Un día mágico

Hola! This post was from two Thursdays ago, but I got caught up in studying for midterms (now finally over this week!) that I never finished 'til now. Don't worry, I've not been studying this whole time. I've also been climbing steep hills in the Spanish countrysides to eat figs fresh off the tree growing within the garden of an old castle...but these are stories for another day! What follows is my recounting of my single-most beautiful, enriching, and fulfilling day in Spain yet.

Magical realism was the topic of discussion in my literature class today. Little did I know this morning in class that this topic foreshadowed what was to be the rest of my day—a spectacular blend of magic and reality.

But I'm getting a little ahead of myself, as the magic started far earlier in the morning, before I stepped into my classroom. After eating breakfast (Rice Krispies, one of my favorite cereals when I was chiquitina) with Carmen this morning, I did sun salutations in my room before going out for a run along the River Tagus. The chill morning air nipped my skin, and light reflecting off of the river danced along the riverbank. I saw a beautiful crane (grulla) fly over the river and skim the shimmering water with its wings—I love how I never see cranes together, only flying alone, magnificent in their solitude. The river has small waterfalls in places, the water smooth like glass before dropping off. Today, one of the waterfalls was spitting out a rainbow in the sunlight.

After my run, I got ready for school, but first I took a shower and then rested a bit (mostly because I took a lot of time to properly shave my legs, and since freshly shaven legs against sheets is one of the greatest feelings in the world, I couldn't resist hopping back into bed for a bit). In literature, I brought pomegranates (granadas) that my family and I picked in the countryside to share with my classmates. We're reading La prodigiosa tarde de Baltazar, a short story by Gabriel García Márquez. The imagery of the beautiful birdcage in the story is lovely, and reading a short story by Gabriel García Márquez made me want to tackle 100 Years of Solitude, one of my favorite books, in Spanish. (Not anytime soon, but one day!)

I had a playdate with my new 14 year-old Spanish friend named Sofia. Her family is friends with my host family, and we first met in the countryside this past weekend when her family ate lunch with mine. I was delighted that Sofia wanted to spend more time together! Today, we talked about Hans Christian Andersen and Roald Dahl short stories. She's simply delightful. We're going to dress up together with Carmen for Halloween. (UPDATE: Sadly, this ended not happening as I studied for midterms, and as Sofia was out-of-town for Halloween. I still want to have a random masquerade party together!)

After walking Sofia to her viola class, I bought galletas principe (Prince Cookies), which are heavenly and light—two cookies (of the golden and light variety—looks like what you think of when you think "British biscuit") with chocolate cream (of the soft and fudgey variety) in the middle. As I walked down the cobble-stoned streets of Toledo while eating my delicious cookies, the sun shone warmly on my face, and the church bells rang all around me. I had an enormous smile on my face, filled to the brim with happiness.

In the evening, I met up with my intercambio, Marien, with whom I meet to speak every week so that she can practice English, and I, Spanish. We drove in her car up to one of the overlooks of Toledo. The sunset tinted the soft blue sky with a bright pink-orange band at the horizon, and as the sky grew darker, the mountains in the distance were a blue silhouette against the fiery, deepening orange. The streetlights along the upward-winding roads of Toledo became illuminated, and the lights from a distant village twinkled like stars, creating the effect that I had stepped into a beautiful fairyland.

Marien y yo

After dinner that night, mi padre español told me of all the sad, horrendous stories from the Spanish Civil War and Franco's dictatorship. He told me about the recent actions of the human rights judge Baltasar Garzón who attempted to investigate crimes against humanity committed during Franco's regime. Spain, however, has a law that basically says, "We will forget everything that happened during the Civil War" (see link for more information), and, thus, Garzón was put into jail. My host father told me of the thousands of corpses of those executed during the epoch of Franco and buried on the sides of roads and in ditches and in fields, or flung into wells. Many Spaniards want to unearth the bodies to give their relatives proper burials. Federico told me of the grandmother of a cousin in their family who was tortured, killed, and buried against a wall—how many families know the exact spot of their loved ones' remains. The eerie image of souls wandering alongside roads, upon the red Spanish earth, crept into my mind.

