Defend the Keep!

This weekend was the CIEE organized trip for Session I. We took a nice seven hour bus ride up to Asturias in the north. We stopped in the capital of Oviedo to weather that was about 20°C cooler. Yessss. Then we walked up a big hill outside Oviedo and saw some old buildings. It felt like my art history class, but I’m in Spain so I can’t complain. Then we went to our hotel in Cangas de Onís. I really liked this hotel. It had real keys. It was crazy. Cangas has this really old, sweet bridge over a stream. Like a mountain stream, not an Iowa stream, which wouldn’t have been as cool.

The next day we went up the mountains to the Parque Nacional de Los Lagos de Covadonga (The Lakes of Covadonga National Park). This was pretty cool. Someone said it felt like our own little world up there because we were above the clouds but there were still clouds above us. Once she said that (I say she because odds are it was a girl since the program only has three guys) I really did notice it. The world felt smaller. It was like I could focus on smaller things rather than the big picture. I felt like I could appreciate the scenery, the situation, and the feelings more. Then the world felt gigantic as I remembered that there was a world outside our sandwich of mist. It was weird.

Next was the Basílica de Covadonga. I actually was listening to our guide, but I can’t remember exactly why it was important. I’m pretty sure the king fended off the Muslims in Asturias. Asturias served as the foothold for Christianity’s 800 year comeback in Spain. That’s why the prince of Spain is Prince of Asturias the same way the English prince is Prince of Wales. This was all said in Spanish so I’ve probably got something important very backward. What I’m trying to say is that we found a dog eating a muffin, so we named her Muffin and tried to steal her.

Then we went to the beach. We had some doubts because it was pretty chilly in the mountains, but the beach at Llanes was perfect (Llanes is famous for some enormous painted cubes on one of the piers). It wasn’t too hot and was sunny. The water was freezing, of course. I lost a gymnastics contest, I realized going topless at the beach was socially acceptable, and I almost speared a man with a lance…would that be “almost lanced a man?” I don’t know. A friend and I built this Gothic sand castle, hoping we would get extra credit in art history. We started building the castle just fine, but the waves got closer and closer so we really spent the whole time building a giant wall to protect our mound of a castle. No, it wouldn’t have been easier to find a new spot. We decided to take a break from our toils and labor. As soon as we left, this jerk face lied (laid? Aaah, Spanish is messing with my English.) down on our wall and used it as a back rest. I was ready to fight and tried to rouse the troops by shouting, “Defend the keep!” Sadly, the only movement was from laughter as no one moved to arms. The city was lost.

The next day we went to Comillas in Cantabria. They were having a medieval festival so we spent most of the time looking at the booths. I was kind of sad we had to leave because there were stages setup for what looked like would be pretty big concerts. There was also a sidre pouring contest that I wanted to watch (Sidre is a drink typical of the north. It’s poured from above the pourer’s head to a glass around waist level because the bubbles are apparently what make it taste good. You have to drink it before it goes flat and super bitter.). The program director said that Alcalá has a medieval festival that’s four times bigger in the fall. Too bad I won’t be here.

I’ve been warned and expected that studying abroad would be a roller coaster ride of emotions. You know that feeling you get when you just got to the bottom of that first and tallest hill, when your stomach feels like it’s being pushed through your seat and you’re dangerously close to vomiting? That’s what happened to me only I puked emotionally, mentally, and physically. I wanted to go home so bad. I hope that was the low point of the trip because if I feel lower than that later, I might just fly home. I tried not to let it affect the other people in the program, although I’m sure it probably did. I know that when I’m around someone who is constantly putting something down, it sometimes affects my view of that thing. I didn’t want to be complaining all the time and possibly influence their views. This actually helped me too. I tried not to let my crappy health affect how I felt about the trip, the people, and the places. Of course, there were times when I blamed everything on Spain. I hit my head on my shelf. Stupid Spain. I forgot to save my blog in 2003 Word format for the school’s outdated computer software. Arrrgh, Spain! My water bottle is empty. What else do you want from me, Spain, seriously?! I could write a lengthy anecdote about my episode with the Spanish medical system and how I feel it compares to that in the US, but I’d rather not remember that experience or the health related experiences that ensued. And it wasn’t an STD, Michelle, but thanks for asking. Let’s drop it, eh?

I did a lot better in art history than in phonetics, which was genuinely a huge surprise. Art history is a thousand times harder. We’ll see how finals go. Clearly, since I’ve got finals, it’s the end of the first session. There’s a long break between sessions (five days or something like that). A lot of the people that are here for only one session are travelling as are the people staying for both sessions. I was invited to Milan, Switzerland, Granada, and Iowa City. The problem is I didn’t get any of the gajillion scholarship dollars Iowa claims to give to study abroad students, so I have no money to do this. However, I just got off the phone with Noelia and she is going to hike up some giant mountain up north and said I could come. My weekend plans went from nothing to mountain climbing with eight Spaniards. As far as I know, Noelia is the only that can speak English, so I’m going to get lots of practice, which I desperately need and want. I’m pretty excited to own this mountain too. I’ve got some reliable sources that tell me people have died on this sucker. It’s kind of a big deal. Don’t worry, I’ll carry a walking stick or something. If that mountain tries anything, I’ll give it a good poke. Also, I hope I see another goat.

Random thoughts:

I have a feeling my family struggles to understand me just as much as I struggle to understand them.

