The Fifth Week

Week 5- Two slices of Granada with a little piece of Sevilla in the middle

            You have to go to school sometime…but the rest of the time you just go to Granada. I went on the 11^th to see the Alhambra and also on the 19^th to backpack in the Sierra Nevadas. The first trip was a good “learning experience” to say the least, and I will give you all the tips you need so that you never face the problems that I did.

We bought a bus ticket to Granada, for which we were overcharged, and planned to stay only one night in our hostel, Hotel Niza. Thirty minutes before we are suppose to be at the bus station, we find out we needed to have reservations to visit the Alhambra. I tried to buy tickets, but they were sold out for the morning of the 12^th. We left for Granada with no plans. Problem two arises when we get to the hostel. In Spain, you must travel with your passport at all times. My roommates told me, “Nah, you won’t need it! It’s dangerous to travel with your passport anyway. “ First thing we are asked for- passports. Don’t have them. The lady who ran the hostel was from Paris and generally a really unhappy person. “Ef you don’t have passport…you don’t exist.” Waow. What did we do? We pulled out a lot of cash, pleaded, shed a few fake tears and that eventually did the trick. That night we went to experience tapas Granada style…free with the purchase of a drink. This is both dangerous and delicious. For some reason your ability to measure how much you have eaten is taking a siesta while you are enjoying tapa after tapa until you realize that you are literally painfully full. We did discover a Chinese tapas bar and mini burgers (that tasted like America) at a pub! The following morning I got up at 6:15 am after having returned at 4:00 am, and trekked up to the Alhambra. This is not an exaggeration…the Alhambra is high on the slopes of Granada and not an easy walk. I was terrified walking up there in the morning, because there was still no light and it was a forested area with spooky creatures. I was first in line, able to buy tickets (very lucky), and then entered the grounds at 8:30. I walked through the Nasrid Palaces during my time slot after having run there out of fear that I was going to miss my chance at seeing it, because of two roommates who overslept. Long story short, you need your entrance ticket for everything in the Alhambra. The lady who scanned mine, kept it. I was stuck in the Alhambra. They wouldn’t even let me out. I had to go back and explain this in Spanish to the woman, and it actually worked out! She had my ticket and I made it out of the Alhambra. The Alhambra was mind blowing. I still don't believe that it's real. Here was our other issue…we had already changed our bus tickets to go back to Sevilla on Sunday, because we thought we were going to have to go to the Alhambra on Sunday. We walk back to the bus station and change the tickets one more time and headed back to Sevilla in time for Manoli’s homemade zucchini (calabacin) soup and turkey sandwich on a fresh croissant roll. (Tonight for our primer plato we had…French fries).

The second time I went to Granada it was to hike the snowy Trevenque Mountain. I went with a club from Triana (my neighborhood), which provided transportation and equipment for 17 euro! I met so many Spaniards that wanted to spoil my mind with new slang or saw me as an opportunity to practice their English, especially Pedro. “Hi. You can call me Peter.” I responded with the logical question, “What? No. What is your real name?” “Ok, its Pedro. Ok?” To explain Pedro to someone not actually in his presence is like explaining a mythical creature. After Pedro introduced himself to me, he disappeared from my side and I had no idea where he went. It wasn’t until the very end of our hike up that I found him eating snow. I asked him how far he thought we had gone, and his response was “Eh one moment” and he took off toward the front of the pack. He comes back to me five minutes later and says, “There are half an hours minutes left to go.” Great, but where in the world did you get that number from? We were chatting for four minutes when all of a sudden he says, “There are fifteens minutes here now.” Shouldn’t it be twenty-six? Pedro kept giving me updates and every time I thought it best not to question him and just agree. He was just making up nonsense, and then wandering off making his own footprints in the perfect snow. I remember thinking “Gosh, this guy is confusing me. He basically has a woman’s body, his English is both good and really awful, and he reminds me of an elf the way he runs and giggles.” By the time we reached our stopping point I realized that Pedro had been dead on with the timing, even though there was no way that could have been mathematically possible. Coming back down the mountain I was asked this tough question by Pedro, “Erm, whaat es da different betwin ‘Oh mi Got’ and ‘Oh mi Gosh’?” I thought I was in the clear after explaining when he nodded and then he said, “And whaat is ‘Geez’ and ‘Geezass’?” Well Pedro, someone told you the wrong pronunciation for “Jesus”.

