Homebound (I wrote this on the plane on Wednesday)

Right now, I am sitting on an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean. My study abroad experience has come to a close, and I’m in a state of shock. I never planned on studying abroad. I love living in the US, and frankly, going to another country to study seemed like a frivolous expense. Now, however, I’m on my way home and I’m not regretting my experience.

While there is a lot of work and stress involved (a lot a lot a lot) in study abroad, in some ways it is like a vacation from your real life. You are living in a climate that is probably warmer than your own, you are staying with a family who cooks, cleans, and does your laundry, and the whole experience is about you learning, you seeing new things. It’s definitely a situation you won’t find yourself in at any other time. In contrast, I feel that studying abroad promotes really selfish behavior because there is so much pressure to “make the most” out of your “once in a lifetime” experience.

So, all in all, study abroad is a pretty cool thing to do as a college student. But, right now I am still reeling over how much it cost and trying to console my weeping bank account. I will be the first one to tell you that there are other, cheaper things to do during your college experience that will give you life experiences and help you grow too.

The director of my study abroad program is a really neat lady. In one of our first days of orientation way back in February, she told us that study abroad doesn’t have to be the absolute best, most fun experience of our lives–even though for some people, it will be. And yesterday at our going away party at the Center, she said it again: study abroad doesn’t have to be the best experience ever. But it’s supposed to be an experience and we are supposed to learn.

I did learn. Of all the experiences I’ve had, I think I’ve gotten a bit smarter. I wasn’t dumb before, but now I have more of an idea of how the world works. I’ve always been opinionated, but now I’ll actually be able to back it up. I’ve learned things about myself and the world around me.

I’m a lot more comfortable speaking up for myself now: I let people know if they are standing too close to me or if I think they’re making me pay too much for something.
I learned how to take the metro in a city I’d never been to.
I got hopelessly lost in the middle of the night with friends in Portugal-a country in which we don’t speak the language-and didn’t panic.
I learned that no matter what, my irrational fear of airports will cause me to panic. Every. Single. Time.
I learned that you can’t always trust people just because they are an adult or have a uniform on.
Quickly figuring out that hot water is a really limited resource in Spain, I can now take super quick showers.
I learned that the best way to make a man leave you alone is to laugh in his face.
I can (sort of) walk in high heels on cobblestone now.
I saw firsthand the value of family across the world, in a culture very different than my own. And I learned at a very young age that I don’t do so well when I’m hours and hours away from my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents.
I planned trips all by myself.
I learned Spanish.
I saw what Spain is like.

Everywhere you go in the city of Seville, you can find a neat little symbol seemingly hidden on the buildings, sidewalks, and signs. It looks like this: NO8DO, and it is the motto of the city. So, what does it mean?

Well, that symbol that looks like a number 8 is supposed to be a skein of yarn. The Spanish word for skein of yarn is madeja. So, that considered, the fancy little NO8DO sounds like this when read aloud: no medeja do. For speakers of Spanish with an Andalusian accent, this little seemingly meaningless phrase turns into the Spanish sentence No me ha dejado, which, in English, means She has not abandoned me.

So I can guess what you’re thinking: this is cool and all, but why in the world is it the motto of Seville? Well, way back in the day, King Alfonso X faced utter betrayal and a bitter struggle for the throne of Spain at the hands of his very own son. When it seemed like the whole kingdom had left their king during his darkest hour, Seville stayed loyal and supportive. For this, the city was awarded the phrase by the grateful king at the end of the war, and to this day they are still proud of this 700 year old piece of praise. The symbol can be found all over the city: on doors, signs, sidewalks, flags, drain covers, etc., and I think it’s pretty cool. So, yesterday I went to a little boutique by my house that I’ve peeked in the window of every day, and bought a ring that looks like this.

In my head, the infinity symbol is the madeja, and now I have a little piece of Sevilla with me wherever I go.

While I don’t have any plans to pack up and move to Spain any time soon, I now have people in Sevilla that I care about and will deeply miss. This experience is going to stay with me forever. So with that, Adiós, Sevilla. No me ha dejado.

Hi world,

As usual, it’s late at night and I am cramming to get homework done. Tomorrow is my final final exam here in Spain.

Tomorrow is also my last full day in Seville.

Where did the time go?! I have a lot of mixed feelings about going home. On one hand, I’ve been counting down the days until I can see my family and dog again, or go to a restaurant and get all the drink refills that I want.

On the other hand, I’ve just spent three and a half months living in a beautiful place and seeing things that some people spend years dreaming about. And I’m just starting to feel really comfortable here-isn’t it sad that it took me three months? But I feel like I’ve just gotten the hang of the language, to the point where I can actually have fun talking to people, and now I have to leave.

I’m worried to go back home and experience reverse culture shock. I’ve heard people talk about it and I’ve read about it a little online: I don’t want my home, the place I’ve been dreaming about returning to for the last 103 days, to appear ugly or boring when I finally get there. (Here’s to hoping I’m too busy watching NCIS on the couch with my dog to notice anything I don’t like.)