My host father also told me the sad story of the famous Spanish poet Antonio Machado. As the Republicans (leftists, not a definition of "Republican" we're used to in the States) were losing the Civil War, Machado and his elderly mother were forced to cross the border from Barcelona to France. Machado died soon after reaching France, and his mother died three days later. In his pocket, they found his last poem, "Estos días azules y este sol de la infancia," which translates as "These blue days and this sun of infancy/childhood," and that my host father told me signifies that Machado had no hate in his heart upon his death, leaving the world with this hopeful yet sad (given the context) image. I started sobbing when he told me that Spaniards today (my host family included) still travel to France to put flowers on Machado's grave, as I could clearly see my host father's love for Machado. The sadness in his eyes and low, serious tone of voice made me realize how much Spain's past still haunts the present. Federico gave me a CD to listen to of Joan Manuel Serrat (a bit of the Bob Dylan of Spain, who like Machado was persecuted under Franco's regime) singing poems of Antonio Machado. I fell asleep with Machado's beautiful words swirling in my head.

Eating Miss Piggy for Lunch...wait, is that a...no...NOO!!

Today, for la comida, for lunch, we had soup with white beans. Simple enough, right? I was excited to eat a nice, vegetarian, Spanish dish. That is, until my Spanish aunt (who is visiting for the holiday, Columbus Day/a religious day for la Virgen de Pilar), proceeded to take chunks of pig out of the soup that had been in the pot...its piggy juices soaking, flavoring the meal. Mi tía placed the chunks of pig into a bowl, which sat in front of me the entirety of the meal. As she removed the parts of the pig from the pot, I thought, "Gosh, the whole pig must be in there!" and thought back to one of my beloved childhood figures, Miss Piggy. Only, wait, what's that on my aunt's spoon? Is that a...no, I'm just being perverted. But really, that looks an awful lot like...could it REALLY be a...

Mi tia española's expression and my host father's snicker confirmed it for me. This little piggy was not a Miss Piggy.

That's right. I spent the entirety of lunch staring at the pig penis lying on the bowl in front of me. I could not tear my eyes from it. I had no idea what conversations were going on around me. Until my host father took the pig penis and put it into his soup on his plate. Oh no, no God, oh please... I couldn't bear to watch, but the next time I glanced over, the pig penis was gone.

My host father ate a pig penis for lunch today. MY host father ate a pig penis for lunch today. My HOST FATHER ate a pig penis for lunch today. My host father ATE a pig penis for lunch today. My host father ate a PIG PENIS for lunch today. My host father ate a pig penis FOR LUNCH today. My host father ate a pig penis for lunch TODAY. There's just no way of saying it that will EVER make that sentence sound OK.

¡No estoy tranquila! Hang Ups About Study Abroad

There’s a reason that I’ve heard, “¡Tranquila!” and “No te preocupes” about 50 times each in the two weeks I’ve been in Spain. Being the nervous, worried person that I am, I’m always thinking about how I’m in Spain only 10 weeks (eight weeks now, not that I’m keeping count or anything), and how I can best spend my time here on UChicago’s quarter system. After my program ends, I will visit my best friend in England, but until then, I’ve made the decision not to travel outside of Spain on my long, three-day weekends (that’s right, I don’t have classes Fridays, and never before 11:30 a.m.!). During my trip to Ávila and Salmanaca, I ended speaking English with a lot of other students, and when I returned to my house, my host father asked me, “You spoke in English a lot, no?” Busted. I don’t want to undo each week’s worth of progress in a weekend in another non Spanish-speaking country. But then I remember how much it costs to travel to Europe—what if, with my anthro degree and interest in working in community service, I never make it back, or at least not until I’m much, much older? Retired, even? Or what if something horribly tragic happens, and I choke on one of those little pretzels on my flight on the way back to the US and die before I see France or Italy or Germany (when they’re so close to me right now in this very moment!), or anywhere else in the world for that matter?