I’ll never get used to the way Spaniards say ‘piss.’

Swear words aren’t as bad as they are in the US, at least that’s what I’ve been told. If you want to swear, you swear. The context and intonation affect how it is interpreted; whether it’s a ‘bad’ curse word by American standards or if it’s a curse word like ‘crap.’

I´m so ready for some death

I went to Seville. Although I didn’t go see a barber, I saw where The Barber of Seville was performed or shot or staged or inspired or something. I’m pretty sure Carmen was done there and another that I can’t remember, but who knows.

I went for Corpus Cristi, which is a holiday, so we didn’t have classes. My friend Piper and her husband suggested I go there to see them and the big Corpus festival. It was pretty cool. I was kind of exhausted and sick from the night before, but I tried not to let that affect how I judged the city. I’ve heard so many good things about it. The thing I absolutely hated wasn’t the 43° weather (guess what that is in Fahrenheit), it was the tourists!!! I HATED it. Everything was oriented toward them and they seemed to be everywhere. Ugh, it was awful. I’m glad Piper and Jacob could show me some other local things to do like eat lunch on the river and swim. This was one of my favorite parts of the trip, and it was caused by a plan gone wrong. We planned to catch a bus to the beach, but we were either too late or there were no more seats on the bus. The lady just said 3:30 when we tried buying our tickets to Montalascañas. So, we walked around, debated about going to a water park, nixed that, thought about paddle boats, nixed that, got hungry so we ate on a little dock by the Guadalquivir River. It was sooo so soso soos sosooos sosoo hot. There were these kids swimming a little way away from us, so Jacob and I went to swim with them. They got out right before we got there, but we noticed that there was a locked gate and fence to the dock. We asked them if we were allowed to swim. They said as long as the police don’t catch you. Of course, that was good enough for me so I proceeded to jump the first fence then fell over the second one. They laughed. I laughed. I’m sure they said something about me being a tourist, but I’m glad I didn’t hear. Have I mentioned I hate being a tourist? I know I don’t look like a local, but I don’t want to be the tourist either. There’s a difference between a visitor and a tourist. Anyway, the guys must have known the cops were coming soon, and that’s why they left because it was maybe five or ten minutes and a police car pulled up. My first instinct was to hide under the dock but they had clearly seen us. We got out, I crawled under the fence this time, then walked around the other fence, and walked innocently to where we ate lunch. My innocent walk must need some work because I have a ticket I have to pay in 90 days.

After that, we tried finding something to do that wasn’t hot. What is the most air-conditioned, freezing place in the US? It’s the same in Spain…… We went to a movie theatre. Piper assured me that it was an English theatre with Spanish subtitles. I was skeptical, but I remembered all the tourists and could imagine there being enough of them to support an English theatre. We went to Coraline. The previews started in Spanish. I thought, “Oh, they’re just the previews.” Then the movie started in Spanish. I sighed. I know I’m here to learn, but my brain was literally fried from the sun. It turned out really well, though. I could understand almost perfectly. I actually mean it this time. I’ve said I can understand Spanish for a long time, but I was basically lying to everyone. I really did understand this movie. I was cold and content.

We also went to a bullfight. This is where Piper declared that she was “so ready for some death.” There are two kinds: a corrida is a matador on foot and a rejone is fought from a horse. We went to a corrida. We paid less for tickets in the sun but were next to the cut off for shade, so we had shade the whole time. It was still stiflingly steamy. The seats aren’t exactly built for comfort. I had a person between my legs in front of me, I was sitting between the person behind me’s legs, and had Piper on my left side. Squished. The whole bullfight experience was pretty cool. I’m not into the killing an innocent animal thing at all, but I loved the cultural aspect of it. It was really interesting to see a different kind of sport/ritual/ceremony and savor something so Spanish (I’m sorry for all the alliterations in this one). I suggest going to one.

I really like palm trees. I like Seville because it has palm trees.

Seville also has a lot of Muslim influenced architecture (I spelled ‘architecture’ in Spanish twice, got mad, then realized it was underlined in red because I spelled it in Spanish. HhahaaHAHA hilarious.). The buildings are all different from the ones in Madrid and very different from the ones in Alcalá. We went to Real Alcazar, which was the palace for the Muslim king and then the Christian king. All the walls are covered in crazy detailed sculpture patterns and mosaics. It was really cool and is free for students, so it was that much more awesome. There are the royal gardens attached. They are huge. There were peacocks. They were huge, too. There was also this underground bath for the queen. It felt so good…the temperature not the water. You weren’t allowed to touch the water. I tried. We kind of mooched off of two of the tours to find out some info about it (although I hate looking like a tourist, I like learning things). One was a group of high school English speakers and the other was a Spanish guy with four other people. Sometimes the things they said didn’t match exactly. I think the English lady’s facts were wrong.

I had a fun experience with food. I was warned that Spaniards will serve their fish with the heads attached. I hadn’t seen this yet and had fish several times. I was starting to get disappointed, but Seville didn’t let me down. At Hermanos Gómez, we didn’t really know what the second dish was going to be because we just asked the waiter to bring his favorites. I got a bunch of fried minnows, Jacob got two fish, and Piper got two or three of a fish of a different breed (I’m sorry, Dad, I know I should know the names of my fish by now). All of them, except Piper’s, had heads. The waiter probably got worried that we hadn’t started eating after a little while and then saw our confused looks. He told me how to eat my dish: completely whole, head and tail and bones and all. Jacob filleted his nicely and left the head, which I think was correct. I don’t know how anyone could have eaten it. They tasted like chicken strips only they were fish with heads…Fish sticks! Not chicken strips, duh. I could hit ‘backspace’ but I think it’s funnier this way.

