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-

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