When I turn my thoughts to travel within Spain, things get equally complicated. Spain is like a small continent, with so many different languages (catalán, español, gallego, vasco) and geographical features (mountains, beach, sea, plains, desert) to see and explore! Where to go? How to travel? Alone? With loads of other classmates? I’ve made a tentative list of places to travel, and I plan to go through CouchSurfing. Unfortunately, despite the Spanish-only contact we signed, a lot of students in the program speak English…the vast majority of the time. As my goal is to learn Spanish, I would like to travel with only a few other people, or by myself, while I’m in Spain, so I’ll be forced to talk in Spanish and make Spanish friends.

I think I’ve been doing well so far with the no-English rule. I have a little notebook filled with random translations and phrases (the most interesting tidbit on my current page: “Marzo ventoso y abril lluvioso hacen a mayo florido y hermoso,” which is the Spanish “April showers bring May flowers”), and I’ve been able to carry on conversations (albeit choppy and terribly grammatically incorrect conversations) with people. Still, I feel guilty even typing in English in my blog, when I could be working on reading Roald Dahl’s Matilda (borrowed from Carmen, naturally!) in Spanish or doing any number of things in Spanish. Sometimes, I wish that I were abroad in the time my mother studied in Spain, without Facebook, without my laptop filled with music in English, but now English has infiltrated Spain to such a large extent that it would be impossible for me not to hear it.

My hang-ups aside, I’ve definitely felt my Spanish improve these past two weeks. Still, I can’t help but feel as though I’m mercilessly slaughtering the Spanish language every time I open my mouth to speak. To be honest, it’s a little freeing—it’s nice to know that there are very roundabout ways of saying things with my limited vocabulary, and that, to be understood, I don’t have to follow every single grammatical rule like in my Spanish classes in the US. Obviously, I want to have the rules (mostly) under my belt by the time I’ve completed my program, but until then, I suppose I should make like a Spaniard and be tranquila, and that I shouldn’t take anything for granted in the time I do have in this wonderful, beautiful country.

Weekend Excursion to Ávila and Salamanca, or “Don’t be that girl who threw up on the bus, don’t be that girl who threw up on the bus…”

(Sorry for posting a week late!)

…yepp, you guessed correctly. I was That Girl Who Threw Up On the Bus.

Let me tell you, it was a windy road in the mountains from Toledo to Ávila Friday morning. I could just feel my breakfast, toast with marmalade, swimming around in café con leche in my stomach, which, quivering and lurching with every slight movement, felt as though it were suspended from strings in the tour bus. Toward the end of the ride, we rounded an especially sharp corner, and my strong desire NOT to be That Girl Who Threw Up On the Bus lost out to my biological need to puke. One of the coordinators of the program, Yuki, is an angel; she took my bag of upchucked breakfast and told me not to worry, just to sleep the rest of the way. I swear, in that moment, I would have given her one of my kidneys. (I maintain that the real reason I vomited was not motion sickness but the movie we were watching: Top Gun with Tom Cruise, dubbed in Spanish.)

Anyway.

Ávila was beautiful! We took a tour of the old castle/fort (that is also where the bishop lives? So much got lost in translation with my tour guide who spoke Spanish quickly and with a French accent…). Apparently bears are important in Ávila…or else just present in Ávila…at any rate, there was a statue of a bear. (Cut me some slack, I’ve had a terrible cold the past week, and I’d just vomited in front of a busload of other students.) Here are some photos I took of Ávila:

Me, post-puke.

Santa Teresa de Ávila, patron saint

I loved the contrast of the red roofs and the cool blue of the sky and mountains.

The beautiful colors of Ávila!

After eating a lunch of salad, chicken with patatas fritas, and ice cream (served in square pieces and on plates, not in bowls), we made our way to Salamanca. Paige and I shared a room in the hotel, and we were very confused by the way electricity works in Europe; we had to put our hotel key into a slot to turn on the electricity in our room...and if we took it out, the lights would go off.

Note Paige's confused expression.

