Last night, I received the Facebook message from my mother: "You haven't updated your blog in a while. We'd like to know what you're doing in Oaxaca."
So, perhaps the last thing my mom wants to hear is that I stayed out terribly late drinking and talking with friends at various bars last night. I got about three hours of sleep, and woke up to climb a massive hill with a cross on top with two of my friends.
I tend to be a bit of a masochist (what University of Chicago student isn't?), so I was determined to run with my friends after my late night out. Somehow, I felt energized, buzzed on my lack of sleep and eager anticipation for my early-morning adventure. I left the house around seven in the morning, and I walked by my favorite tree in all of Oaxaca: a big tree with flowers like bluebells that fall down and carpet the road with perrywinkle buds. The dawn tinted the sky a pinkish gray, and clouds hung over the mountains in the distance.
I met Ben and Madeleine at a street corner to run together. We jogged up a street with a steep incline, the cross at the top of the hill beckoning us. Once we reached a certain point, it was too rocky to keep running, so we climbed up the dry, dusty hill, careful not to slip on the crumbling rocks. It reminded me of climbing up a hill in Spain with my friend Paige to see the windmills that inspired Cervantes's famous scene in Don Quixote. (I wonder if there's something innate in human beings that make us want to climb up tall hills and mountains? And construct buildings and monuments there?) At one point, we had to duck between barbed wires in a fence running around the hill, and we passed a small, decrepit house with a beautiful porch. (If ever I become a rich person, I will renovate this house and live there so that I can see the lights of the city twinkle at the night, and the sun bathe the streets with light each morning.)
Everything felt glorious once we (finally) reached the cross at the very top; we paused to look out at the city waking up below us. Roosters crowed, dogs barked, car horns blared, and a sound like a trumpet or some kind of brass instrument kept blasting out at random intervals. The colorful houses managed to peek out brightly from the gray blur of smog that hung over the city, all framed and enclosed by mountains. Ben broke our reverent, awe-struck silence to comment, "Well, here's Oaxaca, in all of its dingy glory." For me, the city is more glorious than dingy; I'm going to miss these dusty roads and barking stray dogs and colorful streets and blossoming trees.
12 February 2011
02 January 2011
Grasshoppers for Lunch
Hola amigos,
Today, I ate grasshoppers for lunch! My host mom called them "chapulines," and in Spain they are "saltamontes" (but not food), as in the verb saltar, to jump. (Another cool Spanish language fun-fact to think about: "paragua" is the word for umbrella, literally translating into "for water;" whereas a "parasol" means "for sun." Sorry, these things excite me.) Mis padres mexicanos and I went to their house in the countryside, and afterwards we met up with two señores (who were their friends, but I'm not sure what was the connection? Hard to hear over the live music, y todavía no estoy acustombrada al accento mexicano) in an open-air, buffet-style restaurant with loads of colorful decorations and waitresses dressed in brightly-colored, traditional garb.
I. Ate. So. Much. Food. My first plate consisted of my little insect friends (one of the men commented on how great it was that I was trying the insects! Yay for being an adventurous American! Anna the Awesome, Amazing, Adventurous American...new blog title anyone? No? Mmmkay);
Today, I ate grasshoppers for lunch! My host mom called them "chapulines," and in Spain they are "saltamontes" (but not food), as in the verb saltar, to jump. (Another cool Spanish language fun-fact to think about: "paragua" is the word for umbrella, literally translating into "for water;" whereas a "parasol" means "for sun." Sorry, these things excite me.) Mis padres mexicanos and I went to their house in the countryside, and afterwards we met up with two señores (who were their friends, but I'm not sure what was the connection? Hard to hear over the live music, y todavía no estoy acustombrada al accento mexicano) in an open-air, buffet-style restaurant with loads of colorful decorations and waitresses dressed in brightly-colored, traditional garb.
I. Ate. So. Much. Food. My first plate consisted of my little insect friends (one of the men commented on how great it was that I was trying the insects! Yay for being an adventurous American! Anna the Awesome, Amazing, Adventurous American...new blog title anyone? No? Mmmkay);
01 January 2011
First Impressions of Oaxaca
Hola amigos,
Sooooo I failed royally at blogging in Spain. I still intend on posting stories from Spain in my blog at some point, but now to talk about OAXACA!
I got on a plane in Raleigh, NC, at 7 in the morning, to catch a plane to Charlotte, to catch a plane to Mexico City, to catch a plane to Oaxaca. Phew! Mexico City is the biggest, most sprawled-out city I've ever seen; it was quite an impressive sight from up in the air. I caught up with some students from my program (who I love!...I'm excited to get to know everyone better while I'm here!) on my flight to Oaxaca. On my plane, I sat beside a woman named Louise. When she spoke to me in perfect American English, I asked her where she was from, and she replied, "I've lived in Mexico for 10 years now, so I'm now a Mexican citizen, but before that, I lived in New York," which created in my mind all sorts of hilarious images (especially given the recent snowstorm) of a disgruntled New Yorker waking up one day and saying, "Hang it all!" (only, of course, in the more colorful, blunt language of New York City) and moving to Mexico. Best of all, when I told her that I go to the University of Chicago, she goes, "Oh, I graduated from there." What are the chances I would sit beside a UChicago alum on my plane to Oaxaca? I hope to catch up with her while she's vacationing in Oaxaca.
