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.