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.

Fresas con nata

I feel like my host grandfather and I bond the most when we are eating fruit together after lunch. On the menu today: strawberries that were so good I thought I was going to die, topped with whipped cream. [I don’t know what it is about the strawberries in this country, but they are awesome. So is strawberry ice cream–although that’s not a surprise]. Today we bonded while looking at pictures of Portugal’s beaches online (school trip this weekend!). I guess Spain isn’t that bad, but I did get made fun of by my host grandparents for saying I was going to bring my homework to the beach.

Semana Santa en Sevilla

Hello all!  I don’t know if you have heard or not, but Semana Santa, or Holy Week, is a huge deal in Seville.  The whole process involves weeks of preparation and set up and is rooted in centuries of Catholic tradition.  I am lucky enough to be living in one of the most famous places IN THE WORLD to visit during Semana Santa, so now I’m going to tell you what I thought about it all.

Now, before I begin, there is one thing of the utmost importance for you to know.  The hooded figures in the pictures below are NOT associated with the KKK, and there is nothing sinister about the cloaks and tall pointy hats.

What is it?  Well, from what I have learned, it is basically a week long celebration for the city, and among the Catholic community, it is sort of a celebration of faith and an acknowledgement of the trials and suffering of Jesus in the last week of his life. It really ends up being a flashy show of who can wear the fanciest outfits and sponsor the best procession.

The city during Holy Week: Starting the Monday before Holy week even began (I’m talking like April 7th), the city was swarming with visitors from all over the world.  I heard English everywhere, wasn’t the only one wearing shorts, and the sidewalks were at times impassable.  Streets and sidewalks were fenced off, churros stands and souvenir carts popped up out of nowhere, Sevici (that’s the bikes that I rent) stands were turned off, and bleachers were constructed in streets.  

For these reasons and the perceived annoyance of so many foreigners in the streets, many Sevillanos leave the city (or the country) for Semana Santa.  [Fun fact, I went to Madrid and Toledo for three days, but there were almost as many crowds there.]

Processions  themselves: So the week is made up of processions through the streets that everyone gets super excited to go out and see.  Now, a Spanish person would probably cringe if they heard me describe it like this, but the best way I can think to describe the processions is like a parade.  Individual churches throughout the city organize their procession, where they take a paso on a walk from their church to the Seville Cathedral and back to their church.  It sounds easy enough, right?  Well some of the processions can last 14 hours.  They are fairly slow moving.  Now, going along with the parade description, the pasos are like floats.  Constructed of wood as early as the 15th century, the pasos depict a grieving Virgin (lamenting the torture and murder of her son, Jesus), or Jesus Christ himself in various stages of crucifixion.  All of the pasos are magnificently detailed and despite their gruesome themes, they are very beautiful.  They are also incredibly valuable and old.  For these reasons, the processions do not occur if there is a possibility of rain for the day. Another interesting thing about the pasos is that they are carried by men all over the city. Think about how heavy it is! It’s all wood and fancy adornments and who knows what else. Back in the day, the dock workers used to carry the pasos, but now it’s just normal men who are honored to carry the paso. They have to train a lot to carry it in sync-I saw them practicing together in Plaza Nueva about two weeks before Semana Santa even began!

There is a specific order to the processions.  First, there will be people carrying a big wooden cross that guides the procession. Then, there will be lots of people dressed in the long cloaks specific to their brotherhood, carrying large candles, wearing the tall hoods and sometimes walking barefoot. They are called nazarenos, or penitents, and have received the immense honor of paying penance anonymously in the procession. After the nazarenos, there will be a group of altar boys/acolytes. (Fun fact: the mothers of the altar boys will show up periodically throughout the procession with quick snacks or little sandwiches for their sons– the processions are long!). Next in line is the paso, the most important part. Sometimes people applaud, sometimes there is silence, or cries of joy and spontaneously sung songs that pertain to the celebration. Sometimes there will be a band following the paso, but not always. I liked seeing the bands because they were made up of musicians from middle school age all the way up to grandparent age, all marching together and playing music together. After the band, there will be more people who look like the nazarenos, but their hats aren’t pointed. They carry wooden crosses and are making a public penance.