Oaxaca from the air is gorgeous. The clouds were in all sorts of wonderful and bizarre shapes (one that looked like a judge with a white wig reaching out his hands from his billowing gown [I made such a fuss about the clouds that Louise commented, "You know, the mountains are something, too!"), and the light through the clouds made everything seem so mystical. The ripples in the mountains reminded me of crinkles in bedsheets, which created (for me) the image of giants sleeping inside the earth.
In the airport, I was expecting my host mother and 19 year-old host sister to pick me up, but what I found was my host brother (who I hadn't known existed!) and his friend, both 20-something year-olds who talked about how much they partied last night on New Year's Eve and who honked at women on the streets (then apologized to me for their behavior, only to do it again at the next corner). I was grinning the whole time in the carride; their energy was infecitious, and their antics made me laugh. It was hard to follow thier fast-paced Spanish as they joked together and cursed at slow drivers. My host family has so far talked to me mostly in English, but I'm going to insist on speaking Spanish to them while I'm here. They've hosted two students each year for about 10 years, so living here is a much different feel from my host family in Spain, where they had never hosted a student (and had never had a 20 year-old girl living under their roof) and were thus very hands-on with me, but I already like my Mexican host family!
After eating dinner, I've been in my room unpacking, e-mailing to let everyone know I've arrived, and getting ready for bed, as I've had quite the tiring day in airports. From my brief glimpse of Oaxaca, I already love it. There's so much life in the air (and actually, I can hear from my window that at this very moment, there are fireworks in the air), and I loved all the sights from my carride through the city: a man pulling along a snack cart on his bicycle, the colorful buildings in yellows and corals, the old couples dressed up, the children playing in the streets, the colorful decorations hanging from buildings and criss-crossing above the roads, the palm trees...I can't wait until tomorrow morning when my host mother María shows me around! Today has been a great start to my next adventure abroad, as well as to the new year.
¡Feliz Año Nuevo!
Besos,
Anna
Sooooo I failed royally at blogging in Spain. I still intend on posting stories from Spain in my blog at some point, but now to talk about OAXACA!
I got on a plane in Raleigh, NC, at 7 in the morning, to catch a plane to Charlotte, to catch a plane to Mexico City, to catch a plane to Oaxaca. Phew! Mexico City is the biggest, most sprawled-out city I've ever seen; it was quite an impressive sight from up in the air. I caught up with some students from my program (who I love!...I'm excited to get to know everyone better while I'm here!) on my flight to Oaxaca. On my plane, I sat beside a woman named Louise. When she spoke to me in perfect American English, I asked her where she was from, and she replied, "I've lived in Mexico for 10 years now, so I'm now a Mexican citizen, but before that, I lived in New York," which created in my mind all sorts of hilarious images (especially given the recent snowstorm) of a disgruntled New Yorker waking up one day and saying, "Hang it all!" (only, of course, in the more colorful, blunt language of New York City) and moving to Mexico. Best of all, when I told her that I go to the University of Chicago, she goes, "Oh, I graduated from there." What are the chances I would sit beside a UChicago alum on my plane to Oaxaca? I hope to catch up with her while she's vacationing in Oaxaca.
Oaxaca from the air is gorgeous. The clouds were in all sorts of wonderful and bizarre shapes (one that looked like a judge with a white wig reaching out his hands from his billowing gown [I made such a fuss about the clouds that Louise commented, "You know, the mountains are something, too!"), and the light through the clouds made everything seem so mystical. The ripples in the mountains reminded me of crinkles in bedsheets, which created (for me) the image of giants sleeping inside the earth.
In the airport, I was expecting my host mother and 19 year-old host sister to pick me up, but what I found was my host brother (who I hadn't known existed!) and his friend, both 20-something year-olds who talked about how much they partied last night on New Year's Eve and who honked at women on the streets (then apologized to me for their behavior, only to do it again at the next corner). I was grinning the whole time in the carride; their energy was infecitious, and their antics made me laugh. It was hard to follow thier fast-paced Spanish as they joked together and cursed at slow drivers. My host family has so far talked to me mostly in English, but I'm going to insist on speaking Spanish to them while I'm here. They've hosted two students each year for about 10 years, so living here is a much different feel from my host family in Spain, where they had never hosted a student (and had never had a 20 year-old girl living under their roof) and were thus very hands-on with me, but I already like my Mexican host family!
After eating dinner, I've been in my room unpacking, e-mailing to let everyone know I've arrived, and getting ready for bed, as I've had quite the tiring day in airports. From my brief glimpse of Oaxaca, I already love it. There's so much life in the air (and actually, I can hear from my window that at this very moment, there are fireworks in the air), and I loved all the sights from my carride through the city: a man pulling along a snack cart on his bicycle, the colorful buildings in yellows and corals, the old couples dressed up, the children playing in the streets, the colorful decorations hanging from buildings and criss-crossing above the roads, the palm trees...I can't wait until tomorrow morning when my host mother María shows me around! Today has been a great start to my next adventure abroad, as well as to the new year.
¡Feliz Año Nuevo!
Besos,
Anna
04 November 2010
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.
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 yoAfter 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.
11 October 2010
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.
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.
07 October 2010
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.
…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.
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