I’m sad because I have people in Seville that I really care about: I’m going to miss Miguel and Pilar a lot. As much as I like to think about traveling more, the truth is, I’m probably never going to logistically or financially figure out a way to come back here again. It’s a little hard to wrap my head around it, because Seville has started to feel like home.

Feria de abril de Sevilla (en mayo)

Hola internet! If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been the last couple weeks, the answer is at my desk doing homework. Seriously. I guess they call it study abroad for a reason and I’m rather miffed. I didn’t come to Spain to be stressed out in school all the time, doing six-eight page research papers and exams for every class.

All whining aside, there is a pretty neat thing going on in Seville this week, and I figured you might want to hear about it, or at least look at the pretty pictures.

In addition to Semana Santa (read my blog post about it!), Seville is also famous for feria de abril, which the English version of Wikipedia calls Seville Fair. Basically, it is a week long party. Spanish people like to party. And they like to take naps.

So where did it come from? Well back in 1847, the fair was a livestock fair organized by a Basque guy, a Catalonian guy (those are both parts of northern Spain) and Queen Isabel II. In true Spanish fashion, a simple livestock fair turned into a grand event of merrymaking, dancing, dressing to impress, and of course eating and drinking. After a few years, people weren’t interested in buying cattle at the fair anymore, so now it is just a week long party. The fair is always held about two weeks after Easter, so this year it takes place in May because Easter was so late.

What do people wear to this grand event?
Well, you’re safe with a coat and tie if you’re a man, and a fancy dress if you’re a woman, but traditional outfits are also really popular.
Men wear the traditional short jacket, tight trousers, boots, and fancy hats called cordobés.
Women are decked out in trajes de flamenca– flamenco style dresses (that can easily cost over €500).

So basically, a small city of casetas (literally little houses-I can best describe them as tents) is constructed for a week, in a part of the city called Los Remedios. The streets of this temporary little city are named after famous bullfighters (during my time here, I’ve noticed that the most famous and wealthy are either fútbol players or bullfighters). It’s a point of pride to have a caseta to go to-they are invitation only! A lot of people have casetas with their churches or companies, but some families own their own. There are some free casetas, of course, but you really want to get invited to a private one because that means you’ve either got money or you know people who do.

The first night, midnight between Monday and Tuesday, is called the alumbrado (or alumbrao, if you are feeling particularly Andalusian). This is when they turn on all of the lights and it is quite an event. Everyone stands at the gate, or puerta, to watch. There are like a million lights at the fair (scientific calculation, of course), so you can kind of imagine the excitement when they all go on at once.

The Before.

The During.

And the After. (Commence cheers of “¡Olé!”).

They also eat fried fish for dinner this day. Don’t ask me why, that’s just the tradition. Right after the lights go on, and every night for the next week, it’s a wild party until the sun comes up. On Sunday night, the fiesta literally goes out with a bang as there is a fireworks show at midnight that signals the end of feria until next year.

So, in true Spanish fashion, the real party doesn’t begin until about midnight, when all the young people invade the temporary city. Everyone is drinking rebujito, the less strong version (read cheap) of the ever popular feria drink manzanilla. I mean it. Every person you see under the age of 40 has a clear plastic cup (Spanish people are too classy for red solo cups of course) full of fino, (Spanish white wine made in Jerez) and Seven Up (or Sprite). Classy, right? It’s good. Now, the people with lots of money drink Manzanilla. I don’t really know what it is except it’s fancy, strong, and Wikipedia says it’s both wine and sherry? My researching skills are lacking. All I know is that my host grandpa gave me a glass of it at lunch the other day and then I was late for my afternoon class because I took too long of a siesta (let’s chalk it up to the fact that I stayed up too late finishing a paper the night before).

There are also carnival rides that are put up for the week, but I didn’t spend too much time looking at them because I’m a poor college student at the end of an pricey semester spent in Europe and I heard they were expensive.

Today I went and wandered around the feria by myself during the day (one thing I’ve learned through my study abroad experience is I like to wander) and took pictures. Everyone is so well dressed and so happy at feria! And the horses were better dressed than I was (only slightly joking). It’s a big deal to take a ride in the horse drawn carriages with the drivers dressed up in traditional outfits. Here, check out some of my pictures from this afternoon (I really got a kick out of all the horses)!.

I like to call this one “Broccoli”.

A sight to see both during the day and night is the dancing. Sevillanos dance the Sevillana, a type of flamenco which is of course cooler because it is from Seville. There are four different dances and people do them over and over again, young and old, fat and thin, dressed in traditional clothes or not. It’s very cool to see, and everyone knows how to do it.

(Me with my moviestar-like friends)

I experienced a night out at feria on Wednesday, and boy was it something. My friends and I went to several casetas, and when our Spanish friends found out that I had the Sevillana dance class (even though we all know what a disaster that was), I was forced to dance. It turns out, it’s a little easier if you have a partner who knows to dance. But still, I’m never doing it again. I don’t dance. The streets stayed packed even until we headed home at 7:30 in the morning. Feria is quite an event.