General Observations

As I am studying and will do anything to procrastinate a bit more, allow me to describe to you some of the things I have noticed here that are different from home and/or generally surprising. The first is that people here seem not to drink much water, at the very least not to the extent to which I am accustomed. Maybe this is just my experience, but I seldom see people in restaurants drinking water, usually beer, wine, or coffee. In almost all establishments water does not come with a meal like in the United States.

Also, Charo has never offered me anything to drink during mealtimes. Unfortunately, once I had packed both of my suitcases and successfully weighed each of them in at 49 ½ lbs (50 lbs being the checked baggage weight limit) with some careful rearranging courtesy of my mother, I looked into the kitchen and saw my Sigg water bottle drying next to the sink. Rats—that thing goes everywhere with me! I thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal because I could just buy a water bottle once I got to Spain. It turns out that the only metal water bottle I could find was somewhat like a Sigg, only it looks more like something I would take on a mountaineering stint. I don’t really mind though because my first days without it were rather thirsty ones.

Another detail that I had never thought about before coming here deals with accents. Not Andalucían or other Spanish accents but British accents. Although it took me a while to catch on, I realized after a couple of days that oftentimes when Spaniards speak in English, they do so with a British accent. This makes perfect sense as the proximity of the British Isles mean that most English teachers actually come from this side of the pond rather than ours and that those who want immersion in English can attain their goals in the United Kingdom. Nevertheless, I am for some reason still amused when British accents come out of Spanish mouths.

The most intriguing surprise I have come across are the dogs in Sevilla. So many dogs accompany their owners down the streets, and they are so well-behaved! They never bother other people, and I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen two dogs bark at each other. Sometimes they do not even have leashes on and simply faithfully trot by their owners’ sides without one misstep. On occasion I have seen owners and dogs jogging together sans-leash. It’s astounding, considering that any dog I have ever had wouldn’t last five seconds in such a situation without going nuts. I wonder if this is a Spanish dog thing, or just urban dogs or Sevillan dogs, but I want to know what people are doing to get these dogs to behave so well.

While the dogs impress me, some of their owners do not. I don’t know if they are stupid or just plain lazy (probably the latter, which is worse than stupid), but people here need to step it up and pick up their dog’s poop. Seriously, if you are ever walking on a Sevillan sidewalk, I advise you to not get too caught up in the architecture above you and to pay attention to what’s below. I feel like little piles of #2 are everywhere. I have not stepped in any yet, but I certainly fear doing so every day.

My last observation of the day has almost nothing to do with Sevilla and almost everything to do with how much of a braggart I am about to be. Yesterday, sort of on a whim, Annie and I bought tickets to Sevilla FC vs. FC BARCELONA (!!!) for Sunday night! I can barely contain my excitement. For those who couldn’t care less about soccer, FC Barcelona is considered to be the best club football team in the world. Many of their players are part of the reigning World Cup-champion Spanish national team, and they also employ a certain Lionel Messi, who is widely considered to be the best footballer in the world. Needless to say, I’m pretty stoked! But for all of the excitement over Barcelona, I’m still rooting for Sevilla, obviously (and we can’t forget about Charo’s feelings on the matter, now can we?). My red and white is ready to go—I can’t wait for Sunday!

Spanglish

Last night, I reached a milestone. I had my first dream in Spanish. Well, kind of. It was a mix of Spanish and English, but still, I've never even dreamt one little bit in Spanish. I do not vividly remember what the dream was about, only that several of my friends and Annie were in it with me, along with my señora and other Spaniards. It was actually a little stressful because the main gist of the dream was that half of the time I kept accidentally speaking in English instead of Spanish and was continuously apologizing to my señora and the other Spaniards for doing so. I am not allowed to speak English in my home stay, so my dream-self was continually preoccupied with the disapproval of my dream-señora. Sheesh, even my dream-self can’t stand to be in a little bit of trouble—I have problems.

Stressful situation notwithstanding, this is still a pretty exciting deal for me. Hopefully in my dreams to come I will remember to speak Spanish to the dream-Spaniards.