One of my other favorite things was really simple and cheap: we ordered Domino’s Pizza and drank 1€ wine for about three hours while sitting by the river talking about what we want to be when we ‘grow up.’ I absolutely loved it, and it satisfied my craving for American food for a while. I’m glad I got to learn more about Piper and Jacob, too.

I got a good dose of dancing too. I didn’t actually get to dance, sadly, but I got to watch some. We went to the Tango Festival in this really cool theatre. I was kinda bummed because the show was focused more on Tango music rather than dancing. There were about five dance pieces plus a bunch of music pieces. One piece featured a guy who danced the whole thing without bending his right leg. Impressive. Afterward, there was a street performance outside for a festival called Circada, which seems like a circus/street artist fest that goes for a few weeks. The performers we saw weren’t that good and the guy really wasn’t funny plus he had the most annoying accent. I guess I can’t give anyone crap for an accent but still. The other dancing we saw was Flamenco in this really authentic feeling bar. There were a lot of tourists there but there were also a bunch of locals. I checked later and it’s the bar suggested by the guidebook I got from Noelia; clearly tourist, then. I didn’t care though. It was like a slightly run-down hole in the wall with a front where the Flamenco goes on, another big bar room, and a gigantic patio. It was all in this old stone building, just like every other building in Spain, I guess. It was crowded so I couldn’t see very well and the dancer didn’t dance long but it was still cool. Flamenco reminds me of tap. It’s a lot of stomping and clapping but is waaay more passionate and raw when compared to tap.

We went to the Plaza de España. It’s basically this awesome plaza with mosaics of every region of every province. Madrid was under construction so I didn’t get to see it, but the whole place was still pretty impressive. There were fountains and waterways not only in the Plaza de España but also in a lot of parks and the Alcazar that would have looked really cool had there been enough water to fill them all. Water and electricity are really expensive here; it’s not uncommon to spend all day in the dark if you’re inside.

The last thing we did was see a Corpus Cristi parade. It was more of a processional and not what you would think of as a parade. It was really slow and the ‘floats’ were really small shrines carried by a bunch of children. I didn’t even know kids were carrying them because they are covered, but then Piper pointed out the little feet under the sheet. The bands were cool, too. It was more laid back since the streets are so tiny and people kept walking across between people in the procession. There were also a bunch of shrines set up on store windows, on the streets, and in people’s doorways. They weren’t dinky little shrines, either. They were respectable. People on the upper floors would hang decorative things that looked like scarves but were the size of blankets over their balconies. There’s probably a word for them, but my English vocabulary has significantly decreased since I haven’t been using it. There were also these ropes of flowers made from plastic bags criss-crossing the streets overhead. All of it combined gave the feeling of a big city wide party.

I had a midterm in art history on Monday and one in phonetics on Tuesday. After my art history one, I went to the doctor because I’m sick again. I’m always sick and I am so tired of it. I know I shouldn’t complain. It definitely isn’t as bad as it could be. I’m reminded of my Dance Marathon friends. But going to the doctor was a cultural experience all in itself. Patient care and interaction are first in the US. Not so in Spain. It’s basically, “Enter. What’s wrong?” I didn’t know hardly any of the necessary vocabulary like swollen, sore, sores, glands, sinus, dizzy, etc. The doctor spoke very fast and in an old man voice (men are always the hardest to understand in Spanish, I find). The bed I sat on wasn’t the cleanest, and when he looked in my throat, it was basically him jabbing a tongue depressor down my throat until I gagged. Anyway, he wrote me a prescription, I went to the pharmacy, and have started taking it. The pharmacist didn’t ask if I knew how to take it, if I were taking anything else, what the side effects were, what it actually does, or any of the other things pharmacists are supposed to tell you, at least that’s what pharmacists in the US are supposed to tell you. The medicine is a minty powder that I drink and tastes good but seems to only be a short term fix because my throat gets numb for a while but hurts just as bad later. The label says “ibuprofeno” which looks a lot like “ibuprofen” to me. If all he gave me was mint flavored ibuprofen, I’m going to be so pissed.

Ok, so it’s been a week since I wrote that first paragraph about being sick, and I’m pissed. Turns out the magic ibuprofen didn’t work. I got a lot worse, threw up a few times, and had a fever of over 100 for about a day and a half. I can’t eat or drink because there’s this giant sore on my tongue and my throat feels like strep. I’m only telling you this so you can maybe diagnose me. You’ll probably do better than the ‘doctor’ I saw here. I was the worst was over our weekend trip to the northern Spanish autonomías of Asturias and Cantabria. I’ll write more about the actual trip in the next blog, but I can tell you that I pretty much hated life the whole time. I love the North, but I was absolutely miserable especially when I had to listen to our guide yak for twenty out of every thirty minutes. I like to know what I’m looking at and the significance behind it, but a whole lecture on every historical object is a little much. I’d rather explore the cities on my own, decide which things I want to learn about, and learn about them for myself especially since I’M the one that’s paid for the trip. Plus, I was sick and just wanted to go home, lie down, and not think.