Attitudes about Semana Santa in Seville:  Like I touched on before, there are some citizens of Seville who flee the country leave Spain for Holy Week to avoid the crowds and tourists.  There are some who disapprove of the whole tradition, lamenting that the overflow of respect and care for the cherished pasos amounts to idolatry (this is certainly a justifiable sentiment, in my opinion).  And there are still others among the natives who love Semana Santa, rising early and going to sleep late, following all of the processions year after year.  The avid Semana Santa goers are mostly the strongly Catholic (this makes sense, as they understand the confradias and brotherhoods behind the processions, who’s history makes it all the more interesting), and also older people (this also makes sense), but reactions to the tradition really depend on the person.  From what I’ve seen of the young people of Seville, who receive a week off of school for the celebration, the week is full of late nights, parties, and drinking by the river: normal activities for your Spanish teenager.

My two cents: I didn’t like Semana Santa that much.  I don’t like crowds, I don’t like drunk people I don’t know, and I don’t like people getting drunk to celebrate the ultimate sacrifice made by the Son of God.  I felt like the whole week was very showy and loud, really just a show to make money off of the tourists.  For this reason, I didn’t go out and experience as much of Semana Santa as I probably should have.  Also, since I am not Catholic and don’t know much about Saints of Seville or the history of the confradias and churches here, all of the processions began to look the same to me. I just don’t know enough about it to fully appreciate it!  I am very glad that I saw the processions that I saw, and I took some really great pictures.  I was excited at the idea of what I thought would be a refreshing celebration of religious and spiritual mentality, but because of the crowds and grand displays, I just didn’t feel that. It was very cool to see the processions, but I think that in order to have a more personal experience and form a more educated opinion, it is necesary to go to a smaller town to see the processions there.

Here, enjoy some of my pictures!

¡No puedo leer!

So, it is 2:30 in the morning and, like any normal person, I am wide awake. I just can’t get myself to go to sleep, even though I have school soon. I don’t want to go. I’ve never skipped a college class, but I have a sinking feeling that the first time could be near. I sat with my homework out basically all day, but accomplished close to nothing. And now, I don’t know if the insomnia is from the cup of coffee I had this afternoon (one of the benefits of pretending to do homework is that you get to drink coffee to look the part) or dread because of the imminent boredom and frustration that is coming in six and a half hours when I will be reluctantly sitting in class.

School here makes me so frustrated and mad. Before I studied abroad, people told me (I don’t know how qualified they were) that I wasn’t going to have much homework in Spain, because my teachers would want me to have time to explore. That hasn’t been the case. I get lots of reading to do every single night, and I never complete my assignments. (You heard me right, I complained that my teachers are giving me homework. Hey, it’s 2:30 am, this is what you get.) I’m not interested in the stories. I don’t understand them. I literally can not read them. And I’ve given up! I can’t force myself to sit down and stare at a page that doesn’t seem like it will ever make sense to me. I can’t read in Spanish. It sounds weird in my head as I type this, but I don’t know what the sentences mean. I don’t know how to process this: I don’t remember not knowing how to read in English. I don’t remember struggling to understand the words on the page in front of me. Most of my childhood memories involve devouring books, not shoving them to the edge of my desk because they are useless to me.

I’m frustrated because usually school is something that I can handle: not with ease, but I can handle it. But lately, I’ve felt lost in class. I stare at my homework, but don’t complete the assignments. And I’m frustrated with my teachers because I ask if they have suggestions for completing the reading, ways to tackle all the meaningless sentences, and their answers don’t satisfy me.