Saturday, we went on a tour that lasted hours…upon hours…upon hours—six hours in total, to be precise. Of course, everything we saw was breathtakingly beautiful—the paintings in the cathedral, the flickering candles in front of images of Mary and other saints—but after a while, it felt like I had been banging my head against all those beautiful stone buildings for six hours, my head hurt so much from trying to understand all that Spanish! Our guide was andaluza, which is Spanish for “difficult to understand.” Actually, it’s an adjective that describes people from Andelucía, but I stand by my first definition, as people from the South of Spain (such as my host father) tend to talk very quickly. I loved the cathedral in Salamanca, as well as the ancient library of the University of Salamanca. In the cathedral, I found it especially interesting that there were many images of decomposing bodies, a reminder of death and mortality. Also, we got to see the convent where the nuns (called monjas, a false cognate!).

The Plaza Mayor in Salamanca...filled with SO many people, including this group of adorable old people.

There's an astronaut on the front of the cathedral—very unexpected!

Inside the cathedral

There's a frog on the skull in the dead center of this photo at the University of Salamanca...I read on a website after our tour that, if you find the frog on your own without any help, you'll have good luck. As my last name means "bad luck" in German, I of course needed a lot of help finding the frog.

University of Salamanca library? Or Beauty and the Beast library?

View of the cathedral from the courtyard in the nunnery

The University of Salamanca is one of the oldest in Europe, and Salamanca is a very fun place to be with lots of young people. Unfortunately, as I literally could not speak with my cold, I did not make any Spanish friends in some wild night out on the town. Still, Paige and I had ice cream, wine, and dinner (but not in that order) with two very lovely and intelligent girls from the University of Notre Dame. We saw some odd night life; for example, a group of men walked down the street in Elvis costumes and wigs. We also watched a street performer who can best be described as a Gothic, Spanish Charlie Chaplin.

The beautiful streets of Salamanca, with beautiful young people running about!

Sunday, Paige and I got up early just to realize that there’s nothing to do besides go to church Sunday mornings in Spain. We walked by the river in Salamanca, along which there was much graffiti and empty wine boxes (you stay classy, Salamanca!). We stumbled into a Catholic service in the cathedral and stayed until communion (as neither of us is Catholic and thus could not take communion). Also, I joined the UN and flew in a helicopter in the park:

Just kidding about that last part. I’m happy to report that my bus ride home to Toledo went much more smoothly, and I could actually keep my eyes open during the ride (as I took Dramamine beforehand). Spain is SUCH a beautiful country. I saw an old man walking across the plains with his shepherd dog, and the clouds filled with rain made the landscape all the more beautiful.

I promise to be a bit more consistent with my blog updates; my house finally has Internet, so you should hear from me more regularly. Adios for now.

¡Buen Provecho! Food in Spain

Hola amigos,

I’ve not been in Spain a week, yet I’ve already had some delicious and…well, muy interesante Spanish food. A vegetarian for six years, I’ve decided to try meat while I’m here to more fully experience the culture. While I’ve enjoyed what I’ve tasted (chicken, fish drowned in some kind of white wine sauce, shrimp, medium-rare pig sausage), I plan to continue my vegetarian diet once I return to the US.

Unfortunately for me, they do not eat much chocolate in Spain. My host mother Fuensanta asked me what we eat for dessert in the US, and she was very, very surprised when I told her that, in my house, we always eat chocolate. She told me that, in Spain, they usually eat chocolate only with other things, such as in bready pastries, and always for a snack, not for dessert. She does, however, love dipping churros (a fried breakfast pastry) in hot cocoa (which is much thicker in Spain than what we drink the US) when it’s very cold.

Chocolate withdrawal symptoms aside, I’ve eaten some very scrumptious food in Spain. My favorite foods thus far:

-Postres de manzana—delicious apple pastries

-Queso conafrutas (con marmalada de ciruela y moras)—an absolutely heavenly desert dish that consists of some kind of white cheese covered in prune or blackberry (or any other fruit!) marmalade

-El arroz gitano—“Gypsy Rice” My host father Federico made this dish with rice, chicken, shrimp, and vegetables. It was very delicious, but when I asked him why it was called “gypsy rice,” he said, “Because it is very poor, like a gypsy.” I don’t quite understand what he meant by poor because the dish está muy rico! I asked again but received the same answer. Will persist investigation and report back.

-Churros and porras, only in moderation! At the urging of my host family, I ate too many for breakfast before my trip to Madrid and felt a little queasy the whole bus ride there.