One morning this past week I was rushing to get on the metro- running down two giant escalators, squeezing by Spaniards who never seem to care if you are in a hurry, and finally pushing myself into the already packed metro with a hopeful leap.  Leaning against the sliding doors that had just closed behind me, I said to myself “Phew, I made it!” (Thank goodness, otherwise I would have had to wait a whole six more minutes for the next one.) The metro started its slow roll when I noticed that my hair felt pretty tight at the roots which was strange given that I had left it down that day. Then I realized that hungry metros love long hair. I leaned forward in a panic trying to pull my hair out, but those doors would not let go. I gave the people standing next to me a one of those “help me” looks where your mouth turns into an open frown and your eyes get three times the size that they normally are. Panic. The metro was picking up speed and I was worried that I was going to have a new hair cut before we got to the next stop. The people around me just looked at me with their unconcerned eyes and kept holding tight. Out of nowhere this old man, who was wearing sunglasses (I thought he was blind), parted the people and stepped up to my side, waited a few seconds, and then karate chopped my hair with his tweed-jacketed arm. I felt the back of my head surprised to find all of my hair still there, then looked up to say thank you and he was already at the other end of the tram. My magical silent possibly blind wrinkly old hero.

            These have been my two favorite gypsy observations of the week. Number one is titled “Life is a giant treasure hunt”. I was on my way back to the apartment when I saw this gypsy lady digging through a huge dumpster across the street. In one grab she snagged a blue baby shoe lined with fur and a toothless comb! She added them to her other findings in her normal sized grocery cart (where she got this I don’t know- all the grocery carts I’ve seen are no bigger than what I imagine Umpa Lumpa’s would use if they had a need to go grocery shopping). In addition to what she had just found, she also had these things in her cart- two broken umbrellas, a stroller, one of those hats that has fake dreadlocks hanging from the beanie part, and a sink. The things you find valuable when you have nothing…really shouldn’t be these things.

The second story involves an older man with a bigote (mustache) that could rival Dad’s and a gypsy with a dirty mouth. This lady strategically sits outside the church doors, but that also means she not so wisely sits next to three older corduroy wearing gray haired smokers with attitudes. These three guys smoke all day every day and have something to say about everyone as if having the ability to hear  is a human trait that only they posess. The gypsy asks for money, but you can never actually understand what she is saying, so one of the three men had something to say about it- “What language are you speaking?....What? See that, I don’t understand you. Do you understand me? Probably not. You need to earn your money. Earn your cigarettes.” The gypsy hardly pays attention to him, but spits out a string of hardly audible swear words. “You think calling me a ---- is going to make money appear in your little coke can?” At this point I could no longer linger without getting a mouthful from either so I walked on. By the time I reached the end of the street I couldn’t hear them anymore, but saw the old man give her 5 euro and a pack of cigarettes. Then they gave each other the friendly cheek-to-cheek double beso and went their separate ways.
I learned a new word this week in class. We were talking about the scadal in Italy involving the Prime Minister and the seventeen year old, and luckily I was well educated on the topic. Manoli watches the news on the subject everyday, in horror, often calling him names and sprinkling the end of her sentences with "Por Dios". She doesn't let the seventeen year old off the hook either, "Hija, you are not seventeen. Look at your body. Put on some clothes. Eat something, you poor crazy girl."So, I saw this discussion as an opportunity to get my participation points. I don't understand some of the names that Manoli calls the Prime Minister, so I asked my professor. "What do you call a man who has a relationship with many women at one time?" That was the best phrasing I could come up with for the word "cheater". She responded before I was even done asking my question, but I didn't hear her right so I asked her to write it on the board. She looked the tinsiest bit embarrassed and walked over to the chalkboard. This is what she wrote- "la orgía"(orgy). Oh gosh, nope. Miscommunication. Everyone was laughing at me and all of a sudden the room got really hot. I asked a professor to write the word "orgy" on a chalkboard! The best part was that the word stayed up there in beautiful bold cursive letters staring at me through most of the class.