Language stories:
- When I talk faster, I make more mistakes with pronunciation. For example, I meant to say “Hacía frío” which means ‘it was cold (as in weather)’ but I kinda said “Hacía frito” which means ‘it was fried.’ My sister found the second one hilarious. Now, when she asks how something went, she’ll say, “¿Qué tal? ¿Frito?”
- The menu at a bar in Seville said “Jarra 1.5€” or some price like that, I don’t remember the price at all actually. So I ordered that, thinking it was a brand of beer. The bartender kept saying “¿Qué, qué, qué?” So I repeated myself, pointed at the menu, said it again, pointed more, felt like an idiot, and then realized that ‘jarra’ means ‘jar’ like a pitcher. He wanted to know what I wanted a pitcher of. I only needed to say ‘cerveza’ and everything was fine. You’d think I would have learned my lesson but I did the same thing at another bar later that weekend. I just caught on faster the second time.
- Spaniards, in general, pronounce ‘c’ and ‘z’ like the ‘th’ in ‘think.’ So, the word for beer (cerveza) is pronounced ‘thur-bay-tha.’ I’m used to that because Madrileños speak that way. In Seville, they have an accent on top of that one, though. They cut off the last letter of words, last syllable of others, and sometimes entire words. “thur-bayth.” This isn’t really a funny story, but you can imagine how frustrating it was. “Muy” was one I had trouble with because it’s used so much but isn’t always pronounced. It was more like “meh.” If something were hot, like the coffee my friends host mom served me, she would say “mecalien” instead of “muy caliente.”
-Julie asked how people greet each other and say good-bye. My experience has been “Hola. ¿Qué tal?” for greetings, and “Hasta luego” or “Adios” for goodbye. If you are leaving someone for a long time or are really close to them or just had a really good time with them, then you give two kisses for goodbye. Usually, when you meet someone for the first time, it’s two kisses also. One of my Spanish friends says ‘besos’ for good-bye all the time, but she’s the only one I’ve heard say it, probably because she’s the only Spaniard with whom I’m close enough to warrant ‘kisses.’ With guys, it’s a handshake.This is just my experience. I was really confused about qué tal at first. I had learned that it means what’s up but the response to qué tal is bien which means good. That doesn’t really make sense if the person is asking you what is up with thee. I’ve also been asked things like “¿Qué tal la misa?” which is answered as if the person asked “How was mass?” “Bien. Un poco aburrido como siempre.” rather than “What’s up with mass?” “I dunno, but I think all the Protestants are making things awkward.” Get it? Also, hasta luego is super slurred. It’s more like [ata-lego] like leggo my eggo and the very first [a] sound in hasta is barely said, at least it’s barely heard by me. Of course, it’s not ALWAYS slurred like that and is really clear, but sometimes it’s just mush.
- I was just kidding about getting a ticket. The police didn’t confront us because we left right away.

¡Ay, cabra!

You may need to read this one in sections. I even told myself to keep it short, but it turned out to be 7 pages in a Word document. I included lots of feelings, just for you Sara. I’m not sure if I was able to say what I really felt since I think I’ve lost my touch with the subtleties of English, but I tried.

Small world, the Nordic Choir performed at the cathedral in Alcalá. For those who don’t know, the Nordic Choir is from Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. I went with two of my friends, just as something to do to kill time until cena. I ended up being an hour and a half late to eat, but I am so glad I went to the concert. Listening to an incredible choir in a beautiful cathedral with typical cathedral acoustics was absolutely the most impressive thing I’ve ever heard. Not to mention the organ. Apparently, the organ hadn’t been played in a while. A member of the choir played it for one of the songs, and we were talking to him afterward (because he happened to be from the same high school as one of my friends) and he got a lot of compliments about his playing and how “organs are made for people like him.” I recommend hearing a choir in a cathedral to anyone and everyone. Indescribable. I’ve been thinking a lot about religion lately, especially how and why Christianity started and gained such a headstrong following. Sitting before a gigantic hanging Crucifix, getting goose bumps listening to the choir left me awestruck. I can understand how people back in the day could believe it were the power of God. To me, the power of music was impressive. Having visited a few local establishments and hearing street musicians in Madrid and Seville, music is such a connecting human characteristic. Music feels like English to me because it’s so natural, but at the same time, I imagine it feels Spanish to a Spaniard. We are speaking the same language then and understanding each other perfectly. After the concert, a group of about six performed an informal a capella song and it was incredible. I think there’s a vid on facebook of them that I’m tagged in. I’ll check and tag it.

I went to León with Caitlin to see Noelia’s family last weekend. I think it is going to be the highlight of Spain. The landscape and people were both mesmerizing. I wish I would have had time to write everything down because I’ve already forgotten a lot. However, I don’t think I could have ever accurately conveyed the atmosphere of the pueblos and the warmth of Noelia’s family. I fell in love with Castilla y León, I think. I didn’t take near as many pictures as I wanted to, but I plan on stealing some from both Caitlin and Noelia. I’ll probably make my own facebook album consisting solely of “borrowed” pictures.

