Cordoba y Casa de Cristina

10 Noviembre 2007, Sabado

This morning I woke up in my own bed on 22 Francisco Pacheco to the lovely sounds of construction work at 7:30 on a Saturday morning and breathed a sigh of happiness at being at home. It’s funny that the Spanish do not have a word for home, just casa, which is the same as house. Anywho, I was surprised to learn that my bus, the 23, now does not have the same ending points as before because the tramvia, tram, has started working, and now, if I want to go to the city center, I need to take a bus and a tram.

Today we went to Cordoba. Which I have visited before, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Of course Cordoba’s main spectacle is the mezquita, or mosque, which was turned into a cathedral, but is ginormous….and I mean HUGEEEE…this thing could probably not only house a mosque and a church, but probably every religion’s house of worship. The double red columns are just absolutely breathtaking, but most fascinating is the the cathedral that is oddly out of place in the Moorish architecture, a sort of historical mistake. After the mezquita, we wandered the streets of the Juderia, or Jewish quarter, which tends to be the most fun in Andalucia, at least in Sevilla or Cordoba, but it’s somewhat sad to understand why a city’s biggest tourist attraction can be something so tragic. As the Jews in Spain’s past had to live outside city quarters and in a ghetto, they had very limited space. As the population grew, they still maintained the same amount of space, so the streets had to get narrower, and the buildings taller, creating the characteristic maze of streets which are now filled with oodles of tacky tourist shops offering fans, shawls, and castanets. We went to La Sinagoga, a tiny little synagogue with Hebrew inscriptions on the walls. Then, just around the corner, we visited the Jewish museum, which was quite interesting. The best part was this room of posters of famous Jewish woman from Cordoba with their stories. One poet was known to walk around with her poetry pinned to her clothes.

I wanted to buy a little Star of David for my “collection,” and found a little shop. Being a savvy consumer, I did not buy at the first shop and looked around a bit before realizing that I should return to the first. When wandering back, we could not find the shop, and then realized that cursed Spain was having none other than…..siesta. As I raged at the proposed anti-Semitism of this horrible event, we ran around looking for last minute stars of David. Seeing none, and being the time of return to the bus, I told Natalia to give up on the search, for she was helping me closely. On the way to the bathroom, I passed a small shop called La Mezquita, the mosque, and saw the Perfect Star of David in the window. I squealed in delight, went in, and bought it. It´s seriously perfect.

After getting back to Sevilla and meeting my padres for a last Sevillian dinner, we realized we just could not have tapas again, so we went to a famous Italian restaurant in Sevilla called San Marco. Mmmm….as I bid my parents goodbye, I was filled with a mixture of emotions. Sadness for I would miss them, happiness that they had come and had a good time, fatigue for it had been a long day, and excitement to getting back into the swing of things.

11 Noviembre, Domingo

Today was just amazing, a day where I learned more cultural differences and similarities than ever before. My intercambio, Cristina, invited me to spend the day with her and her family in her little pueblo, Olivares. I took the bus early this morning and was questioned by some people about the bus lines, being mistaken for a Sevillana…hell yeah… Cristina told me that the ride would take about 45 minutes, and that I would see her and know where to get off the bus. I was jamming to music on my iPod and reading the newspaper when I noticed a girl carrying a child frantically running down the street and realized it was her. The time had flown by and if I had not seen Cristina, I would have gone to the next pueblo…

I got off the bus and was greeted by Cristina and Esteban, the love of my life, her little 3 year old brother with enough attitude for all of Spain and an angelic smile. We walked down the streets of her pueblo to her casa, saying hola to all of the people who passed by. As I entered her casa, I was greeted by the same metal bars I have in my doorway, typical of Andalucía. Her casa was giiiiiiiiinormous compared to mine. Actually two houses joined together where she, her two brothers, sister, parents, two grandmas, and one great aunt live. It had the same architecture as most houses, a patio in the middle, bars on the windows, and beautiful tiling. I just felt this huge sense of warmth as I walked in, I can´t really describe it. The house was decorated in true Andalucían style, with beaituful tiling, pictures of all of the ancestors, wooden furniture and tiled floors. I met her brother Antonio, a kind teenager coming into his own, her sister Carmen, 11 years old, quiet but charming, and her grandmas. It´s amazing that all of the kids are so great, Esteban seems to be the only one with attitude, but that´s because no one can say no to his cute little face.