            Laundry day this week was a little tense. We each have a bag that we put our weeks worth of laundry in, but this bag is the size of a plastic grocery bag. Apparently we all had too many clothes and Manoli said “Oh God! Less clothing. A lot less clothing. Please.” She turns her back to us as she walks down the hall, letting out a breathy “humph”, and she swats her hand in the air as if to get rid of a giant bug hovering by her ear. When Manoli says “please” it’s not because she is trying to be polite, she’s being derogatory. All of that body language coming from Manoli was a bit terrifying and I felt awful for even having her do our laundry in the first place. When I got all of my laundry back I realized I had no reason to feel as bad as I did. I had given her two pairs of pants, three shirts, and some underwear. How did I only wear that much in one week?

            Everyone here has dogs. That means a lot of dog business in the streets and you have to be very careful where you step. You see dogs doing what they do best right in the middle of the sidewalk, and their owners do nothing about it. The dogs are so weird here too. Literally I saw this with my own two eyes…I saw a dog do a handstand on its front two legs, and then poop. Even if I could do that, I wouldn't. It was both disastrous and hilarious at the same time.

            I got a box from Mom and it was like a box of happiness. I had told myself that I really didn’t miss peanut butter as much as I thought I would, then I opened up that jar of Skippy and I realized I had been wrong. I knew it was something I had to share with Manoli. “Manoli do you like peanut butter? Because my mom sent me some and it’s my favorite kind. I want you to try it.” Manoli, “Yes, yes, yes…but I can only have one little spoonful because it is right before dinner. Open it and let me try some.” With her mouth full of sticky crunchy peanut butter she says, ”Oh my God. I love it. I can have two spoonfuls before dinner. That’s what I told you before. Open the jar again. Mmmmm.”

Manoli-isms

“Lin? When I was doing your laundry, I dropped one of your socks out the window and two others fell off the clothing line. I will get them someday.”

Me: “Manoli, how was your Valentine’s Day?” Manoli: “Lin. Like every other day. Everyday is Valentine’s Day to me.”

Here you really shouldn’t say please and thank you as often as you do in the U.S. and if you do this is how it will transpire-

“Por favor, Manoli.”

 “Sin favor. Es mi obligación.“ (This is basically saying she isn’t doing it as a favor, but instead she has no choice and she is obligated to do what she does for us)

Manoli’s take on the store Lefties- “I went shopping in there once and all the clothing is for the younger people. They don’t sell clothes for cows.” She grabs her belly laughing at her own joke. I stand there not knowing if I am allowed to laugh.

I scoot my chair in for her to pass by me- “Hija, look how skinny I am today. My pants are too big now. What is happening?”

Me: "Manoli, you gave me two forks. Can I have a knife?" Manoli: "Oh my God! Oh my God! Where has my mind gone. Have you seen it? Lin, waow. Why would I give you two forks! I'm just a crazy old woman, right?" (I've learned that the last part is a rhetorical question that does not allow even the slightest giggle as a response.) She says this with her Pall Mall menthol in her hand hanging out the kitchen window and the other grabbing her forehead like she has never seen or heard of anything worse...

I’m on my way out of the house and run into a chair in the process- “There is a chair there. You know that. So why did you run into it? It hasn’t moved since you’ve been here…well now it has. Put it back. Have a good day, hija.”

Manoli looking at photos from my hike- “Oh ok. So now you finally have a Spanish boyfriend. That’s good. Now, you know its ok to have a Spanish boyfriend and one in the U.S. too, right? Good for you. Ahhh to be young.” (I hope she wasn’t referring to Pedro!)

“A house in Triana burned down today because someone left the heater on. No more heaters. You can’t burn don’t my house! Do you understand? I don’t want you to wake up to your blanket on fire. What would I do? I can’t spend money on the water to put out the fire. We would have to let it burn! You know water is so expensive.  Take shorter showers.”

