Week – Two months
Midterms. That sums up this last week. For everybody who asks whether we study in Spain, the answer is no, but we still take tests. This last week was taken up by finding ways to avoid looking at your notes about the climate in Spain, written in mainly Spanish with a few illegible scribbles that clearly say you could not decipher the chain of words the professor so Sevillano-ly put together. I find that sometimes the only words I get out of a sentence about religious ceremonies are “brotherhood” and “crutches”. Comprehension is slipping a bit, and Manoli is letting me know it.
We always watch really awful TV shows while we eat lunch and dinner. One of our favorites is this show that is like a mix between Jerry Springer and Judge Joe Brown, where the audience is hired to give their opinion on the situation between the two arguing. The best part is that this is literally a courtroom, and matters are settled with the help of a bunch of Spanish looneys. A judge comes out at the very end of the show and makes the final decision. You hear everything from women thinking that their children are psychics and don’t need to be in the mental hospital they are in to someone suing their husband for losing her car keys. Yesterday we were watching the show, and Manoli exclaims, “Poor thing! He’s so ugly!” I turn to look at the TV and see a little mousey looking man sitting on stage trying to defend himself. His boss would not let him be a salesman because he was “too ugly” so he took him to “court” or “La Ultima Ley” (the name of the how). One person in the crowd says, “Look, there are jobs for ugly people and jobs for good looking people. Look at him! He can’t have a job meant for a good looking person.” Manoli so strongly agrees with that statement that she actually gets up from her chair, throwing her hands in the air, and pets the TV. Manoli doesn’t beat around the bush. Things are the way they are and there is no arguing that.
Another example of how blunt people are here is when we were talking to Manoli about Carnival days after it happened. We told her that we saw a lot of men dressed as woman at the carnival and it seemed to be the trendy thing to do this year. She listened to all of our words, looking at us, and then once we were finished she turned back to the TV and said, “Well, they are gay.” We tried to defend these guys by saying that it was an attempt at being funny. She said, “No. If a man has any desire to dress up as a women…he’s gay.” The way she says it is like she is reading it out of a book and it’s the truth and there’s nothing more to it. Her face is saying, “Why are you questioning this?” Her upside down smile forms tightly across the lower half of her face with her hands folding across her nightgown and apron. Her delivery of these “facts” was so impeccable we could not stop laughing. She didn’t like that. She is surprised by our response and says, “Listen to me. They. Are. Trannies.” Each word was its own sentence (a rarity in Sevilla).
The market in Triana is really popular and some people visit it everyday. You can always find one of those little packs of old men smoking pipes and rolling cigarettes at the same time at this market. I walked over there to roam and get a cup of one of my loves, café con leche. I walk out observing what people had purchased. I saw this one young guy buy a bunch of jamón (typical) and walk out with me. He walked up to his bike and just looked at it, then looked at all the ham, then back at the bike again as if he couldn’t comprehend how either of them are real. He had no idea what to do with the ham. He mounted his bike, looked at the packaged ham again, then stuck it down the front of his pants and road off.
People here should need a license to walk on the sidewalks with umbrellas. I got poked in the eye twice this week.
A homeless man asked me for money this week, and I almost gave him some until I realized he was listening to an mp3 player.
Manoli-ism
“I love gay men. They are as sweet as the sweetest woman, but they have male parts. What could be better?”
“Lin! Lin! Lin! Come here.” I hurry into the living room, because she was shouting as if her robe is on fire. This is what all the hubbub was about, “I love Paul Newman.” I would have to agree Manoli. Add Paul Newman to that list of Americans she loves.
“If you don’t have butterflies in your stomach then you are not in love.”
“I love you Antonio but sometimes you make me want to leave. Lucky for you, I love our house, OK guapo?”
I was helping Manoli clear the table, which is loaded with fruit, nutella, marmalade, extra crunchy breakfast toast, graham cracker/animal cookies tasting breakfast cookies, coffee, cola cao, tea, and place settings. Usually she tells me not to worry about it, but this time she watched me with her arms folded. I was being tested. I put everything back in their respective places and then was left with the nutella…where to put the nutella. She looks at me and says, “Do you know where that goes?” Then takes a long drag on her cigarette. I just stood there and she says, “Oh Lin you don’t know anything!” I failed. She laughs hard squeezing my shoulder.
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