I met Cristina´s great-aunt, an experience I will remember for the rest of my life. This woman, who cannot walk because she broke both of her legs when she was 91, rides around on her wheel-chair (not a wheelchair, but literally wheels on a chair which she prefers to her wheelchair) and is about as feisty as feisty gets. She informed me that she voted the first time women could vote in Spain. (we´re talking 1931!) As I calculated her date of birth, I realized this woman was a living testament to the history of Spain in the 20^th century, and had lived through two world wars, a Civil War, the death and revival of a monarchy, and a tough dictatorship. Of course, I took the opportunity to question her about Spanish history, realizing quickly through her own words that she was a supporter of Franco, a so called ¨Franquista.¨ She told me she liked his ideas about the Spanish family, about everyone being close and caring for each other like in the old days, but didn´t like it when some men were taken out of the village and killed randomly one day, basically for nothing. Cristina´s other grandma is 81 years old and quite sprited también. The two told me stories, interrupting each other all along the way. They told me about the pilgrimage they used to make to a church each year in Huelva, where a special virgen (statue of the Virgin Mary that many churches have) is held, and even pulled out wallet pictures of the virgen and church. These women are deeply religious, as religion is the only thing they can immerse themselves in. They told me already, around 3 o´clock, they had listened to two masses on the TV, one broadcast by the Papa himself.

I can´t remember how it came about, but I told her I was Jewish. Her eyes became large and she said, ¨No! Que lastima!¨ (what a shame) ¨You won´t be saved. You should convert!¨ with such honest concern. I told her ¨you know, Jesus Cristo was Jewish¨to which she replied, ¨No!¨ I said, ¨Yes, you can read it in your bible if you like…¨ Then she proceeded to tell me I should move to Spain and marry a nice Spanish boy. (when I told my Señora about this, she said no doubt she has some distant nephew in mine). What I liked most was that she looked me straight in the face and said something along the lines of ¨I can tell by your face that you´re a nice girl, with a good heart.¨ (im pretty sure she had taken my face in her hands by this point). Mind you, this is all in pretty thick Andalucían Spanish which I am proud to say I understood very well.

After taking a few pictures, we proceeded to head throughout the town for a tour of Olivares. I met Cristina´s aunt who owns a local bakery and coffeeshop, her uncle, the local school principal, and some more cousins. We went to another house that pertains to the family which now serves as a kind of storage. They had real, live, fat turkeys in the backyard, which I´ve never seen before, along with lemon trees. We picked some lemons before heading out. Little Esteban did a good job of helping by sweeping the yard. We passed by a funeral, and we saw the church. Then we headed back to the house. It was funny because I had no clue what was going on most of the time, I was just in awe of the beauty of it all and how fortunate I was to be let in to the most intimate of another person´s life from a different culture and treated as part of the family. At the house, the family began to pack up to go out to the country. As we drove off, little grandmas waved from the doorway and bade us to have a good time.

We passed by fields and fields of olive trees, now empty from the harvest, and heaving orange trees begging to be picked and relieved of their weight. Cristina´s dad and mom occupied the front seats, Esteban, Cristina, and Antonio sat in the middle, and Carmen and I sat in the back of the large SUV. We drove on dirt roads until we got to a little house in the middle of the country. The smile on my face could not have been larger.

We were in paradise. And Cristina said they called it their ¨cielo¨. (paradise). This cute little house surrounded by orange trees and a beautiful outdoor pool sat in the middle of fields and fields of olives. We walked in to the little house, which Cristina´s dad built, and began to clean up, as they only go their at best once a week. We all helped to set the table. Rather, we began then Cristina and Antonio went outside to show me all of the variety of trees they had. It was an amazing blend of Spanglish as we tried to come to agreement over how to name different berries in Spanish and English. They have oranges, lemons, olives, pomegranates (I saw baby pomegranates!) , berries, types of lettuce, carrots, potatoes, everything! Soon we were called to lunch by Cristina´s mom, whose name is also Carmen. (And her dad is Antonio)