I guess this is a good experience for me to have as a 19 year old who wants to be a teacher with a habit of positively impacting students’ lives. If there is one thing I’ve learned from my education classes and my job at a summer camp for high school students last summer, it’s that I could quite possibly run into high school students who don’t know how to read. They will feel the same way I feel now if I, as their teacher, assign reading after reading without tools to break it down and build the skills they need. Maybe this, maybe this frustration at myself, my teachers, and language in general–something that I am not used to experiencing in a classroom–will make me a more open minded, compassionate, and prepared teacher.

Nísperos

I tried a new fruit today at lunch: níspero!
They are like the size of a kiwi, but bright orangish/yellow. You have to peel them and then remove the large pits inside so it is a little tricky, but boy oh boy are they good. If I had to describe what they taste like, I think I would say a cross between a kiwi and a cantaloupe. Is that weird?
I think Miguel and Pilar were surprised that I like them, apparently Miguel is the only one in the family who eats them!
Look, I stole pictures from the internet:

Apparently they are grown in Japan or China, and in English they are called loquats, Japanese pears, or Chinese pears? I’ve never heard of them, but I’ll be on the lookout in the US!

Seville Cathedral

If you google Seville, you are likely to be swamped with pictures of a monstrous, scarily beautiful cathedral.   Seville is famous for it, I had to visit it with my program one of the first weeks I was here, and I go by it every day on my way to school.  Last week, when my mom and her friend, Mrs. Marshall were here, we went in it again.  I realized I really don’t know much about this world famous building that I barely even glance at when I pass by anymore.

(me on my school trip)

So, here are some quick facts about the Cathedral.

Traditional name: Catedral de Santa Maria de la Sede

Claims to fame: largest Gothic cathedral, 3rd largest church in the world, registered in 1987 as a World Heritage Site

Location: Seville (duh.)  More specifically, downtown Seville, on the always fun to visit Avenida de la Constitución.
It’s big. You can’t miss it.

Neighbors: Alcázar Palace (Muslim Palace), and the General Archive of the Indies (Museum housing documents related to the discovery of the Americas).

Famous people buried here: Christopher Columbus (the guy who found a route to Asia the Americas), Ferdinand Columbus (son of Christopher), Fernando III of Castile and one of his wives: Elisabeth of Hohenstaufen, Alfonso X of Castile (their son), and Pedro I of Castile.

The Seville Cathedral was built on the site of  an ancient Muslim mosque to demonstrate the city’s wealth after it became a respected trading center on the Iberian Peninsula.  (I haven’t found anything about it being built to honor God, isn’t that interesting…)  According to Wikipedia, the members of the local cathedral chapter said something along the lines of “let’s build a church so beautiful and so grand that those who see it finished will think we are mad”.  In my opinion, they achieved their goal.  The Cathedral is scary big, and it’s Gothic Style, so it really catches your eye and makes you a little sad if you look at it for too long.  (Do you understand what I mean?  Gothic architecture always looks sad to me).

Anyways, the construction of this beast of a building began in 1402 (on the site of an old mosque) and was funded by the clergy of the parish, who pledged half of their stipends to pay for all of the architects, artists, stained glass experts, masons and carvers required to complete the huge project.

When the dust cleared in 1506 everyone marveled at this lovely brand new cathedral…until 1511 when the dome collapsed and construction commenced again.  In 1888 the dome collapsed again (because of an earthquake) and destroyed a lot of valuable stuff inside the cathedral.

Here, look at some pictures!

Look at all the fanciness carved out of wood!

(I had a little trouble choosing a small amount of photos for you to look through…just wait, there’s more).

Now, something that was news to me when I first came to Spain is that way back in the day, Spain was under Islamic rule.  For this reason, there are countless Muslim influences on everyday life in Spain: architecture, food, music, and even words from Islamic civilization have lingered in the culture of Spain.

An example of this is the architecture of the Cathedral.  While overall Gothic, the Cathedral has some elements commonly found in ancient Muslim mosques (because it used to be one).  These are the use of columns, and more interestingly, La Giralda, or bell tower.