The only touristy (sorta) thing we did was go hiking in the Parque Nacional de los Picos de Europa (The Peaks of Europe National Park). It wasn’t too touristy because most of you know I hate being seen as a tourist. The peaks were beautiful, then it rained, and it was a whole new kind of beautiful. I’ve heard some quote, “Some people feel the rain, others just get wet.” This applies to more than just physical rain, but you understand how relevant it was here. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly dressed or prepared for rain, but the sound of the rain, the wet socks, the heavy jeans, and the weight of the mountains added to make it something I could feel. I was wet, but I wasn’t just wet. Get it? The rain and fog made the mountains so majestic and mysterious, like some kind of immortal Goliath that has been there forever and will be there forever. Sometimes they can be seen, sometimes they are hidden, but they remain sitting. It’s almost like they’re waiting for something just enduring what’s happening right now because they know, in that majestic, mysterious way, that something else is coming… Sorry, I have a lot of time to think when I can’t always say what I want to, when I want to (on account of the whole Spanish thing) and even when I can, my mind likes to take my body for a walk on its leash.

Anyway, this is where the title came from. I saw a mountain goat and yelled, “¡Ay, cabra!” naturally and excitedly. Caitlin laughed at me because it does sound weird when Americans say things like ¡Ay! and it probably wasn’t something a Spaniard would say. Would it be funny if someone said in English, “Oh goodness gracious, a goat!”?? I dunno. I think the whole situation was funnier for those involved. After hiking, we ate some authentic northern food: fabada (a bean heavy soup with a few pieces of sausage-y meat), I forgot the second course was, cidre (cider that tastes like a mixture of wine and beer to me and is always drunk from a shared cup), and nocilla and something else that I forgot the name of (nocilla is a delicious custard/pudding thing and the other thing we had was the worst tasting “yogurt” I’ve ever had in my life and I’ve had expired yogurt. It came with honey, though, which tasted a lot like honey). There were also dogs that looked like lions, but they were just dogs.

Noelia also took us to see “typical Spanish” in some other pueblos. First of all, a pueblo is like a town but different. It’s one of those things you really can’t translate directly. There’s a lot of emotion connected to the word pueblo, even for me and I’ve only visited. Imagine what the word implies for people who have lived there their whole life. They are tiny little village/towns that are stereotypical European. I didn’t think this kind of place actually existed. I’ve only seen it in movies so assumed it wasn’t actually that common. Tiny, tiny roads made of stone to match the stone houses, old couples with a cane or flowers or the day’s bread, and countless little details that make each new direction I look new but familiar and welcoming. I wanted to go up every alley and around every corner because the whole place seemed like a fantasy. I didn’t think this kind of place actually existed, remember? I hope the pictures I post will help explain it. There was one couple we visited: Isaac and Bernadina. They have lived in their pueblo for their entire lives and rarely leave. People go to see them because they are genuine, heartfelt people. When we drove up, we had to go slow so the free-range chickens and new baby chicks had time to get out of the way. The two dogs were the first to welcome us followed closely by Issac who was sitting outside the house on a bench looking like he was remembering some interesting story he wanted to tell. Dos besos (two kisses) for everyone once we were invited into the modest house for wine, meat, and cheese. The small kitchen, with the cut of meat hanging from the ceiling to cure and the red-hot coals burning slowly in what looked like a hole where a floor level cabinet used to be, was cozy. We had just met but Isaac was so willing to give all that he had. Well, not all of course, but the earnest he showed in offering another piece of meat or another cup of wine was true. I didn’t always understand what they were saying, but they way spoke, especially Bernadina, was so funny to me. She always seemed to be yelling, you know how old ladies are, and when she talked to Isaac it was like she was scolding him. I don’t wanna use the word cute, so I won’t, but it was.

Driving through another pueblo, Noelia suddenly stopped and rolled down my window. She started yelling up the hill to a lady in her “yard.” The lady stopped and looked for a second and just said, “¿Quiééén?” She seemed really confused by who it was at first but once Noelia told her you could tell, even from that far away, that her face kinda lit up. They yelled back and forth for a while. Kiki was her name, and she invited us in for some food, which we had to decline since, although not in a hurry, never in a hurry in Spain, we were still on our way somewhere. As we drove away, Noelia just said, “very a Spanish,” but to me, it was just very real. It’s the side of Spain I didn’t really expect to see. Away from the cities, away from the places everyone has recommended, I found people I knew. They are people that reminded me of Iowa, where people stop in the middle of the street to yell to an old friend. I felt a sense of connectedness and a vision of this huge network that stretches to every person on earth. We aren’t really that different, are we?

In Noelia’s pueblo of Puente Almuhey, we stayed in the family’s house which is connected to their bakery. To me, the house was gigantic, but there are up to 6 people staying there at once; more if friends are over. The house felt like a hotel to me, but not. I’ve never been to a bed and breakfast, but I think it would be like that. Only, the family was nice because they are nice and not because we were paying them as if it were a bed and breakfast because we weren’t paying them, they were just nice and let us stay with them. Did that sentence make sense? It was so awesome to eat meals with them, play cards with them and their friends, teach each other language, share YouTube videos, everything. Noelia’s brother took Caitlin and me to the local bar. It was just a small town, everyone knows everyone kind of bar. I would have never gone in if I hadn’t been invited. It was fun. Staying with them was the highlight of the highlight, I think.