Manoli knows only a handful of words in English- "Trabajo eberydeiy, Lin. Eberydeiy está la palabra correcta?" I tell her yes, 'everyday' is the right word. "Lin my English is as bad as Caitlin's Spanish. Right, Caitlin (one of my roommates)? You don't even know what I just said, hija. Pobrecita."

“My house is not a discoteca!”

*More Photos  http://www.flickr.com/photos/19751197@N06/

Three and a half

Week Three and a half- “Estoy satisfecha”

I have now completed three weeks of school maintaining a 100% average in all four of my classes. That’s saying a lot…I’ve turned in one assignment and got a 10 out of 10 on it. My professor handed my assignment back to me yesterday, and it looked like he ran over it with tires made out of shards of glass (hardly practical tires). All four pages were no longer connected via the handy staple I had to hunt down, but all separate and in pieces. He hands it back to me and says, “Eh, sorry.” I didn’t bother to ask what happened, so that will remain a mystery.

Even with siestas as an option, I don’t get enough sleep. Some people say you can sleep when you’re dead…well I say if you don’t sleep, you will die or at least feel like you’re dying.

This last Friday my school took an optional field trip to Italica, which was only about 16 km away by bus. About 100 students actually got up at eight am on their day off to go see ancient ruins. Seems unlikely, but this did happen. We roamed the grounds for three hours trying to understand the mix of Spanish, English, and French that our tour guide was using to explain what was what. She had little patience with us often saying, “Gawt, you all heve hay dee dee or huwhatever it is you call that in Emedica.” Sadly, many people responded to that by listening to only the first three words before they were somewhere else posing like one of the statues. Italica has an amphitheatre that is totally open for anyone to wander around in, but it’s still preserved so well. Once again our tour guide couldn’t stand us, “And here is huwhere dey would- hey! Do you listening to me? You heve to listen to me.” The best is that she would excuse every rude thing she said to us with a giggle at the end, like that would lessen the sting when she called us idiots. The second we walked through the opening in the amphitheatre where “eberybody, eben da luchadores and kings would enter” we immediately dispersed like a bunch of jellybeans falling to the floor. Eventually you find them all, but some get lost and forgotten in the dark corners and you have no idea how they ever got there. Needless to say, our tour guide gave up on us. Seeing the amphitheatre, mosaics (the flooring of the ancient ‘houses’), statues, ingenious irrigation systems, was all mind boggling, but what was the best was seeing the Sevilla from above. If you stand at the highest point in Italica, you can see down into the amphitheatre with the Sevilla cityscape in the background. Italica was a quick trip close enough to town that we were back in time for some of Manoli’s homemade “Mcnuggets” and tortilla con patatas. 

The following morning we were at the Renfe station by 8:30 am to catch our train to Cordoba. I got on that train with my first bocadillo (packed lunch) from Manoli, 20 euro in my wallet, and my camera. I had no idea what to expect. We got to Cordoba an hour and a half after boarding our train, and the second I stepped out of the station I knew I loved it. Cordoba was like a breath of fresh air, literally. I could actually walk down the street with my arms stretched out wide, which you can’t do in Sevilla (remember the streets are miniature- made for both skinny people and skinny cars- two things I am not). Cordoba reminded me so much of home. The mountains looked just like the rolling hills you would see in Southern California. I say how much I loved Cordoba, but we were there from 10:00 am to 8:30 pm and I could not have stayed there any longer. One day was plenty. In that stretch of time we visited one of the most visually appealing works of architecture I have ever seen…the Mesquita. I was told that it is better to close your eyes as you walk in and then open them just as you enter. I love the feeling of feeling small because of being surrounded by something bigger than you, and this was one of those times. It stops your breath. The simplicity of the red and white arches combined with the ornate high ceilings, is like putting chocolate with peanut butter. Two things you like a lot separately, but when joined its just works perfectly and you don’t know why. The floors were all white marble (some day I want to have the Mesquita to myself so I can put on an extra poofy pair of socks and slide across the floors for hours) and made the space seem huge. I was inside for over two hours, and could have easily been in there longer but my bladder had different ideas. The rest of our time in Cordoba was spent either inside touristy shops, that advertise their ceramics with a blue and white plate with the name “Karen” on it, or by the river. By the end of the trip all I needed was to meet up with my boyfriend, Café con leche, and get back in time for our 10:30 dinner appointment with Manoli. I ordered my coffee and the bartender replied “uno con veinte”. I could not, for the life of me, remember what veinte meant, and I had been paying a euro twenty for coffee for three weeks now. I was so tired. Don’t worry, I remembered…only after pretending like I cared about what was on the TV screen.