Café

Sunday afternoon was quickly fading into evening, and I needed to get out of the apartment. I decided to get some homework done (midterms are coming up), so I packed up my bag and headed outside. I wandered around looking for a café, no café in particular, just anything that I should come across that seemed somewhat quiet.

After twenty minutes I found it. It was nothing special and wasn’t my first choice, but it was less noisy than the more popular spot one block away. In reality, it was just a little sandwich shop. Nothing too fancy or stylish, but it was clean and had an open table and coffee, which was all I was really asking.

I seated myself next to a table of three señoras whose group increased to six by the time I was done working on vocabulary readings and sipping coffee. They chatted the whole time, most of them at the same time. The talking/listening ratio was pretty imbalanced, but none of them seemed to mind. Wrapped up in their (faux?) fur coats, they would lean forward and stick their chins out toward the window in order to observe passers-by, of course commenting on each one. Sometimes their neighbors or friends would walk past, and everyone would try to communicate through the storefront window. I wondered why those on the sidewalk didn’t just walk through the door four feet away and come inside, but their conversations through the glass were certainly entertaining.

The señoras weren’t the only observers. As I was facing the window as well, I couldn’t help but be distracted by people-watching every so often, although most of the time when I looked up, someone was already surveying me. Their looks were not judgmental and did not communicate anything other than genuine curiosity, the same way I was looking back at them. After a few seconds, people would pass on, and I would turn my attention back to word morphology, that is, unless I was turning my attention to the flat screen TV above my head playing the FC Sevilla game.

As darkness began to blanket the city and it was time for dinner, I strolled back to the apartment feeling absolute contentment. Those couple of hours in an unassuming café watching people go through their everyday lives left me in great mood (although I think caffeine also had something to do with this). Such scenes will stand out more vividly in my memory than any random castle or artist’s masterpiece.

Lisboa

After staying overnight in Lagos last Friday, Annie and I rode another bus to Lisbon, Portugal’s capital city. We were only able to spend two nights and one day there because our bus ride back to Sevilla was approximately seven and a half hours long, using up most of our Monday holiday (Día de Andalucía). We were champs, though, and packed as much as we could into what time we had.

Not long after we arrived to Lisbon Saturday night we went on a pub crawl with our hostel. This turned out to be a really good idea because we went to Bairro Alto, one of the districts well-known for its nightlife, and it was absolute insanity. People literally packed the streets all night, but it was definitely a fun atmosphere. We had to call it quits before it got too late, though, because we wanted to spend the one full day we had exploring the city, not sleeping in.

When we woke up on Saturday, we loaded up on a big breakfast of toast, apple-cinnamon pancakes, juice, and coffee at the hostel. Those pancakes were honestly one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever eaten, so I need to try to replicate them when I get home. After breakfast we hopped on a bus to Belém, another part of Lisbon, which is Portuguese for “Bethlehem”. After about 30 minutes on the bus we got off in front of the Jerónimos Monastery, a Manueline (Portuguese late-Gothic, named after the king of the time) monument that survived the Great Lisbon Earthquake.

To provide a little historical background for you, most of Lisbon was destroyed during an earthquake on November 1, 1755.  If building weren’t destroyed by the quake itself, chances are that they caught fire. (You can imagine all of the candles that were burning in churches on All Saints’ Day.) And if neither the earthquake itself nor the fire had affected parts of the city, then the enormous tsunami that hit about forty minutes later followed by two more waves left its mark. Talk about a catastrophe. 

So, although Lisbon is a very old city, most of its current architecture is actually post-1755. The monastery is one of the surviving pre-1755 structures. Since many museums and attractions in Lisbon provide free or discounted admission before 2:00 p.m. on Sundays, Annie and I checked it out before walking along the riverfront. Once we had built up an appetite, we stopped in at Pastéis de Belém, a famous pastry shop, as evidenced by the constant line of people waiting to get in. It is actually bigger than most restaurants I’ve ever been in, but there is good reason. These people know what they are doing. Their famed product is the Pastel de Belém, is a little circular pastry filled with cream, yet it is so much more than that. Only three people know the recipe, so I couldn’t tell you what was in it, but it definitely agreed with me! Annie and I split a lunch of café, two little ham and cheese sandwiches (on the flakiest bread ever), one duck empanada (never had duck before, but I liked it), and a Pastel de Belém each for less than 8 euro. It was worth the 30-minute bus ride.