Talking about the weekend on the way home instigated some interesting thought. I don’t want to analyze it fully because I could probably write quite a bit about each one. Instead, I’m going to list them like essay topics, which I might decided to expand upon later.
-That lifestyle dies with them (talking about Isaac and Bernadina).
-Torre, Noelia’s neighbor and pretty much member of the family, reminded me so much of a Malvern person. Again, do all the differences between our cultures outweigh the similarities enough that war was ever or is ever necessary? Maybe not necessarily with Spain, but what about other places? I’d like to go to those other places to see if we are more alike or different. I think I already know the answer.
-The connections you make with people are what you remember, not the stupid tourist stuff. Even when you don’t understand all the words, the emotions and feelings and ideas are still there. It’s crazy when you can connect with people like that. It almost seems strong than if I would have been able to understand every sentence perfectly. It’s like we struggled together to understand each other so we have that little extra bit of ourselves invested in the other one.

So, this blog is long. It’s been a while since my last post and a lot has happened, so I’m just going to tell you stories and ramble like I do. I know a series of unorganized, tangent thoughts is frustrating to read, but thanks for doing it anyway.
Here’s another section:

Arbitrary Observations and Comical Language Encounters
- It’s hot. Very hot. All the time. The north was actually pretty cold. It’s weird how you don’t have to go very far to be in a completely different climate. From Madrid, you can get some sun on a Mediterranean beach or go skiing in the mountains after driving only a few hours in the car. Compare that to 12 hours to Colorado and who knows how many to a beach when leaving from Iowa City.
- Mullets are still in style as are mohawks. Unfortunately, the mohawk-mullet is NOT a rare enough find. I decided today that I’m getting my haircut like a European.
- A lot of guys have an ear pierced. That part closest to your head that you wouldn’t think would be pierced is most popular. There are also a lot of random places pierced like just pieces of skin anywhere on the body.
- Censorship in the media doesn’t really exist. Nudity and incredibly violent images of corpses and such are shown.
- Popped collars abound.
- Two of the bars in Alcalá that I’ve been to had signs banning requests for reggaeton. I don’t know why I thought that was really funny.
- Spanish has five vowel sounds (a,e,i,o,u) while English has 13, not including diphthongs. So, it’s hard for Spaniards to pronounce some English vowel sounds. While in León with Noelia’s family, Torre was trying really hard to pronounce something. All I kept hearing was ‘cock, cock, cock.’ I was telling him in Spanish what he was saying and he was really confused. Apparently, he was trying to say ‘cook’ then switched to saying ‘coke,’ but they sounded the same. Anyway, cooks, cokes, nor cocks had anything to do with the conversation at hand. It was hilarious.
- Noelia was asking about people from Malvern and what people in my class are doing now. Since I haven’t been home for anything other than Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break in over two years, I didn’t have much info for her. She did ask about Sara Woolery, with whom I keep in contact. I didn’t understand her accent when she said “Sara Woolery” so she said something like “The Amish one,” and I explained that Sara’s not Amish, but she always wore long dresses. “…pero siempre estaba vestido en faldas.” At least, that’s what I meant to answer. I actually said, “…pero siempre estaba vestido en alfombras,” which we all know means that she always wore not one but two or more carpets.
- This isn’t the French reference I was talking about in my last post, but I heard another one. We were in Puente Almuhey with Noelia’s family and they were asking about our heritage. This is roughly what was said:
Caitlin, “Mis antepasados son Franceses.”
The family, “¡Qué curso!”
Caitlin has some French in her, which is apparently worthy of pity from the family. The way they said it and the context and everything, I thought curso meant curse or something like that. I just looked it up and it means year, class, or course, but not course like rough, course like route. So now the whole situation doesn’t make sense to me. I wonder how many times I’ve thought I understood someone’s Spanish and been completely wrong. All well, no pasa nada.
- A good chunk of the countryside on the way to León was covered in grapes. We spontaneously decided to stop at a vineyard. They were really nice and gave us a tour. It included a lot of very unfamiliar vocabulary so I’m not quite sure how everything worked but it was still really cool. There was a really fancy place underground that looked like it was for wine tastings, but the lady said they don’t have them down there because it’s cold. They also kept all the barrels down there. By ‘barrels’ I mean ‘baaaaaaarrrrrreeeeellllllllsssss,’ which is Spanish for ‘there were so many darn barrels in that basement.’ Then they gave us each a little bottle of free wine. Also, I learned that they put the SAME EXACT WINE into two different labels. One goes to a restaurant and costs 20€ and the other goes to a store and costs 7€, but they are the same wine!
- I found a good place in Alcalá. We got 3 drinks and tapas for only 9€. Cha-ching!
- I also met some good local friends to have. They are friends with a lot of the bartenders… Also, they are both multilingual. One speaks German, Spanish and English. The other one speaks, get this, Dutch, Taiwanese, Spanish, English, and Mandarin. Yep. The English taught here is English English, so a lot of people have accents which is kinda funny. Anyway, after talking to them for a while, they are really interesting people and I can’t wait to go out with them again.
- Later that night a friend and I met some French guys. They were really impressed with my French, which consists of a little more than 15 words. It was a new experience switching from Spanish to French to English to French to English to Spanish. If I couldn’t say something in one language I could say it in another, and if one of us didn’t understand the other, we had at least one other language to try to say it in. I don’t know if meeting at least bilingual people is common or if it was a bit of an anomaly that night, but it was cool.
- We visited Palacio Real (the Royal Palace) in Madrid for my art class. It was cool. Painted ceilings, sculptures, tapestries, etc. Then my group and I did our group project homework on the steps of the Cathedral next to the Palace. Pretty sweet.
- I saw the biggest dam in Europe when I visited Castilla y León. At least I think it was the biggest. Eight pueblos were destroyed from the resulting lake formation. A lot of the older people, like Isaac and Bernadina, insisted on staying and dying in the pueblo where their ancestors are buried rather than move. Of course, no one actually did that, but it was still incredibly moving.
- In León, there were a lot of fountains just on the side of the road coming out of the hillside. Not fountains like, “Ooh, that’s a pretty fountain.” They were working drinking fountains but were still really cool because there were made out of stone and were super old.