Here’s a sort of good picture of the Giralda…

Far away version:

The Giralda is a really super famous symbol of Seville, because it’s really pretty!…and really tall (105 meters). The structure is the former minaret (bell tower) of the mosque that used to be on this site.  I’ve gone to the top of the Giralda twice, and it is very cool.  It is the tallest structure in Seville (except for the new skyscraper being built by the river, but that is another story) so at the top, you feel like you can see for miles.  Here, look at my pretty pictures!

So traditionally (like, when it was a mosque), the minaret was where they made the call to prayer.  The tower has 34 ramps to climb up to make it to the top.  Why are there ramps instead of stairs? Well, back in the day, a donkey had to climb to the top when it was prayer time (and donkeys don’t do so well on stairs, I’ve heard).

Anyways, that’s a little information about the Seville Cathedral for you!  There’s a lot more to learn about it, but this was the overview version. It’s famous, so I thought we should all learn a little about it 😊.

How (not?) to dress in Spain

Please enjoy the contrast between what I wore today and what the Spaniards wore today. I would like to add in that the high was 82 degrees Fahrenheit–a temperature that I thought meant “whip out the shorts!” But everyone keeps talking about how unbearably hot it gets here in the summer: 45 degrees! …Celsius. That’s 113 degrees Fahrenheit! (This is why siesta is a thing: they lay down for the hottest part of the day because you will melt if you go outside).
I got a lot a lot of stares from people while I was going to school this morning: it was early so I was one of the only extranjeras in the street (the tourists were still sleeping-they’re the only other ones who wear shorts). I don’t know if I’m so beautiful that they were stunned, if they have never seen pasty white legs before, or if they just thought I was nuts for wearing shorts without thick black tights underneath (that’s what everyone else does).

Anyways, coming from Michigan, where we pull out the sandals as soon as the snow is gone, it sure is a change to see people in long pants and jackets on an 80 degree day!

40 Days Left

I only have 40 days left in Spain, and my oh my has the time flown by.  I am really ready to go back to the U.S.  I miss my family and I miss my life at my University.  But then again, once I return to the U.S., I think I am going to miss parts of Spain too.  Who knows, maybe I will return here some day.  

So, I have 40 days left until I can hug my dog, drive my car, and spend money I don’t have at Target.  These last 40 days are going to entail a week long visit from my mom (she gets here on Sunday), another trip to Madrid, Semana Santa, days at the beach, Feria, a trip to Portugal, and EXAMS.  It’s going to go by quickly, and I hope that I can make the most of it.  

I’m excited for Semana Santa and Feria! I’ve been hearing about both of these holidays since before I arrived in Sevilla, and this week I feel like I got lectured about them both every single day.  Semana Santa and Feria are quickly approaching, and it is apparent that the Sevillanos are very excited about this.  For those of you who don’t know, Sevilla is like reeeaaally famous for Semana Santa.  Semana Santa is basically just your average Catholic Holy Week on steroids.  The week revolves around processions–sort of like parades–of groups within Churches who carry lifelike wooden sculptures that depict Jesus dying on the cross or Mary grieving the death of her son.  These sculptures are pieces of art dating back to the Baroque era, and it is an honor to be in the procession.  Processions like this happen in lots of Spanish speaking countries, but Sevilla does it the best (or so I’ve heard).  While Semana Santa is deeply rooted in the Catholic faith, the festival of Feria doesn’t have any religious roots at all.  The Feria–fair–started as just that: a livestock fair.  Now, however, it has turned into an event absent of livestock.  Everyone is very joyous, decked out in their Sunday best as they drink, eat, have a good time, and dance the  Sevillano (a special type of flamenco).  

All in all, the excitement of the Sevillanos is rubbing off on me, and I am looking forward to seeing these world famous holidays right in the same city I have been living in for the past two months.