La Semana Pasada

Ronda on the left

26 Noviembre 2007, Lunes

Today I continued onwards with the little brats in Sagrado Corazón, I liked them in the beginning, I really did. But now, I´m getting a little sick of their little ¨carne con tomate¨

Jokes, but the neat part was telling them our Thanksgiving traditions which they cannot really understand.

Today, I went to Alicia Marquez dance studio, ready to finally take a real flamenco class. When I got there, they told me that I couldn´t dance without shoes (no one had told me this would be a problem when I checked the place out before, and honestly, she looked at me like I had fallen from the moon or something when I asked if there was a place where I could rent shoes) So, I just sat in on the dance class…..which was amazing, and I will try to give it justice…

So the teacher was this tall, self confident, curly-haired Sevillana flamenco dancer, who had this amazing way of dancing where you could feel the energy running through her body even when she wasn´t moving all that much. She not only danced and taught, but also sang, since there were also two guitarists playing flamenco for the dancers. The dancers, interestingly enough, were comprised of about 4 Asian women, one obvious American, and a few Sevillanas. They had been learning a dance combination since the beginning of the month, and were now quite far along. But I, along with everyone else in the room, could not take my eyes off of the amazing teacher. She was funny and nice, elegant and strong, even in her windpants and tshirt, when you watched her dance it was as if she was in full flamenco garb, complete with castanets. I sat, mesmorized, for about an hour and then told myself I would return tomorrow and give it a try. Her style of teaching was amazing, she smiled as if she knew that nobody was ever going to be close to her level of dancing, but she tried to impart on us the passion she felt, the passion inherent to flamenco. One minute she was totally into the dance, the next she began repeating the steps one by one, over and over, for the confused Asians.

Afterwards, I met Natalia for a café con leche and palmero. We walked around the center of the city, in full acknowledgement that we would be leaving oh so soon. I caved and went to buy flamenco shoes, fearing if I did not at least take a couple of classes, I would regret it for the rest of my life. It´s like those mastercard commercials…

Flamenco shoes….. 24.99

Flamenco classes….25

Learning an ancient dance form from the most amazing dancer you´ve seen in your life…priceless

As I was getting off the bus to go home, I thought I saw a man juggling fire, and then the bus passed, and it was…a man juggling fire. Oh Sevilla…

27 Noviembre 2007, Martes

When I came home from lunch today, I realized Inma, Sergio who came to visit for a few days and is Inma´s hubby, and cute little Claudia were leaving. Everyone in the house was visibly sad, and the niña was being rocked to sleep by her mom. As she slept, Inma and I talked a little bit about my time here in Spain. Out of everyone in my family, Inma has been the nicest to me. From the first day, she was sensitive to the fact that I was not at home, but at the same time, tried her best to make me feel cared for. Even when I did not ask, she gave me suggestions and ideas. I told her that when she comes to Chicago, she will have an excellent guide. Even Sergio was extremely kind and interested in hearing what I had to say. They seem to respect me for traveling so far, and are in awe of ever leaving Spain. In the few short visits I had with them, I honestly feel really close to them, and hope that we will someday meet again. As they left, the house became extremely quiet and I could tell señora was visibly upset. I tried to change the topic and cheer her up.

I ran to the dance studio (this is the 3^rd time I underestimated how far it was, and how the twisty turny streets always seem to look the same). Weelllll, let me tell you, flamenco looks a hell of a lot easier than it actually is. The rhythms are crazy complicated and even the teacher, once again self-confident and elegant, had a hard time counting out what she felt as she danced. I tried to look confident and just take it all in, the teacher dancing and singing, and the guitarist, improvising and mesmerized by the dance. It was really fun and amazing, and I could almost (almost) picture myself not wearing shorts and a tank top, but a beautiful red and black dress, complete with a mantilla (scarf) and castanets, dancing away to the rhythm of flamenco.

After the class, I decided to be a tourist and record everything that I felt, for after actually dancing flamenco I began to understand more deeply what it really means, and not what is seen at the surface. As I walked out of the dance studio and into the tiny streets of Sevilla, past Plaza de San Lorenzo, little children running past me and grandmas taking a paseo (walk) I felt like I had been suspended in time, living a life that had been prescribed centuries ago, a mix of every culture you can imagine. The passion that is in the very few beginning chords of Flamenco are like the first layer of history and with each chord progression, a new layer of culture and civilization is added, providing a beautiful entrance for the singer. When the singer begins to proclaim the first phrases of longing and desire in the song, this represents the people of Sevilla, who make it truly the wonderful place it is. With the little wrinkled grandmas, to the beautiful babies in old fashioned strollers, to the young and fabulously dressed youth, the people of Sevilla are its heart. Then the dancer comes in, stomping away a beautifully choreographed rhythm, representing the interaction between history and people, a tumultuous relationship, with many spins, turns, and unexpected movements. Everything together is a seemless feast for the senses, which is exactly what Sevilla represents.

