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/