Here’s more about “people not being different” that I’m only including because Sara said she wouldn’t mind this kind of stuff. I had to write it for a report I write every year about my summer for one of my scholarships.

>>My entire experience abroad thus far could take up about fifty pages of this section. Taking a risk and completely immersing myself in a strange, new, and completely different environment has been both challenging and rewarding, clearly worthy of writing about. I suppose I shouldn’t say “completely” different. The similarities I notice are just as important as the differences, and there are similarities. When my Spanish sister and I can share something as simple as loving ice cream, we are actually sharing something much more. It shines light on connection people all over the world share, even if it is only liking sweets. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way, nor the last, I expect. Sometimes, living in the middle of a gigantic country, even in a diverse university town, there’s a sense of unrealism when it comes to considering other nations, peoples, and cultures. The “they” used to refer to foreigners so many times, although not meant in a hateful way at all, seems to be a wall to me. The war is happening “over there” or that earthquake happened in “that country” or that tsunami destroyed “their homes.” It’s weird how I feel like I’ve unconsciously categorized “them” into a category unique from people I know. Not to be misunderstood, I, by no means, have ever had any feelings of either race-superiority or that one group of people is more “human” than another. I’m trying to say that that invented wall I didn’t realize was there has come down. It’s still mind-boggling to me when I consider that people thousands of miles away, who live in a starkly different culture, are more like me than I could possibly imagine. With the current political situation, my mind couldn’t help but wander to the Middle East and Islamic culture in the US. Two questions keep running through my head: “Are Muslims that different from me? Why did I used to think so?” Like I said, I’ve never harbored hateful feelings. However, I would always tell myself that everyone is equal; there are no differences, but I think that imaginary wall was still there before. All of this makes me fantasize about a world where the differences between people aren’t the focus and cause of war and turmoil, but rather the similarities are realized and differences celebrated. It sounds like the daydream of a liberal nut-job, and maybe that’s what it is and that’s what I am, but I know it’s the truth behind what I feel.<<

Rape a la Marinara

Spaaaannnnnniiissssshhhhhhhh! Who would have thought that everyone here would be speaking Spanish? Because I hear it all the time, it was actually easier to write this all in Spanish first then translate it to English. I’m glad I haven’t wasted my money.

First, the title. I went out with some of the Americans that are part of the program on Saturday. By Saturday, I mean it was Sunday morning around 12:30am. We didn’t really know of any clubs or bars to go to, so we sat at a restaurant and ate some more dinner. We all speak Spanish pretty well, but, as you can imagine, a lot of the food was never on any of our vocabulary lists. We just decided to wing it. I asked the waitress to bring us her two favorite dishes, which we shared between the six of us. She brought us mushrooms in some kind of oily sauce and fried potatoes with this sauce that reminded me of Dorothy Lynch but less strong and…mayonnaise. I’ve seen one person eat potatoes with ketchup. It actually wasn’t bad. Anyway, one of the things on the menu was Rape a la Marinara. I asked my madre the next day what it was and apparently it’s some kind of fish. I think Angler Fish because I don’t think anyone eats Angel Fish, which is what I actually thought she said. I also don’t think anyone eats rape with marinara sauce in Spain, but I’m not positive. I’ll see what I can find out.

While we were eating, a guy with an afro and a hippie (hippie is “jippi” here and it was really funny when I heard it pronounced for the first time. For those of you who don’t know Spanish, j is pronounced like an English h, so it’s the same but it’s funny with an accent.) a hippie chick came up to us and invited us to this bar that was having a 70’s night, so we were introduced to the bar scene. We went there for a while then to another bar called Maná Maná pronounced like that Sesame Street song. You know? Almost all of the songs in both places were in English. Smoking is allowed pretty much everywhere, even certain parts of the airport, and butts go on the floor of the bars.

I think it might take me a while to get used to the Spanish sense and use of time. First of all, there are five meals per day: desayuno, almuerzo, comida, merienda, y cena (breakfast, brunch, lunch, linner, and dinner). Desayuno, brunch and linner are really small. Also, I made up the word linner because I’m awesome and creative. It took me a while to decide between that and lupper. Which do you think is better? Approximate times: breakfast (830-9ish), almuerzo (12), comida (between 2-4), merienda (6-7), cena (my family has had it anywhere from 9-11ish). To me, Spaniards eat muuuuucho for lunch and dinner—more than I would normally have, anyway—and really fast. I was expecting the opposite when it comes to the speed. I don’t know how all Spaniards are so thin. My sister eats probably twice as much as me but is súper skinny.

Second of all, the need to be doing something doesn’t really exist as it does in the States. I don’t really know how to explain it. It’s like social and personal life comes before the professional life. I was talking to my madre (in Spanish, so this might not be exactly right) and bosses will usually work with their workers to find a way to get the job done that the worker likes but still gets the job done. There aren’t bureaucratic nightmares and things done solely for the sake of tradition like I know my mom and dad have to deal with sometimes. If the worker needs a break, they take a break. If the work is done for the day, they go home. Everything is so chill. Not to mention, the siesta everyone takes in the afternoon. “Only the Chinese work in the afternoon” when all the other shops close for a few hours before reopening. This is too hard to explain, so I’ll just talk about my family.