-Tortilla con cebolla—Spanish tortilla with onions on top are delicious!

-Ensalada con caramelized queso de cabra—salad with caramelized (¡no sé como se dice “caramelized” en español!) goat cheese. Perhaps the best salad I’ve had in my life!

-Las almendras (con sal y aceite)—In their home in the countryside, Fuensanta, Carmen, and I cracked open almonds with rocks. Then, we boiled them (the almonds, that is, not the rocks) a bit so the skin would fall off, and once they cooled a bit, we peeled off the skin, added salt and oil, and dug in! A delicious snack.

The stranger foods:

-Crema de calabacín—pureed zucchini cream. During our first dinner together, my family served me this dish in a tiny bowl, and I ate little spoonfuls (not wanting to offend my very first night!). Honestly, it tasted like vegetable oil. I think it would be better as a sauce for something, but certainly not as its own dish.

-Cereal y café con leche—cereal and coffee with milk. Perhaps I should elaborate. This morning, my Spanish sister Carmen warmed up my milk (because there’s no such thing as cold milk here) with hers. When she poured coffee into my milk, I thought, “Hmm, well I guess I’ll need another bowl for my cereal” (aside: they drink coffee out of small bowls, tazónes). But surprise, surprise, Carmen proceeded to pour Corn Flakes into my coffee. And it was her turn to be surprised when I told her it was my first time I’d had cereal in my coffee! ¡Qué curioso!

-Flan—tastes like eggs. And not in a good way. I didn’t like it even when it was drowned in chocolate with whipped cream on the side.

Etiquette:

-Keeping hands above the table! Unlike Americans, Spaniards eat almost with their elbows on the table. Each member of my family always has a little piece of bread in one hand and a fork in the other.

-Fighting over whose dishes are the best: “Yes, your rice is good, but not as good as my mother’s!” The best food is always the food made in the home, and you need to advertise it loudly, dammit.

-Cebollas—onions are muy importante in Spanish cooking. A funny saying in Spanish is, “Quitar el orgullo de la cebolla,” which literally means to rob the pride from the onion. In practice, it means to fry the onion a little bit.

-Corn is used in salads and some other dishes, but overall, corn is considered to be a food for cows and other cattle, not suitable for human consumption. When I brought my family traditional American candy corn, I had to explain, “Es dulces de maíz, pero no es de maíz; es de miel y azucar!”

Phew, after all this talk of food, tengo hambre. ¡Ciao! for now.

First Impressions of Spain

Hola amigos,

I made it to Spain safely today! I barely slept on my flight (that was delayed over an hour due to lightning storms around DC), but Iḿ so very happy. I loved my brief impressions of Madrid walking around killing time before I had to meet at the statue of Christopher Columbus to go to Toledo. I think my friends and I accidentally wandered into some kind of restricted zone, because the street was barred off and guarded by a man with a gun. I apologized when I realized we were on the wrong side of the barrier, and he seemed amused at how flustered I was and told me, "Itś cool!"in English as he let me back through the barrier. One thing that frustrates me is how people will automatically switch over to English, but I´ve been told that, in Toledo, unlike in Madrid, not as many people speak English.

Toledo is a giant maze! Honestly, the landscapes remind me of driving through parts of Kentucky, with sheer cliffs dropping off. From a tower within la Fundacion where Iḿ learning Spanish, the red tile roofs looked so close and numerous that they made me think of a city made of gingerbread houses all piled on top of one another. The streets are winding with many steep, cobblestoned hills, and I cant wait to get lost in them!

I ADORE my host family. I have a Spanish hermanita named Carmen. Sheś very sweet, and she loves to read. Her parents told me she likes American music, including Leonard Cohen (sheś only 10!), but NOT Bob Dylan. She told me in Spanish that she dislikes his voice. (Of course, my own sister Dottie said the same thing, but now she has Dylan on her iPod, so Iḿ set on changing Carmenś opinion, as well, over the course of my stay!) The mother is so kind and lovely, and she told me I was guapa which of course was very nice of her. The father is from the south of Spain, so heś very hard to understand. He told me he likes American Westerns (he likes Clint Eastwood, so weĺl have to watch Dirty Harry together!). When they told me about their small house in the country (to which they invited me!), they said that there are horses and bulls, and the father says he likes to pretend heś a cowboy as he rides a horse with all the bulls nearby. I cracked up.

