The Twelfth Week

Week 12- A visit from a Neener

            After spending an unhealthy amount of time (maybe twelve minutes once a week) pouting about how I wasn’t going to get visitors, I received word that my Neenie was coming. Immediately I turned into a psycho planning freak. She would get in at five on Thursday afternoon and leave the following Wednesday morning. I had five and a half days to show her all I could in Spain. There is a problem with this thought process though. I wanted to go a million miles a minute, but Spanish culture and jetlag had different ideas. This leads us to problem number one.

            I went to meet Neenie at the airport, which is a twenty-minute bus ride from the city center. I was so excited and so prepared (I had Manoli make her a bocadillo). I was soaking in the sun drinking a cup of my love (café con leche) and realized that I had not given Neenie my phone number. I only use this phone to call people and hang up before they answer so I don’t get charged or to answer calls from Spanish crazies with the wrong number telling me my prescription is ready. I was walking to the bus stop when my phone rings. I didn’t recognize the number, and when I don’t recognize the number I do this weird thing where I answer with a “Hello” that is in between English and Spanish. It’s actually something I think through, but every time I hear how my “Halah” comes out, I am surprised. I answer and it’s my aunt (how did she get my number?), “Leen?” She too was surprised by the deep grunt of a hello that she heard. “I missed my connecting flight. They told me I could have one phone call. The next flight gets in at eight o’clock.” No problem, she can have her bocadillo as more of a dinner kind of thing then, I guess.

Time passes and I decide to leave for the airport. I get there and the TV says that they are delayed, but it doesn’t say for how long. Madrid is not that far away, so this shouldn’t be too bad. Her flight didn’t get in until after eleven! I am not complaining, because this whole situation was so funny. You have to know that the Sevilla airport is tiny. I literally had about sixty yards of space to pace while I waited. I ate her bocadillo and enjoyed it, even with the guilt I had to swallow at the same time (that was my fat moment of that day). I was so bored that I went to the bathroom probably eight times (after time number four I noticed that I didn’t even have to go…I would just go in the stall and stand there or wash my hands). I also wrote in my journal while I was there, and I think I was going crazy, “Hurry up plane. Why must you insist on doing this to all three of us in the airport waiting. If you don’t get Neenie here safe and sound, I will kick your wheel…hard.” She made it and we took the bus back to the center. I have to mention this, because it makes me laugh every time I think about it. When Neenie got off the plane she said to me, “God, I must have been on the retarded plane or something.” I laugh because it’s funny to hear a special education teacher say something like that. I also thought she was referring to how it left late and had so many problems with getting to Sevilla. Then I look around at all the people who had just arrived on the same flight, and about eighty percent of them were special! She wasn’t kidding! She just can’t get away…even on vacation. This is something that I feel bad joking about, but I just couldn’t believe how funny it was. Please forgive my cruel humor.

When we got back to the city it was so late that Manoli was asleep, but she left us bocadillos. When I was at the airport I had to call her and tell her that we wouldn’t be there for dinner, but I had the wrong number. The person who answered said, “Who is this? And why are you calling me?” They sounded really upset, but I had never talked to Manoli on the phone before so I figured that maybe she just sounded different and continued explaining myself. “Hi Manoli, it’s Lin. I’m not going to be home for dinner. There was a problem with her plane and now it’s late.” I was interrupted and told, “Look, I am not Manoli, honey, but I hope that plane gets there soon. Don’t call me again.” Oops. Eventually Manoli got the message. We took our sandwiches out to the bridge and ate them at the churro stand. I was wearing my pajamas, which I never ever ever do here, because I know I would get ridiculed. We bought churros, and the churro guys decide to comment. “Are you sleeping out here tonight? Those are your bedclothes, right? Hahaha Guinness shirt and star pants.” I looked so good.

I made Neenie get up the next day to go to a breakfast meeting with some kids in my TCU group, our on site coordinator, and me. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. She was Sleepy McSleeperton thanks to jetlag. If she hadn’t gotten that Seven Up for breakfast, she may have just plopped her head right down on the table and never gotten up. At this little breakfast I got a tostada con aceite (bread with olive oil) and told her that this is how I was going to eat my bread from now on. Two days later I got bread and butter for breakfast, and she called me out on it. Oops, I guess I am a liar. Later that day, we left for Granada.