To see Sevilla, one must see the Giralda, which is able to be seen in almost any part of the city. The gigantic tower represents the impact Catholocism has had on Spanish history, dominating everything and standing as a testament to its prodigious story. To taste Sevilla, one must go to a real Señora´s house and eat flan which has been made the same way for hundreds of years, tens of generations. To smell Sevilla, one must walk through the gardens of the Alcazar or Parque Maria Luisa to smell the fresh, crisp bursts of aroma that come from the beautiful naranjos, or orange trees. Or, one must feel the amazing scent of roasted chestnuts, with steam billowing from the ovens of local vendors who sell the tasty treat to passersby.To hear Sevilla, one must listen to the wandering guitarists, playing a song then asking for money, relying on the love of music that people have in order to survive. These troubadours walk around from restaurant to restaurant, showing their skills to tourists and locals alike. Sometimes, you can hear Sevilla by turning a corner into a little alley and finding a guitar shop that has stood there for hundreds of years, and hear the strains of someone practicing a beautiful piece. To touch Sevilla, one must meet a local, for there they will receive the famous Spanish kiss, first right cheek, then left, a way of saying hola that exemplifies the openness of its people. Or to really feel Sevilla, one must try to dance flamenco, really learn the technique in order to appreciate the difficulty of the intricate movements, and then feel the intense pain in the feet that comes with true effort.

I took pictures left and right, of the teenagers playing guitar in the streets, of the older Señoras gossiping after many cups of coffee, and of street vendors selling the smoky roasted chestnuts. I was heavy with the fatigue of my senses feeling completely overwhelmed, but in love with everything they encountered. I found my way to the Ayuntamiento, or government building, a beautifully decorated edifice that separates two large plazas, the Plaza Nueva and Plaza de San Francisco. Oddly enough, I noticed an interesting coincidence. (?) There were two big fairs going on, one of belén, or nativity sets, and the other of books, antique and new. The religious fair was taking place in the Plaza de San Francisco, (saint francis´s square) while the book fair took place in Plaza Nueva (new plaza), with the government separating the two, church and knowledge, representing a conflict that has existed as long as Spain has, and probably before. I laughed to myself thinking ¨Oh Sevilla,¨ I wonder if anyone else noticed.

I headed to belén first and saw thousands of little Jesus´s in their little mangers. While nativity sets were the most abundant religious relic, there were little statues of saints, and even secular pieces like little pans of paella. The speakers were blasting Sevillanas, a special kind of flamenco, as passerby went from booth to booth, enjoying the religious splendour of it all, a tradition that has lasted hundreds of years. Then, I moved on to the book fair, and relished in the luxury of browsing antique Spanish books, in an assortment of colors and authors. I must have spent quite a while going from stall to stall, because I could not believe my watch when I realized it was time to vamos for dinner.

After dinner I went to the movies…
I just got back from seeing Encatada, or Enchanted, in English. The funny thing is that the first time I heard about this movie was last week, and I felt so behind the times because apparently it´s really popular right now. Since there were no Spanish movies playing in the theatre, I decided that it might be interesting to see the dubbed version, and to see what jokes and ideas were pertinent, also to see the reactions of the Spanish.

Weellll, first of all, concurrently in Nervion there was a huge soccer match going on between Sevilla and Arsenal, meaning there were a bunch of crazy, drunk British fans roaming around Sevilla for the past day or two. I watched the match with my Señora before going to the movie, and I loved to hear the crowd´s reaction on TV as well as hear the roars of the crowd coming from the nearby stadium. Anywho, in the movie theater...there was no one to see the movie! We were laughing so hard and enjoying the luxury of having a private screening. Apparently this movie was number one in the box offices last weekend, but in Spain, only two American girls saw the American movie. It was sooo good! I can´t even imagine what it would be like in English because all of the songs were in Spanish, and it was funny. The ¨happily ever after¨ ending (or, feliz siempre jamas) put is in such a good mood, so we were literally dancing around the empty theater and singing the songs. Oh Disney.

28 Noviembre 2007, Miercoles

Class was cancelled today and for some lucky reason, my lovely construction worker neighbors had the day off, so I enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in. My day was somewhat boring and mundane, so I will not bore you with details, but I did meet Cristina again, and we talked for almost three hours straight, of course half English, half Spanish. I learned that in Spanish, your other half, like the whole falling in love and meeting your other half, is called meeting your ¨media naranja¨ or other half of the orange. We walked through the Alcazar as she made fun of my Spanish, and I made a mental note to never, ever make fun of how anyone speaks a foreign language. She noted that she was impressed with my use of the subjunctive, hehe, which made me quite happy. We then walked through the tiny streets as I showed her some of my favorite places, and she was once again surprised that I know Sevilla better than she does. (she lives in a little pueblo). I love how she called it me showing her ¨my Sevilla.¨ Which, if you can tell how much I love this city, it is. One funny thing is that we stopped to use the bathroom in Starbucks, which Cristina has never ever heard of (imagine!) I explained the American traditions and culture to a very shocked Spaniard.