Lunch…oh….my…..God…..it was SOOOOOOOO good….one of the best meals ever. I don´t know if any description can give it justice. First of all, I should mention that lunch, or a big midday meal, took place around 400 or 430. There was fluffy white bread that Antonio told me their cousin had baked that morning, yummy red gazpacho in old coke containers that we drank from glasses, flavorful manchego cheese, potato chips baked in olive oil,……and the most amazing thing of all, a giant paella. The paella was the best I have ever eaten. Hands down. Full of clams, squid, chicken, rice…my mouth is watering just remembering it. It was perfect, and eating with Cristina´s family was so nice, just hearing them talk and realizing that although I couldn´t perfectly tell long stories without stumbling a little bit, I was comfortable in the atmosphere, understanding everything without having to concentrate, laughing along with their jokes, and smiling as I realized how spoiled little Esteban was, running around the room and eating whenever he wanted, spoiled baby of the family universality I suppose. For dessert, we had the best flan of my life. It was coffee flavored and perfect, I begged Cristina´s mom for the recipe although I don´t know if I can recreate it.

After lunch, at which point I was just bursting, we walked around for a bit in the fields. We played on a swingset Cristina´s father had also built. Carmen brought out a table and we began to play cards. I should mention that cards are different in Spain, with different suits and numbers. There are no aces or clubs or anything, however there are horses, gold coins, and kings. I remembered how Celeste (the teacher of my conversation class from orientation) mentioned in class that Spaniards are amazed by shuffling cards, so I showed them how I can shuffle and do the bridge. They made me do it over and over, and called over Antonio (dad) to see. We played a game that was a combination of durak and pitch, which was a lot of fun. Little Esteban ran around picking oranges from the trees, and we had a couple. They were a little sour because they weren´t 100% ready for picking, so we brought out some sugar to dip it in.

As it got colder, we headed inside for some café or colacoa (hot cocoa). We talked about differences and similarities between Spain and the US. It was beautiful. Soon we packed up and headed back to Olivares. I said hi and bye to the grandmas who made me promise to come back. Before heading back we had a drink, and a snack. (so common, cheese and a special type of crackers). Cristina´s dad drove me back to Sevilla, and the city looked so lit and cosmopolitan from afar. It took about 30 minutes to get to my house, and Cristina´s family loaded me down with paella, flan, and oranges. I thanked her profusely and hope she realizes how amazing of an experience meeting her family was for me. I hope through my tone, dear reader, you can see how fabulous of an experience I had, and how now, I am not only in love with Sevilla, but with the Spanish pueblo, the family, and little Esteban.

As I came home, I was greeted by my Señora and Juan, and I recounted the day´s adventures to them, while Señora tried the flan and agreed with me on the fabulousness of it all.

12 Noviembre 2007, Lunes

A curious thing happened today. As I was walking to the bus stop to go volunteer at Sagrado Corazón de Jesús, my phone rang. I looked to see that it was my teacher, Maria del Mar, the teacher who also teaches English classes at Sagrado. The conversation went something like this…

¨Hola Maria del Mar!¿ Cómo estás?¨

¨No estoy bien. Mira, Stella, I need to ask you for a big favor. I´m not well and need to go to the hospital. Can you please substitute all of my English classes at my school today? I know you´re very smart and a good girl and can handle it. I know I can count on you¨

¨…..of course!¨ What else was I supposed to say? I was shocked as she continued to tell me details about what I should do with her classes, as I hurriedly scribble it down on a piece of newspaper. I don´t know about Spain, but this is not how we get substitute teachers in the US. I was so shocked by the prospect of being substitute teacher that I got on the bus and missed my bus stop, then got a little lost.