Outside of Jerónimos Monastery

Inside the monastery

San Francisco and Rio over the Tagus?

Line outside the famed Pastéis de Belem

Sustenance for the second half of our day

We boarded a train after lunch back to the downtown area. From there we trekked up a hill to our destination of the Castelo de São Jorge (St. George’s Castle, but you probably figured that one out on your own). This castle is another survivor of the earthquake and dates back to Medieval times. We were there on a gorgeous, clear day, so the views over the terracotta rooftops and Tagus River were spectacular. We thoroughly explored the fortress until the last lookout point, where we encountered a couple exhibiting some exceptional PDA. I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded us coming down to the platform, or even noticed us really, but as we already had about 50 photos each of the city view from the castle, we left the enamored couple to their business and descended the hill back to the downtown area.

And once we had descended, we started ascending another hill! Lisbon is sometimes called the City of Seven Hills, so if you want to multitask by combining tourism with toning your lower half, I highly recommend visiting this city. Its hilly nature, trolley cars, and twin of the Golden Gate Bridge contribute to comparisons often drawn between San Francisco and Lisbon. I can’t really provide consensus or disagreement with that because I would need to visit San Francisco first.

So, up on another hill, we found ourselves in Bairro Alto again. After a long day of almost non-stop walking, we had earned a relaxing night. We started it off watching the sun set over the city and Tagus River from a rooftop bar, at which I enjoyed my first glass of port (another one of my drink cliches fulfilled—you have to have port in Portugal!). After dark, Annie and I had hoped to find a good place to eat where we could also enjoy some fado, a traditional Portuguese music genre. Unfortunately, the affordable place we knew of at which anyone will strike up a tune was closed for remodeling, and we only encountered the expensive tourist-directed dinner-and-a-show establishments. I wasn’t about to drop $50+ on that (I’m thinking of saving it for something more along the lines of a Messi jersey), so we found a quiet little restaurant instead. I tried lamb for the first time there, and though it’s not my favorite, I’d certainly eat it again. After dinner we headed back to the hostel and crashed because we had to catch an early bus the next morning. 

The perfect way to end a long, eventful day

Although the bus trip was long, it was a great way to see the Portuguese and Spanish countryside. Parts of Portugal actually remind me of some hills just outside of Dodgeville, Wisconsin, dotted with oak-like trees and streams running through the valleys. Who knew?

After the constant traveling, catching up with homework, and applying for summer jobs, I was kind of burnt out. Thus, the week-late blog finally arrives. I just passed a relaxing weekend in Sevilla, though, so I should be back on my writing game soon enough.

The "Study" in Study Abroad

From the content of my previous writing, you would hardly know that I am indeed going to school. Now, I am in the thick of the regular session of my semester. I am taking four classes, two business, two liberal arts. In my European Economy class we have so far been talking about the effects of World War II on Europe and the gradual progression of agreements that led to the formation of the European Union as it is today. My professor for that class likes to recommend movies to us and list off European cities for us to visit (Prague, Lisbon, Venice, and Berlin seem to be his top four outside of Spain). Similar to a Spanish professor I had last year in Madison, he also likes to  reference Pink Floyd and the occasional glass of whiskey, and those shared qualities strangely provide me with a sense of familiarity.  

My other business class is Operations, which is not exactly the most interesting topic but is necessary. My professor in that class is friendly and likes to engage students in discussion, so that helps the time pass by more quickly. Many professors here lecture through the hour-and-a-half class without asking one question of the students. That’s not really my style of learning, so it’s hard to not get a little sleepy during those classes.