29 Noviembre 2007, Jueves

Qué rico era mi día! I started off by watching Lucia y el sexo in my cine class, which I have been wanting to see for years, but apparently the reason I could not find it in the states was because it carries the rating of X in the states since our puritan heritage does not permit us to look beyond nudity as something more than carnal, but rather symbolic and natural. It was a fabulous movie, a ¨moebus strip¨combining reality and fiction, and using lots of symbolism. I´m really excited to see what our fabulous professor has to say about it on Monday. I got into a bit of a cat fight with some of the girls in the class because they wanted him to put on subtitles in English which obviously lessens the whole experience of a film, especially since we´re in Spain (duh) to learn Spanish. (I need to learn to not let my feelings show so)

After class Natalia and I discussed the film over café con leche (which I am going to miss like crazy) and then I met up with Cristina to talk a bit. After a bit of Maria del Mar, I ran off to flamenco class. This time, I was a bit early so I wandered around the studio a bit. I found a Jewish blessing for the house hanging in the doorway, and I wondered if they knew what it actually was. Class was TOUGH. If I thought the first class was hard, this was just ridiculous. I learned that I was not stamping my foot correctly (being accustomed to tap dancing) and that the way to correctly stamp your foot makes your whole leg ache. And then we had to do it faster and faster, and then add arms, and then I almost fell over. Well let me tell you, I will never watch flamenco the same way. The ease and grade with which our teacher did everything simultaneously(in addition to counting ¨bada BEEM, chick bam boon BOON!¨) just blew my mind. After class, I decided to ask the secretary about the blessing. She told me it was a hand of Fatima, mean to ward off the evil eye (which it is, I guess) but then I told her about the Hebrew inscription and how it was a blessing for the house, and she was surprised, saying someone had randomly sent it to Alicia, the teacher. As I left, I saw Alicia smoking a cigarette (of course) between classes, and I thanked her profusely for enriching me with her flamenco magic.

Afterwards, I passed through the center to meet some friends in Starbucks (yes Starbucks. Disclaimer…when coming here, I vowed never to go to Starbucks, but I have amended to the rules to allow bathroom use without purchase, and acceptance of free samples) and in fact, Starbucks was having a Christmas party which meant…Free stuff! So of course I was there, and it was fabulous. I honestly don´t understand the fascination with Starbucks that Americans studying in Sevilla have. If you think it´s overpriced in the states, try multiplying everything by 1.5, yet people still go every day, and English is the predominant language spoken. Honestly, we had quite a fun time as we tried everything for free.

Then I finally went to a flamenco show I have been wanting to see ever since I randomly found this cute little museum in Santa Cruz a while ago. It is called Casa de la Memoria and was supposed to be very pure flamenco, which it was. It is in a museum that used to hold the Jewish museum that has recently moved to Cordoba, and is comprised of a beautiful, typical Sevillano courtyard. There re, at most, enough seats for about 30-40 people, so it´s very intimate. The show began as a Sevillano informed the widely American tourist audience that they had to wait to use their precious cameras until the last five minutes of the show, and then three men came out. One was a very gypsy looking guitarist, then another gypsy looking man dressed all in black with a gold earring who was the flamenco version of the beatboxer, and the cantaor, Javier. They began the intricate rhythms of the song randomly yelling things in Spanish the way it´s supposed to be done. It was funny because I´m pretty sure we were the only ones who could understand their thick Andalucian accents because we laughed at the ridiculousness of some of their shouted phrases. (once they yelled ¨Ay que frío!¨oh how cold it is) Then came out the beautiful bailaora dressed all in red. (note, ¨bailador¨ is the Spanish for dancer, but with the Andalucia accent its bailaor, which is a word that has come to be used exclusively for flamenco dancer, same with ¨cantaor¨instead of cantador for singer). She began to dance, and holy crap, it was CRAZY. Her feet were moving faster than my eyes could process, and I just stared open-mouthed as her feet pumped out a wild rhythm. I thought I would never see anything wilder until the bailaor came out, the same beatboxing gypsy who I never thought would be the dancer. He was just ridiculous, it was as if he wasn´t human because I don´t think it´s possible to move your feet like that. He moved around the small space with such tense grace and rapid fire movement that the whole room sat shocked in awe. I cannot put into words how amazing this man was. Dear reader, you will just have to come to Sevilla and see it for yourself.