I love riding buses here, because once you leave the city, it’s like one giant campo with rows and rows of olive trees and little white pueblos on top of hills. After three hours on the Supra bus (basically means that it has air conditioning, gracias por dios), we are in Granada’s bus station. I walk up to this guy with maps and other resources that will only confuse a traveler more, and ask how to get to our hotel. I am speaking to him in Spanish and he is responding in Spanish, so I repeat everything in English to Neenie. She points to something on the map and laughs, “The Grandma Segway Tour”. Then the kid behind the desk says in perfect English, “Yeah that’s really popular.” Instead of asking him the obvious question, “Why? Segways are not designed for grandmas…are they?” I say to him, “You speak English”, not in question form, but as if he didn’t know this about himself and I was revealing a hidden truth. I was able to guide us to the street that our hotel was on, which is saying a lot for a directionally challenged person like me, who still gets lost in a car even with the help of Cynthia (my GPS unit). It seems crazy that we would be staying in a Best Western, but let me say that I almost peed my pants I was so excited. We were on the best street we could have been, full of tapas bars and restaurants. The hotel came with real breakfast! I ate too much, but I wasn’t mad about the cramps in my full stomach. I even got more than three minutes in the shower, without the knock and, “Lin…una ducha más corta. Vale?” It was so nice compared to my moldy dank room that I didn’t want to ever leave.

Eventually we did leave and wander around the city a bit looking for a restaurant. After an hour of wandering we ended up two doors down from our hotel at a place that served a pitcher of sangria and an “assortment” of tapas as a fifteen Euro deal. We saw many things on this street, including a drunk man pretending to only have one arm and asking for money (which he got, along with kisses), a man in a cow costume, another in a lady bug costume (or a man bug costume?), and probably six or seven different bachelor or bachelorette parties (one group had shirts on that said, “Please help. His life is over. The wedding is next week.”). We ate at this restaurant twice in two days and ordered the same thing, because it was so delicious. That night we went back to the hotel and watched a movie on TV in Spanish, but instead of trying to actually understand what was happening, or just listening at all, we added our own dialogue. We kept this up for over thirty minutes. Talent. (Actually, if you know what we were saying you would probably use the word “mental”.)

We went to Granada to see the Alhambra and once again, I didn’t make reservations. Nonetheless, we got there, but I was tired and everything made me laugh. We were walking behind this couple and the woman was wearing clog type shoes. Her shoe slipped a little and rubbed on the ground making a funny sound, if you know what I mean. I can’t explain this very well, but it was so realistic sounding that I silently lost it. It was like cracking up in class when you know you shouldn’t (the best kind of laughter). I put my hands on my knees and let out a giant silent laugh, luckily the couple couldn’t see me, but Neenie of course did. She let out a little giggle that made me laugh audibly. The couple was discussing it like there was something wrong with her shoe, and they finally noticed that we were trying to hide our laughter. The man chuckled but only slightly, because his wife gave him a look. The Alhambra is always nice, but this time there were more people (tourist season) and a lot hotter. I didn’t lose my ticket this time!

One thing about having visitors is that you need to be prepared for questions. One thing about having Neenie as a visitor is that you need to be prepared to act as a human encyclopedia. I think she takes the saying “Never be afraid to ask questions” very literally. I just don’t have the answers to “What kind of plant is that?”, “Where do those birds come from?”, “What are they doing up there?”, “How much does going to the bathroom over there cost?”…So I decided it was best to make things up. Neenie’s view of Sevilla is probably very skewed. For example, one day we sat outside the cathedral for about two hours just watching as sparrows swooped in and out of the windows in the tower and observing people (what we do best). “What kind of birds are those ones that are flying like hawks?” “They’re baby hawks.” I only wish Neenie knew less Spanish. I could have told so many fibs (I am not a liar- even though I think I may be a compulsive teller of false tales- **my stories in here are all true, seriously. I’m not fibbing.)

We have this homeless man that lives just outside of the nearest Chino to our house (Chino- one of those stores run by Chinese people that sells everything- notebooks, jewelry, plants, bread, socks, extension cords, robes, pam, and even candy necklaces) and we call him Mr. Harvey. He looks just like the actor that plays the pedophile in “The Lovely Bones”. He even has a perfectly groomed mustache. It was really late at night and I told Neenie to look at his house (its all made of cardboard and is shaped like a coffin- so naturally we call it “the coffin”). Usually Mr. Harvey is sitting up in his coffin, just looking around, or it’s all closed up so you can’t see him at all. I told Neenie that there was nothing to worry about, but when we turned the corner and looked at Mr. Harvey’s coffin, the scene was different. The top was completely open and Mr. H was lying on his back with his hands crossed peacefully over his stomach! He looked dead! It freaked Neenie out so much. It only made me slightly worried, because Harv is one of those homeless guys that has non-homeless friends and has an iPod. He was probably alive.

