no where to put my words but on a word document. Oh wifi, how do I find you?
My señora continually amazes me. When I first arrived on miercoles, I was dismayed to find that the kitchen was not in working order. There’s no sink, a small counter space, a small refrigerator/freezer, and the stove is hidden in a back room off the kitchen. When she stood there the first day with coat on, purse in hand, telling me to go arreglar mi cuarto and we’d eat at two, I thought she meant we’d go out. But there it was at 1:30, a sizzling and popping sound and a smell that can only mean frying. And at two there was a glass of water, a roll, some fruit, and a steaming plate of pasta with some kind of red sauce and sausage waiting on the table. My attempts to find out what kind of meat was in the sausage were unsuccessful… the ten-year-old grandchild was keen on showing off her knowledge of English, telling me that it was “sausage,” as if that’s a kind of meat. Oh well. It tasted good, and I lived to tell the tale.
So I return to the table each morning, afternoon, and night, expecting nothing, but getting these amazing plates of food that seem to appear out of nowhere. When I cook, I spend hours in the kitchen chopping, making a mess, washing, and cleaning. She spends very little time in the kitchen, does very little preparation, doesn’t even have a sink, but every meal comes out hot and delicious. The wonder of the Spanish housewife.
There’s a lot of onion and a lot of starch. And some oil. I get a sizeable roll of white bread with each meal, to accompany my sizeable portion of white rice or pasta. It’s not low carb, but it’s well-balanced. The protein consists of sausage, chicken, or fish. Last night she whipped up a plate of paella, and I went through each vegetable and piece of fish asking her what they were called.
Lunch, of course, at two, is the biggest meal of the day. Afterward, I take a siesta. Dinner is eaten somewhere between 8 and 10 and it’s slightly smaller and lighter than lunch. For breakfast I eat more starch – a muffin with chocolate inside, a roll of sweet white bread, sometimes a piece of fruit. Today I got cola cao (hot chocolate, apparently) made from whole milk with some hard cracker/cookies.
I’m going to be spoiled when I come home. There will be no one to make my meals for me, and no one to insist on picking up and cleaning my dishes. Hopefully I won’t be fat. Hopefully my 30-40 minute walk to school each day will take care of that.
My señora continually amazes me. When I first arrived on miercoles, I was dismayed to find that the kitchen was not in working order. There’s no sink, a small counter space, a small refrigerator/freezer, and the stove is hidden in a back room off the kitchen. When she stood there the first day with coat on, purse in hand, telling me to go arreglar mi cuarto and we’d eat at two, I thought she meant we’d go out. But there it was at 1:30, a sizzling and popping sound and a smell that can only mean frying. And at two there was a glass of water, a roll, some fruit, and a steaming plate of pasta with some kind of red sauce and sausage waiting on the table. My attempts to find out what kind of meat was in the sausage were unsuccessful… the ten-year-old grandchild was keen on showing off her knowledge of English, telling me that it was “sausage,” as if that’s a kind of meat. Oh well. It tasted good, and I lived to tell the tale.
So I return to the table each morning, afternoon, and night, expecting nothing, but getting these amazing plates of food that seem to appear out of nowhere. When I cook, I spend hours in the kitchen chopping, making a mess, washing, and cleaning. She spends very little time in the kitchen, does very little preparation, doesn’t even have a sink, but every meal comes out hot and delicious. The wonder of the Spanish housewife.
There’s a lot of onion and a lot of starch. And some oil. I get a sizeable roll of white bread with each meal, to accompany my sizeable portion of white rice or pasta. It’s not low carb, but it’s well-balanced. The protein consists of sausage, chicken, or fish. Last night she whipped up a plate of paella, and I went through each vegetable and piece of fish asking her what they were called.
Lunch, of course, at two, is the biggest meal of the day. Afterward, I take a siesta. Dinner is eaten somewhere between 8 and 10 and it’s slightly smaller and lighter than lunch. For breakfast I eat more starch – a muffin with chocolate inside, a roll of sweet white bread, sometimes a piece of fruit. Today I got cola cao (hot chocolate, apparently) made from whole milk with some hard cracker/cookies.
I’m going to be spoiled when I come home. There will be no one to make my meals for me, and no one to insist on picking up and cleaning my dishes. Hopefully I won’t be fat. Hopefully my 30-40 minute walk to school each day will take care of that.
New York in Spain
I ended up at a bar close to home tonight, se llama Long Island, and given the English name, needless to say it’s in an area frequented by Americans and other extranjeros called Calle Betis. A friend and I decided it would be better to go to a small place and to speak only in Spanish to facilitate meeting and conversing with Spaniards. After ordering, the bartender asked us where we were from; and he said we spoke well. He then helped us with the important bar vocabulary words. Cubata is mixed drink. Chupita is a shot. Pajita or Cañita are words for straw, but pajita is not to be confused with paja, a rude word (shhhh). Oh yeah, and they had 1€ cervecitas and free sangria for ladies after midnight. All the bars have Cruzcampo on tap. It’s very popular in Sevilla, but my señora’s daughter said it’s made in England. Go figure.