I have a mom (Nuria), an older brother (José 22), and a younger sister (Elena 14). I’ve said two words to the brother, but talk to my mom and sister a lot. I help Elena with her English sometimes especially in her videogames and she helps with Spanish idioms like “¡Qué mono!” Literally, this means “What a monkey!” but in context is more like “How cute!” It’s said to animals and babies, but don’t let a mother hear you call her baby a mono unless there is a qué in front of it. We eat very healthy…healthily? No sé. Saludable. Even the desert is healthy: yogurt or fruit. Funny healthy food story: we eat a lot of vegetables that I’ve never seen. For example, we were eating some white, mushy vegetable. I said, “This tastes like asparagus.” The response to which was, “It is asparagus.” “Oh.” Silence….It was raining in my mind.

We live about three minutes from the University compared to about 30 minutes that one of the girls from Iowa has to go every day. Plus, it’s an easy walk which was helpful when I had to find my way by myself after walking it just once. I’m sure a lot of you know that many European cities (and even older American ones) aren’t exactly set up in a logical way. The roads seem to go wherever they please and streets signs are hidden if they’re there at all. Not to mention all of the buildings are tan, old, and, to a foreigner, the same as the building next to it. It’s really confusing but I really love it. Getting lost is the best way to learn, I think.

The first two days, I honestly hated it here. But my Spanish has already improved sooooo much that I feel much more comfortable. The only thing that makes me uncomfortable are the birds. They’re EVERYWHERE!! Alcalá is known for two things: the birthplace of Miguel de Cervantes and the storks that live year round in the plazas. There are a lot of other kinds of birds, too. I hate birds. Storks are big. Storks are also birds. I hate storks. However, the belief is that if you’re pooped on by a bird, you’re going to get married soon.

A lot of the TV shows are American with dubbed voices. My madre likes cop dramas like Criminal Minds and CSI. The Simpsons are more popular here than in the States for sure. It’s on a lot. La chica de ayer is a Spanish cop drama based on an English (as in England, not the States) series. What I’ve gotten from it so far is that the main character has traveled back in time and there’s this complicated loved triangle between him, his mom, and his dad who looks like a woman with a mustache. Oh, he solves crimes on the side. He doesn’t really seem too preoccupied by the fact that he’s in the past, though. Then again, that may have been the only thing with which he’s preoccupied. I don’t speak Spanish. The point is that there’s an actress that looks like that chick from Legally Blonde so I don’t mind watching it.

I don’t know if this applies to all Spaniards, but I know my family talks to themselves, and they aren’t shy about it. At first I thought they were talking to me even though they were in a different room. Still, it’s really hard to tell because, other than not knowing what’s being said more than half the time anyway, they don’t really change their volume, pitch, or tone when they switch from an A-A conversation to an A-B conversation.

Apparently the housing director thought I was a smoker for some reason, so I was intentionally paired with a madre who smokes. It really doesn’t bother me at all, but it was a funny conversation when she offered me a cigarillo and I said no thanks. She was just so super surprised because Teresa (I dunno who that is exactly) told her I “smoke like a French person” in the words of my madre. Yep. Every once in a while I get the feeling that Spaniards don’t really like the French. It’s more playful than hostile similar to the way Americans sometimes make fun of Canadians. But the Spanish won their freedom from France in a war, so they have a little bit more justification than Americans who don’t like Canada. For example, if a word for something is French, like champagne, Spanish deliberate has another word for it, which in this case is ‘cava.’ The word ‘champán’ is still a legitimate word, but…well you get the idea. I’m pretty sure this is the case. It’s either this or ‘cava’ is champagne made in Catalonia and ‘champán’ is champagne from France. Once again, it was explained to me in Spanish so I probably missed some key connecting words. There was another reference to the French that was really funny, but I can’t remember it now. You can chuckle anyway. It’s ok.

I’m starting to be able to finish other people’s sentences, which is making me really happy. Ok, well, it’s happened like three times, but still, it’s impressive, right?

The most recent adventure was Madrid. We went on a tour with my program, CIEE. It was basically walking three miles, sweating a lot, and not actually going anywhere cool, just knowing where we can go later. Afterward, I found my way across Madrid with a friend to meet Noelia. That was fun. Then we had some cena in her house. I feel like my Spanish is much better when I’m talking to Noelia and Nana, her compañera, but I don’t know why. They have this beautiful view of a major bullfight ring and an apartment that was surprisingly gigantic and, of course, muy bonita. She invited us to León this weekend and to a go hiking in a national park. I’m excited. Then I’m going to Sevilla next weekend to spend Corpus with Piper. Then the Asturias (mountains) the following weekend. This is getting really long….

There’s no internet in mi casa so I go to McDonald’s. They give you 30 minutes of free Wifi (pronounced wee-fee) with a purchase. Honestly, I could write for ages about this experience and everything I see, hear, feel, say, think, smell, taste, learn, appreciate, hate, love, discover, and on and on with verbs with varying degrees of synonymity to “experience,” but I don’t think I could do it justice. You’ll just have to come here yourself.