I arrived at the school and went to the first class, with another teacher. Then I came to my first solo gig. Now imagine, about 30 to 40 Spanish 13 year-olds all staring at you, then turning to their friends and laughing, talking loudly, and being obnoxious adolescents. Now picture me, trying to fulfill a lesson plan, and be a good teacher, while not knowing their level of English comprehension. We began by doing some reading out loud from their books. Their pronunciation is horrible, and the nice thing that I noticed was that every time I read something over, everyone quieted down a bit in order to hear me speak. After about 40 minutes of frustrating reading, translating, and yelling over talking (teachers, I am so sorry for anytime everyone all talked simultaneously, although I was the one who shushed everyone, I know I did my fair share, and now I realize how frustrating it is) I decided to do something more fun. I told them that I would teach them some phrases young people used in the United States. I taught them, ¨what´s up dude¨ ¨cool,¨¨that´s hot¨ (spare me, I was on the spot) then I was at a loss of things to say. I started frantically looking around for inspiration when I found it on the wall. I pointed to a poster they had of useful phrases. The sentence I pointed to was ¨Can I please borrow a rubber?¨ Now, to all of my American readers, we all know this is inappropriate but Spanish children learn British English and apparently, rubber means eraser in Britain. I asked them if anyone knew what a ¨rubber¨meant in English, of course no one knew, so I wrote ¨condom¨on the board, then someone said preservativo, which I added, and then EVERYONE STARTED LAUGHING, of course, like little immature adolescents which they were. It was a useful lesson, and one which I remember learning in Spanish class. Then some kid asked me what ¨asshole¨meant, I told him it was a bad word, the literal meaning (everyone laughed of course) and that it was impolite to use. The only thing was that there was a monitor in the room, helping make these monsters shut up, and she was less than thrilled….(and apparently condom is a dirty word, preservativo is the proper, formal word) Ummm…….ooopss….

After that horrid experience, I tried to find my next classroom. It was impossible to find. Between climbing staircases, passing by multiples Jesuses and Mary´s, asking for help, and being guided by 7 year olds, I finally found my room. The funny thing was that Maria del Mar told me that it was 3^rd grade, so I figured the kids would be around 8 or so, and if things got boring, I could teach them the itsy bitsy spider song. I walked in and the kids were all about 14 or 15 years old. Great. I was only a few years older than about 35 people in front of me. This time there was no monitor….I was completely on my own. I remembered the mistakes all of my substitute teachers had made over the years, and realized I could not let these kids see I was in any way nervous. (I really wasn´t, more amused at the situation). I told them that I wanted for class to be fun, so we should get through the boring book stuff and then I could teach something more useful. Once again, I was met with giggling, though less, and talking at the same time. The class flew by and we didn´t get through everything, so I told them once again I would teach them some useful phrases that young people use. I taught them whats up dude, hey, how are you, then I told them they could ask me anything. They asked me what the difference was between shit, and bullshit, (haha this is so funny to write about) and laughed like crazy when I told them that bullshit is…mierda del toro. Then one innocent looking boy asked me what does ¨you motherfucker¨ mean…..to which I said…you NEVER, EVER say that, and if someone says it to you run….sadly, that was the last thing before class was over….

As I left the school, and the lessons went over in my head, I laughed and hoped Maria del Mar would not lose her job because, did I mention this is a CATHOLIC SCHOOL……hahahahahahahahaha

13 Noviembre 2007, Martes

Tuesday the 13^th is an unlucky day for Spain, like Friday the 13^th is in America. They say ¨trece de martes, no te cases, no te ganes¨ (thirteenth Tuesday, don´t get married, and you won´t win) I started the day with an exam in Cine. Then spent many long hours catching up on internet time.

I finally met Natalia´s Señora, Tére for coffee. What a woman she is. Natalia told me that in the course of something like two years, her mother died, her husband died, and she was diagnosed with cancer. Now she is ok, and such a strong woman, you can really tell. We had a good time just chatting, and I can see why Natalia loves her so much. I returned home for my usual dinner which I have missed I must say, of soup with fideos and pimientos rellenos con tuna.

Tomorrow I go to Germany. It´s so funny to me this whole day to think that, because I remember so clearly I suppose it was almost two months ago that Natalia said ¨hey Stella, wanna go to Germany if it´s cheap?¨ and I said ¨sure. Why not?¨ and now im actually going to Germany. Hahaha….We are staying with one of her best friends who used to live in Latvia, a Russian Jewish family. I don´t know what to expect, but I am looking forward to the adventures….

Let the fun begin……..