Iḿ very nervous about the language barrier. Iḿ mostly frustrated because I love my host family SO SO much, and I want to be able to talk to them because theyŕe everything I could have ever hoped for and more. They know Iḿ nervous, and the mother actually said SHEŚ very nervous, so Iḿ sure weĺl get along.

Sorry for missing punctuation in places, Im still getting used to this Spanish keyboard... I have to go to dinner now! Yumyum. Oh, by the way, Iḿ giving up my vegetarianism in Spain, at least just to try the real Spanish food. Pray for my degenerate vegetarian soul!

Ciao,
Anna

AmeriCorps Summer VISTA: Getting Things Done for America

Since I want to blog while I'm abroad, I thought it would be best to update this thing more regularly...especially given that my most recent post was way back in January. Oops.

This summer, I'm working as an AmeriCorps Volunteer in Service to America (VISTA) for Chicago HOPES, a tutoring and enrichment program for children living in homeless shelters throughout the city. The program is currently a part of the Students in Temporary Living Situations (STLS), a division within Chicago Public Schools (CPS). Being in the AmeriCorps (if only for a summer!) is very rewarding and exciting; on my first day of work, I went to a federal building downtown to take my oath of service to America, and there are AmeriCorps posters designed after Rosie the Riveter in our office reminding us that VISTAS "Get Things Done for America." I love my job! I've gotten to be friends with many of my coworkers (I think I sometimes have a little too much fun in the CPS office!), and the kids in the homeless shelter where I work are all amazing, sweet, and funny.

My job lets me travel all around Chicago. My first couple of weeks, I went to a shelter in Auburn-Gresham, but unfortunately the summer program closed because there wasn't enough regular attendance. Afterward, I went to two different shelters in Uptown, a shelter in Brighton Park, and, finally, a shelter in North Lawndale where I am now. The other summer VISTAs and I have done community outreach in North Lawndale and Englewood, and we've fliered all around the city for our fundraising events. I feel much more connected to the city now; I can see myself settling down in Chicago, which I didn't think possible before this summer. I'm more strongly than before considering going into social work as a career, and I'm also thinking about the AmeriCorps after college. We'll see what happens!

More to come—I have lots of stories to catch everyone up on!

An Etiquette Nightmare

Yesterday morning, I attended a swanky networking/informational career event for UChicago second- and third-year students, and I felt guilty for having bad etiquette as I realized too late that it was probably NOT a good idea to lick your fingers clean of the cream cheese from your breakfast bagel. Last night, I had a dream that I was spreading cream cheese not onto my bagel, but onto the palms of my hands, and then licking it off. I don't know what happened to the bagel.

"Climbing Like a Homesick Angel"

Yesterday, I flew back to Chicago. Airports definitely make for good people watching, and my flight was especially interesting with an old man sitting catty-corner from me who talked non-stop. He had a strong Illinois accent, and his enormous bushy eyebrows flared upward at the ends as though trying to fly off his forehead, which I thought was appropriate considering he said that he was a pilot. As our plane took off, he commented to a stewardess, "We have a phrase for this, 'Climbing like a homesick angel,' and this bird does that." I thought it was an interesting saying.

I sat next to a girl who was training to work on an airline. She had a panda blanket, and we chatted about our younger sisters and the holiday movies we wanted to see. (We also shared each other's frightened expressions whenever the small plane hit turbulence and dipped suddenly.) I don't get why some people never bother to strike up a conversation with the person sitting beside them on planes or trains—I suppose I don't get it for the same reason I'll never understand why people (at UChicago) don't always return smiles in passing. Does it really take so much effort to be friendly? What on earth makes people avert their glances in response to a simple smile? I've made it my little project while I'm here to inject my Southern gentility into the student body. Smiles on the quads today, fried green tomatoes in the dining halls tomorrow! (Or perhaps just wishful thinking on my part...)