My liberal arts classes deal with the semantics and lexicology of the Spanish language and the traditions of Andalucía. Semantics and Lexicology will definitely be my most demanding class, but it is a combination of studying the make ups of words and their histories. Talk about the perfect nerdy language/history combination for me! It’s a nice break from the numbers of business. My Andalucían culture class, which is titled, I kid you not, Arte and Fiesta, is a little slow at this point because we are reviewing the history of the Iberian Peninsula in order to better understand the region’s current traditions. I have already studied much of this information last year, so class has proved to be a bit boring so far.

The upside to this, of course, is that I have little homework for that class. I cannot complain too much about that. Another perk is that some days we take walking excursions through the old parts of the city to see first-hand examples of the history we are studying. That’s one of my favorite things about studying Spanish history in Sevilla. We don’t have to study from a book or a slideshow presentation—we can just step outside and see it with our own eyes. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.

All in all, the semester has been such a welcome break from the way I operate back at UW, and I will keep that in mind when I go back. I’ll be around for a couple more years, but I will be better able to balance myself and keep in mind what my time priorities really are. Going back in the fall will probably be quite the rude awakening, but I’ll enjoy my surreal experience while it lasts.

Lagos, Portugal

Today started off with waking up very early to catch a bus to Portugal for the four-day weekend (Fridays I never have class; Monday is Día de Andalucía, so again I have no class). Annie and I set off for Lagos for a day before we move north to Lisbon for the remainder of our mini-vacation. When I wasn’t dozing off during the bus ride, I stared out into the countryside of Portugal. The hills are dotted with little white towns and orange groves. It is so gorgeous here. I can feel myself starting to fall in love with yet another region here—will it ever end?

Right before the bus crossed the border into Portugal, we were halted by the Guardia Civil, Spain’s law enforcement agency charged with police duties among civilian populations on a national level. Several members armed with assault rifles were stopping every vehicle intending to cross the Portuguese-Spanish border. One officer came onto the bus, walked through twice, and then let us pass. A woman sitting near me on the bus told others that this was not at all normal procedure, that they were mostly searching for someone. I tried to find news on the internet about it but was unsuccessful.

Map zoomed in on area including Sevilla, Lagos, and Lisbon.  
http://www.sitesatlas.com/Maps/Maps/506.gif

Actually passing through Portugal’s border control was much easier. While boarding the bus this morning, everyone was told that they must put all bags except small purses in the luggage area under the bus so as not to cause a hold-up at the border. This was pretty much unnecessary because, after the bus driver waited about three seconds for Portuguese officials to check out the bus, we were waved on and sped off down the highway once again. I have to say that the EU definitely works in my favor for travel to multiple countries. It is so simple to not have to deal with money exchange and strict customs. The only downside is that I am missing out on some pretty cool stamps in my passport. Shucks.

Once we were in Lagos, we took an inexpensive taxi ride to our hostel, Dina’s Guesthouse. Dina (I’m just assuming she named the place for herself, but maybe not) speaks very little English but provides a cozy, clean place complete with computer, kitchen, and really fast WIFI. The guesthouse is only a couple of rooms, and the door downstairs is unmanned by any staff.

Before setting out for lunch and the beach today, I thought it would be a good idea for Annie to test out opening the door with the key while I stayed inside just in case we did something wrong and could not get in later. Annie was struggling with it, so we traded places. As I attempted to lock and then unlock the door, I somehow ended up locking Annie inside of the hostel. For some reason she couldn’t even open the door from the inside because the handle was stuck, while at the same time I could neither turn the key left nor right no matter how hard I tried. Annie was stuck inside for about five minutes as I continued to fumble with the key. Finally, I figured out that I had to pull the door really hard toward myself while simultaneously fitting the key not quite completely into the lock, then turning it and pushing the door open. It's quite the apparatus. 