One night we went to this little chain restaurant called Cien Montaditos (100 tiny sandwiches), and that is where I introduced tinto verano to Neenie. Tinto may be cheating on me now, with my aunt! It’s ok; I still have café con leche during the day. Also at this little dinner outing I almost lost my life, well that may be a little drastic. I was enjoying a mini chorizo sandwich when a little tiny leaf from an orange tree flutters down onto the top of my hand. I turn my body ever so slightly and at that moment an orange jumped from the tree directly above my head. It smacked the table with a loud thud. There is no way to explain how an orange only three feet above my head was able to pick up the speed that it did between the two distances, but I’m surprised it was not flaming by the time it hit the table. The best was that everyone else sitting outside was laughing at me.

Another thing to note about this visit- I am in a language limbo. My Spanish has improved immensely, but is not good enough to say that I “speak” Spanish. The other half of this is problem is that my English is awful. I forget how to say words (which I see as a good sign) and often can’t get words out. A lot of the time I just make up words. I think I am trying to put a Sevillano twist on the English language by combining words and similar sounds to make words. I was looking at this man smoking a really skinny cigarette and I said, “Waow, look at his skinarette!” Other word combos we came up with throughout the week- “rampalator” (those moving ramps), “medge” (a maze made out of hedges), and “bom” (barf and vomit- couldn’t decide which to use, so I chose both.)

            Other things we did and didn’t do- Flamenco show, Bullfighting museum, Plaza de España, churros con chocolate (twice), complained about the napkins at restaurants (spill water…there is no hope of soaking it up. The napkins are the opposite of “the quicker picker upper”; in fact that’s how Bounty should advertise- “We are the complete opposite of these (show Spanish napkin)”). We did not go into the cathedral, although we did try on multiple occasions. Instead we bought postcards and looked at it from the outside for a really long time.

Random Observations

I now know why European men stand with their hands behind their backs. I always thought that it was just because they think they are fancy, but really it’s just a cover up. They do it so that they can either scratch their butt or pick a wedgie. Truth. I was clearly sitting too long on a popular street, because after I noticed it once, the sneaky butt scratches where everywhere I looked! The saddest part is that it has had a major effect on the Spanish male youth as well.

            A mother and her son were walking hand-in-hand from school when she stops abruptly and turns to him and says, “What is on your face?” He looks at his mom totally confused, “Nothing?” Now she is brushing back his thick bowl cut bangs and then pulls her hand back and points at him and says, “La varicela! (Chicken Pox)” He had red dots all over his face, but half of them were hiding underneath the chocolate ice cream blanket he made for them. She then so bluntly says, “Six years without a mark on your face and now look! You are like that bird (points to a pigeon on the street), full of disease.”

More word shirts- An older man wearing a shirt with headphones and a turntable that says, “I like beats.” I only wish it was a picture of beets laying down some beats. A grandma in a tie dye (which you never see here), “I am glamorous”.  

Manolisms

Manoli is coughing so hard that she can’t finish the sentence she started. I say, “Are you sick?” She stops coughing and says, “No, that’s the tobacco.”

When someone has so many porcelain trinkets in their house you always try to be extra careful, but that means that you will probably hit them. I was walking to the bathroom, Manoli trailing close behind me causing me to pick up the pace. There is a little poorly place shelf in the middle of the three-foot wide hallway, and I barely knock it as I pass it. The whole thing quaked like it had the shivers. I put my hand on top to stop it, which it finally did. She just looks at me and then down to my waist and says, “Hips.” Then of course she does her signature brow raise and strides past me.

“Too many clothes!” Ok, sorry…I’ve worn those jeans seven times and skipped washing them last week because I knew I would have too many clothes.  I take stuff out. The next day, “Are you wearing those again? I can wash them, you know.”

“I like it when you guys are gone because it’s like I am on vacation. I don’t have to clean, cook, or iron.” We tell her again, “Manoli, you do not have to iron everything!” By that we mean our underwear, which comes back from the wash as rigid as a piece of peanut brittle…hardly comfortable. “What?! Yes I do! I paid for that iron. Twenty Euros!” A twenty Euro iron, now wonder…

She said this to one of my roommates, who has gorgeous skin. “Your skin is so beautiful.” Sarah’s automated response, “Gracias”. Manoli carries on, of course, “You have the whitest skin I have ever seen.”

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