The other time I felt that “small” feeling in the pit of my stomach was when we climbed up the tower of Sevilla’s cathedral. At the top you could see all of Sevilla’s rooftops, and all three of its swimming pools (two of which were drained). Just as I was taking in the view and noticing how white everything looks from high up, the bell in the tower went off. Everyone up there responded with a “Uuughhhh! Waowwww” and hurried down the tower. The ceilings inside that cathedral are so high, that I wonder how they get the cobwebs down. Impossible.

The day after Cordoba was Super Bowl Sunday, and yes I watched it. This is where my sleep comment comes into play. Not only did I walk for about ten hours the day before, but also the Super Bowl didn’t start here until 12:30 pm. I watched the whole thing. I told myself that this was my “American” day and I could be as “American” as I wanted, whatever that means. According to Spaniards that means having long hair and white skin, always chewing gum, wearing jeans, and wearing socks with sandals. I did all of that, minus the socks with sandals because I could only find one sock, and the white skin was not happening either because I am “La chica morena”, according to Manoli. I wore my TCU sweatshirt in the bar (which was packed with study abroad students), and when I got up to use the bathroom I got heckled! They threw eff-bombs my way, one guy even put up a longhorns sign, but before I could even respond, all the other kids (not from TCU) had my back. It was magical. “You a little bitter Wisconsin? If TCU sucks, then you suck more because you lost…remember?” There were about ten kids from Wisconsin who must have missed the Rose Bowl or something. Instead of the Coke, Dorito, and Budweiser commercials, every commercial we saw was about substance abuse…it was like they were trying to say something. The game didn’t get done here until almost 5 in the morning. I had to be up at 8:15…the following school day was a blur. I described my exhaustion as feeling like “my head was two watermelons stacked on top of each other with a 7 pound weight glued to the middle of my forehead (strong glue)”. This is literally what I wrote in my journal after my classes were all done at 8 pm, but I was so tired that I don’t remember writing it. Is there such thing as a 7-pound weight?

Finally, I get to tell you good stories. Here is the best and worst one of the week. This is going to have to count as one Manoli-ism…I walked into the apartment at 8:30 in time for 9:00 dinner and I didn’t get my usual “Hola guapa”, I got this instead…“It’s my birthday today”. There it was.  Like a double punch in the face and gut at the same time. She said this with one eyebrow raised and a frowny smile that was hard to read. I felt awful for not knowing. She had asked me earlier in the day when my birthday was, and I didn’t bother to ask her. She was giving me a hint, but I was too busy eating my extra crunchy breakfast toast to notice. Instead of saying what would be the appropriate thing to say like, “Happy Birthday, Manoli!” I couldn’t find words and I let out a helpless, “I’m sorry.” Let me tell you something. That is not at all close to what you should say to a Spanish woman who is well into her sixties, and there is no fixing it once it’s done. “Sorry?! Why? Tell me. Why would you be sorry? What’s wrong?”(She says all this so fast that all of her words sound like one big lisp, and there is no break in the sentences.) I was digging myself deeper and deeper, “Why didn’t you tell us it was your birthday?” Oh God, here it comes, “Why. So you could go buy me something you can’t afford? No.” She then turned back to her TV and watched with her eyebrows full of tension. I hurried into my room (literally doing the middle school backpack run), but I got the message. Just after dinner all of us gave Manoli chocolate and Pall Mall menthol cigarettes. How quickly her face changed.  Her response to the other girls, “Who told you! Thank you.” She turned to me and gave me a quick eyebrow raise and that was it. I woke up the next day and it wasn’t her birthday. I took the worst of it for not asking, but she either forgot about it the next day or decided to forgive us/me for not knowing why the day was so special.