All too soon, they told us we could take pictures since it was almost the end of the show. I could not believe it, an hour had passed by in what felt like mere moments. Although we were not allowed to film, I clearly did, but they did not perform to the same level of difficulty as before because they knew everyone would diobey the rules.

After the show, Natalia and I went to meet some of our friends in Triana. As I was walking, I ate a piece of chocolate because I hadn´t eaten dinner. Now we had been told about the general Spanish taboo of not eating on the go, something completely contrary to American culture. We had been told to not eat on the bus or anything like that. This old man began to walk to toward me and starting to address me somewhat quietly, I think he was a little crazy. ¨No debes comer en la calle. Que maleducado comer en la calle. Hace falta casarte.¨ He trailed behind us and I wasn´t really paying attention until the last part, to which I absolutely FLIPPED. (Translation…¨You shouldn´t eat in the street. It´s impolite (rude, uneducated) to eat in the street. You need to get married.¨) This was my first personal run-in with the stereotypical machismo which is a problem here in Spain. Especially recently, as the commonness of domestic violence has recently been brought to the forefront of public awareness, and just last week it was National Stop Domestic Violence Day, to which thousands of people marched in the streets in protest. I was a bit in shock for the rest of the night.

We went to a tapas bar to have a snack since I was hungry, and then met up with about eight other people in our program at a café to play cards. We played this really fun game where everyone has a category, and then there´s a lot of yelling involved, to which we just proved the loud, American stereotype to the locals, but we didn´t care. It was a really fun night, I haven´t really hung out with the people in my program socially because everyone just speaks English, and I didn´t come to Spain to do that. But it was still a lot of fun, and I´m glad I got to spend some time with others.

Although, I must confess I spend a lot of time wondering why a lot of Americans study abroad. You´ve already read my disillusionment of why Americans continue going to Starbucks, paying the equivalent of over six dollars for a latte, when café con leche, the exact same thing, is next door for one euro (a dollar forty-eight today). Most of the people in my program, and all of the other Americans I´ve met, hang out in groups of Americans and speak English all the damn time. Even when our program director reminds us that we will not improve our Spanish speaking English, they continue to do it. What´s the point?

30 Noviembre 2007, Viernes RONDA

Today I went to Ronda, a town about two and half hours away by bus that was absolutely gorgeous. The main touristy attractions are the oldest bullring in Spain, and this amazing bridge which is one of the most beautiful sites in Spain I think. It stands over this gorge which has the ruins of Arab baths along with beautiful gardens snaking throughout the valley. In the background are the rolling hills of Andalucía, while lambs dot the countryside grazing on the green, lush grass. It really is a sight to see, we were lucky that the weather was so nice today, because not only was everything GREEN, (caps intended for it was that strong) but in contrast with the blue of the sky, it just took my breath away.

We got into Ronda around 12;30 and walked throughout the city, stopping in a tiny plaza to eat the bocadillos our Señoras had prepared for lunch. A city like Ronda is meant to be wandered around, for seeing the beautiful Andalucían architecture and plants is like no where else in the world. We saw the alcazaba, old fortresses, and churches. We had a cute little black kitten following us around for a while, and then we went to the old bridge to just stare at the countryside and take it all in. We had café con leche at a café literally hanging over the gorge inches away from the bridge, one of the coolest locations ever.

We hit some shops afterwards, although most everything was closed due to siesta. Then we took the bus home around 5. I got home and talked to my Señora about everything over dinner. The thing that is so crazy to think about is the fact that people actually live in pueblos like Ronda, maintaining an existence that their ancestors have done for hundreds of years. I cannot even imagine being a teenager in a town like Ronda, if we complain about nothing to do in the States….

One can argue which way of life is better, the old European way of life or the hustle and bustle of American, but they both have their pros and cons, just like anything. One thing that I can tell you for sure is that when living in a foreign country, you come to question what happiness means, and learn that is completely culturally subjective. For me, happiness is success, success is money, and money comes with hard work. (ok not just money, but generally that´s what it is in our society) In Spain it seems like happiness just is, there is no general definition. Happiness is not glitzy vacations or big houses, but growing up with all of your cousins living in one place from generation to generation, preparing food using the same recipe your great-great-great abuela used, and not worrying about things like retirement planning, college educations, and medical bills. (of course people still do, but not NEARLY to the extent as in America, since all of the above things are paid for by the state). Of course you could argue that people do not have the same opportunity to have the kind of success that people can have in American, but what is that….that is the possession of ¨things¨ and although I prefer my American existence to the antiguity of Spanish culture, I think someone like my intercambio, Cristina, cannot begin to imagine the kind of society we have in America.