All this after a failed attempt at finding an internet café that was open past 11. My señora attributed this to the fact that the weekend goes Thursday through Sunday and no one needs to use the internet late on the weekend when they can go to discotecas. Hopefully sometime this weekend I will experience the famous European discotec, the likes of which are very uncommon in the U.S.
But the highlight of my day, besides the 30-minute walk to and from the study center, was almuerzo con mi señora’s daughter and her two-year-old daughter, all three with the name Ana. You see, I requested to live with a family, and I ended up with a señora, but she has a family that comes over often, so I really got what I wanted. I was told that this toddler was shy, but she was anything but shy, climbing all over the couches, throwing stuffed animals at me for besitas. She called me “Binsy” and it didn’t matter that I couldn’t speak perfectly because she couldn’t speak either. I’m proud to say, however, that my comprehension, accent, and grammar are slightly better than hers.
I’ve only been here 4 days, but I can already tell that i’m going to greatly miss Sevilla when I return to California. Say “Sevilla” out loud, with smooth local accent, the “i” sharply accented and the “ll” rolling off the tongue like an English “y.” It sounds full of beauty, mystery, and promise. Like “marvillosa.” Our program directors reminded us today that there are limitless opportunities here, not just in which street to go at night, but the different clubs and groups to get involved in, the different people to meet, locals and Americans alike. The Spanish way of life isn’t conducive to looking forward to tomorrow, pero no puedo esperar.
All this after a failed attempt at finding an internet café that was open past 11. My señora attributed this to the fact that the weekend goes Thursday through Sunday and no one needs to use the internet late on the weekend when they can go to discotecas. Hopefully sometime this weekend I will experience the famous European discotec, the likes of which are very uncommon in the U.S.
But the highlight of my day, besides the 30-minute walk to and from the study center, was almuerzo con mi señora’s daughter and her two-year-old daughter, all three with the name Ana. You see, I requested to live with a family, and I ended up with a señora, but she has a family that comes over often, so I really got what I wanted. I was told that this toddler was shy, but she was anything but shy, climbing all over the couches, throwing stuffed animals at me for besitas. She called me “Binsy” and it didn’t matter that I couldn’t speak perfectly because she couldn’t speak either. I’m proud to say, however, that my comprehension, accent, and grammar are slightly better than hers.
I’ve only been here 4 days, but I can already tell that i’m going to greatly miss Sevilla when I return to California. Say “Sevilla” out loud, with smooth local accent, the “i” sharply accented and the “ll” rolling off the tongue like an English “y.” It sounds full of beauty, mystery, and promise. Like “marvillosa.” Our program directors reminded us today that there are limitless opportunities here, not just in which street to go at night, but the different clubs and groups to get involved in, the different people to meet, locals and Americans alike. The Spanish way of life isn’t conducive to looking forward to tomorrow, pero no puedo esperar.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
I wrote this Tues night but the hotel turned the wireless off so I couldn't post it...
I lost my voice somewhere between Los Angeles and London. But I arrived safely! My luggage, however, did not. Until about two hours ago, I was living in the same dirty jeans y ropa interior. It was a new experience, losing my luggage, but I wasn't the only one, and it made it all the more sweeter actually getting it. I could actually dress up for the bars tonight! It was kind of like Isla Vista but in the city: all the bar-goers took their drinks into the street to talk. But the streets here are skinny, cobbled, and windy and the sidewalks are thin if there are any. It makes it interesting when cars go by.
I'm slowly adjusting. My spanish is improving ever so slightly, i'm adjusting to the time difference kind of (it's 2:00 a.m. here, but I took a 2 hour siesta today so i'm not tired). I'm meeting lots of people (most of them from the midwest and east -- everything thinks California is sorta foreign) and i've signed myself up for lots of programs that will get me in touch with los españoles.
Tomorrow I move into my homestay. I'm living in Los Remedios (an area across the river and about 20 minutes walk from La Catedral, the biggest church in the world) y El Centro (where everything is). I have my own room, in an apartment with a señora. Apparently it's common here for children to live at home until they're 30 or older... so lots of kids are with a women and her 30-year-old son and many also have roommates.
Our spanish guía took us to a tapas bar this afternoon, where I got the first real meal i've had since i've been here. I also had sangria (it's really good!).
I'm slowly adjusting. My spanish is improving ever so slightly, i'm adjusting to the time difference kind of (it's 2:00 a.m. here, but I took a 2 hour siesta today so i'm not tired). I'm meeting lots of people (most of them from the midwest and east -- everything thinks California is sorta foreign) and i've signed myself up for lots of programs that will get me in touch with los españoles.
Tomorrow I move into my homestay. I'm living in Los Remedios (an area across the river and about 20 minutes walk from La Catedral, the biggest church in the world) y El Centro (where everything is). I have my own room, in an apartment with a señora. Apparently it's common here for children to live at home until they're 30 or older... so lots of kids are with a women and her 30-year-old son and many also have roommates.
Our spanish guía took us to a tapas bar this afternoon, where I got the first real meal i've had since i've been here. I also had sangria (it's really good!).
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
La Paz
This is my photographic representation of "adrift". The photo's from Cabo San Lucas, Mexico this summer.
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