With Annie free and the key/lock situation figured out, we set off for some lunch. While dining we met a friendly old British couple that took a picture of the two of us on Annie’s camera. Lagos is heavily geared toward British tourists who flood the place during the holiday season (British vacation time during warm weather, that is), so there are quite a few Brits around. The plus side to this is that English is widely spoken, so we haven’t stumble too much through communication. The English couple chatted with us for a while about our travels here and their travels in the States. The husband mentioned that he had visited an old friend in Massachusetts some years back who had been a GI in the war. That was about as far as our conversation went, though, before the couple moved on with the rest of their day. Now, I’m thinking that “The War” means WWII, and I can feel your disappointment in me already, Dad. Yes, I am absolutely kicking myself that I did not inquire into this further. The man is probably full of some amazing stories, and to be frank, not many from his generation are left to tell their histories. Next time I promise not to be so daft.

After lunch Annie and I hit up a supermarket for yet another poor-students’ breakfast. What I discovered is that supermarkets in Portugal have WAY better selection, especially pertaining to cereal, than those in Spain. I am not sure if this disparity is a localized Lagos thing heavily influenced by the tourism, or if Honey Nut Cheerios really can be found in all parts of the country. Either way I’m super jealous. Corn Flakes are so not cutting it in Sevilla. Then, we laid out on the beach listening to the Atlantic waves and soaking up some sun. It was barely warm enough to do so, but that didn’t stop me from being a beach bum in February. 

When the breeze really picked up, we decided to trek along the cliffs above the beaches in Lagos. When we'd had our fill of sand and stone, we headed back to the guesthouse before grabbing dinner at a local family restaurant named Os Lambertos. We split a tray of garlic-baked shrimp and a dish of Portuguese steak, both of which were insanely delicious. Topped off with some vinho verde, characteristic Portuguese white wine, it was the perfect meal to end our day.

Tomorrow we set off for Lisbon, but probably not before some café and pastry. I’ve been running during the week, and I walk everywhere, but the weekends are sort of anything-goes as far as trying local cuisine is concerned. You’ll be able to view my new reality TV show on TLC, The 900-Pound Study Abroad Student, early this June.

I've Been Blessed

When I walk to and from class in Madison, I am usually on the phone with my mom or other members of my family. During my freshman year of college, I never talked on my cell phone while walking on campus because everyone else did so, and I thought it was super annoying. Despite this, I have somehow morphed into one of those with their hands seemingly glued to their ears. I did not realize how much of a habit this had become over the past semester until I started classes in Sevilla.  Here, though, I no longer have the luxury of calling anyone, let alone anyone in the States, as it is much more expensive on the pay-as-you-go system than with my plan back home. So, on my twenty-five-minute walks to or from my classes I must occupy myself in another manner.

Usually, I am doing one of two things. If no one is within a half of a block of me, I am singing. What? I miss my shower/car/house-cleaning jam sessions. If people are close enough that I could potentially offend them with my musical un-talents, I am just letting thoughts run through my head. Recently, my mind has been turning to the same theme over and over again: the people who surround me back home.

The people to whom I am referring are not necessarily those who are physically near me in Madison or Hudson. In fact, quite a few are not, but all of these people are the ones who have given me the most support, encouragement, love, and laughter over the years. Whether they are family members, friends, or role models, I have always been blessed to have a multitude of good, caring people in my life.

I am constantly grateful for this. My life is beautiful, and I know that I am fortunate. So many people do not have anything close to the support network that I have, and I have taken great care to maintain the good relationships that others have formed with me. I have always been thankful for this, but while I am here I am extra-appreciative, most likely due to the very real physical distance that separates me from them. Hopping into a car or onto a bus to visit someone is no longer an option.

I miss so many of you very much. Sometimes I think I am crazy for leaving all of that behind, but then I remember that it is only temporary and that, hello! I am in Spain. I am not foolish enough to waste my time here. Europe provides plenty to learn and infinite places to explore, and I am taking advantage of that every day. I'll probably be whining about how much I miss it as soon as I get back! God has blessed me with this opportunity just as I have been blessed with so much love in my short lifetime. Do not worry—I am not homesick per say, and I am loving almost every minute of Spain. Just know that I have a special place in my heart for those back home. I will always keep a place in my heart for you.