There are gypsies and homeless people everywhere here and a lot of the time you just can’t avoid them. The other day I think this gypsy hid behind a corner with her baby and waited for me to walk by them. As I rounded the corner she turned into me, and acted like she was about to drop her baby. I freaked out thinking that the poor kid was going to fall to the floor, but nothing happened and the lady started to yell at me (with her hand out asking for money). “Look what you did you my baby! You almost killed my baby. Now help us. Give us your money.” Definitely not, but I will give your kid a smile and a hug with my eyes.

            Every morning Manoli comes and knocks on our door and says, “Desayuno? (Breakfast?)” I have trained myself to listen for the knock, because it sounds like she is tapping the door with a baby fist made of cotton balls. It is so quiet, and her “desayuno” is like she is testing the strength of our hearing. I’ve gotten to the point where when I hear a knock on the door, my body just responds by getting up, taking out my retainers, and walking to the door. Here is the problem. My roommate eats breakfast an hour and a half earlier than I do, so when Manoli comes knocking at 7:15 this is my response- “Caitlin. You have to wake up. It’s time for your breakfast.” As I say this I am getting out of bed, with my eyes closed, not awake at all. Caitlin then says to me, “Leen. You can go back to bed. It’s time for my breakfast.” This dialogue happens every morning, and neither of us are really awake.

            I know you all love Manoli stories so here is another one. The other night I was studying and needed a cup of coffee, so I walked the one and a half steps into the living room to ask Manoli if that was allowed. I turn to Manoli, and she has her legs harmlessly resting on Antonio’s lap. Immediately she tries to pull them off of his lap, like I had just seen them naked or something, but when she does this she almost falls off the couch. This wasn’t one of those things where you would say, “It all happened so fast, but I remember every moment like it was happening in slow motion.” No, it took awhile for this whole event to happen. When she tried to stop herself from falling off the couch she kicked her feet straight down onto Antonio’s lap. Disaster. “Oooho! Por Dios! Antonio. Guapo!” (As if calling him handsome at this moment would help). Antonio’s face went red, and he held his breath. Then Manoli did the worst thing she could have. She laughed…holding her stomach as if she had never seen anything funnier. Antonio slowly turned his head toward her, like a cowboy in an old western, and let out his breath like bull. I then noticed that I was still standing there watching, my ears burning red and my hands over my mouth. I wish I didn’t notice because that’s just about when you realize you are trying not to laugh, but you do it anyway. Manoli later came into my room and tried to explain herself, but instead she told me how much she likes me. I think she was trying to keep me from telling anyone this story. Ooops.

             

           

Manoli-ism

Me: “Manoli are you Catholic?” Manoli: “Yes, but I am not a practicing Catholic. You know I hate the streets. I pray to God in my own house. Why would I have to go outside my space to be with him? I don’t want to have to walk somewhere to pray. It’s so hot in there and there are so many old people. I am a liberal woman! Am I wrong? (No time for me to answer) No!” Keep this in mind…Manoli’s apartment is around the corner from a church, maybe only 20 steps.

As we watch the news- “It’s a crazy world.” She says this at least four times a day. That’s probably because all you see on the Spanish news are stories about people falling from twenty story buildings and cracking their head open, which they show. I always wonder how they get footage of the inside of a bus just at the moment that it decides to get T-boned by a semi.

When we are done eating or are really full we say “Estoy satisfecha”, and Manoli responds with, “I can’t get no…satisfecha! Na na na nanana”. She is singing a Spanglish version of the Rolling Stones song “Satisfaction”.

Here are Manoli’s favorite American celebrities- Clint Eastwood, Pierce Brosnan (“Guapisimo”), Yack Nicholson (Jack Nicholson- “Me encanta”), Chakira (Shakira), Youlia Robertos (Julia Roberts).

Two days ago Manoli gave me a book to read. She gave it to me at 10:15 at night and at 8:45 the next morning she asked me if I had finished it yet.

This is how Manoli sings the alphabet in English- “A, B, C, D, Eeee, No o o  se nada mas, Okay?!”

 *Check out more photos here-

http://www.flickr.com/photos/19751197@N06/