** disclaimer - started writing this on Friday evening, but didn't have a chance to finish it until now **
To call today a full day would just about be the understatement of this trip. There's so much I'd like to tell you about, but I think I'm going to have to focus on what is most prevalent in my mind at the moment. Well, that sounds a little grave, which it really isn't at all - just a lot to absorb. Tonight was el final de la Copa del Rey, or the championship of the top tier Spanish professional soccer league (La Liga). My homestay is actually extremely close to El Estadio Manzanares, home of Atletico Madrid and host stadium for tonight's game. Unfortunately, the cheapest tickets for this game lay somewhere around 600 euro so attending the game was out of the question, but instead Caitlin and I had the opportunity to watch the game as I've never seen a soccer game before. About half a kilometer along the river from our homestay and in the opposite direction of the stadium was situated an ENORMOUS tent of wide red and white stripes. What should it be but la carpa de los aficionados de Athletic Bilbao. We've been running along the river most days this week, which had given us a chance to witness the construction of the tent. What is more, while watching the news with Emilio earlier this week, we heard that this tent would house 150,000 L of cerveza amongst other refreshments and food.
We went to check things out about two hours before kick-off and already could barely walk through along the paseo that is normally so spacious and quaint. Caitlin's convinced me to run with her a bit since we've been here and the paseo is about 7,60 km long in total. We live at the 2,70 mark and all along the way there are various riverside cafe's and restaurants, ingenious wood and rope playgrounds that remind me of low-ropes courses and lots of architecturally fascinating bridges that cross the river at various parts. To say that the place was packed would be to say that we have to wait in line for tickets to the Duke-UNC game. Everywhere I turned and as far as the eye could see were aficionados clad in the red and white stripes or green accents of Athletic Bilbao. Hands down it was the most incredible way to watch a game of soccer that I have experienced (and believe me, I've seen a remarkable number of partidos). People pushed back and forth as they tried to move throughout the crowd, but mostly they were respectful, everyone giving a knowing and apologetic or forgiving glance as they brushed into people. Even the drunk ones were nice about it!
But the presence of so many supporters of Bilbao had a greater significance - it was more or less a political step, a subtle way of showing up the Spanish government. Bilbao is located in El Pais Vasco, in English known as the Basque country. In recent years, what with the economic crisis and everything, this region has been talking of seceding and asserting itself as its own country to try to shed some of the pressures of Spain's collective debt. By so many flooding the streets of Madrid, Spain's gubernatorial capitol, for a game that they were pretty much guaranteed to lose the Bilbao fans of all ages and walks of life quietly demonstrated their presence. What is more, the Basques have their own language, the only sub-dialect spoken in Spain that doesn't really sound like what we normally think of as Spanish (Castellano, the language most popularly spoken in Spain) called Euskera. It was interesting, as we talked a bit with some chicos about our age that so ingrained in them was this more or less peaceful rebellion against Madrid that though they could speak and understand Castellano just fine, they elected to reply to us in broken English mixed with Euskera. We had a couple of kind of funny experiences with this language barrier, to be honest. One guy (25 would be a low estimate for his age, I think) told me he was in love with me and gave his number but not his name, at which point Caitlin and I decided to pretend to catch sight of a friend in the crowd and politely excused ourselves to find 'our friend'. Towards the end of the game we were having a rather broken and cyclic conversation with a couple of boys closer to our age (I'd say they were between 19-22). They kept saying something along the lines of "While you are in Spain, be careful of the Spanish boys. Basque boys are the good ones. Good Basque boys." I'm not entirely sure what they were trying to achieve with this, but we could share a good laugh and they taught us a bunch of the cheers for Athletic Bilbao, which unfortunately have two many maldicciones for me to want to write them out. Suffice it to say that the title of this post was the tamest of these cheers.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Saturday, May 26, 2012
las fotos de alcalá de henares
Our excursion of the weekend was to Alcalá de Henares yesterday. Historical significance? It was the first ever 'campus town', complete with its own traditions of embarrassing students who flunk, its own prison for suspensions and courtyards upon courtyards of gorgeous flowers and buildings. I think if I attended a university like that I'd never get any studying done because I'd always be staring at everything around me. At least Duke's got a couple of eye sores (read: Gross Chem) to keep me from always walking around in awe!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
algunas fotos
I've given you a lot of words lately and while I still haven't quite found the time to finish my account of our time in Salamanca, I figured I'd at least let you see the pictures!
Pretty much every Spanish city has a Plaza Mayor, where people gather for to eat, socialize, play some pick-up, protest, etc. This is Salamanca's. Fun fact from our tour - there are small bas relief head-shot portraits of each of the rulers of Spain that adorn each of the square columns at about eye level.
On the walls of the Universidad Salamanca you can see many variations of this symbol painted next to a name and a year. The symbols are comprised of the letters from the word VICTOR and upon reaching a certain degree of education at this university, you're privileged with the ability to commemorate yourself with your in this way.
So I've become mildly obsessed with the ceilings in each of the palaces and cathedrals we've visited (though I've done a poor job of documenting this). Cathedrals take hundreds of years to construct and over time, the architectural traditions and tendencies change. By looking at the ceiling, you can tell roughly when things were finished based on the style of the arches. Unfortunately, I don't remember what all of the different types we heard about were, but I can tell you that (and this is especially true in the palaces where you can see architectural influences from various cultures, most prominently the Arab culture) there's also a bit of symbolism in the way the ceiling arches do or do not connect. The Romans made everything arc in a perfect circle and the arcs generally all met at a point as if to pay tribute to the one all powerful God. Though also monotheistic, the Arab way of paying tribute to this idea (not shown in either of the photos below) was to have all of the arcs convene in a polygon as if to say He comes from everywhere and connects everything.
This was a view from inside the courtyard of the University. The surrounding walls were filled with those victor symbols.
This was in the palace. Apparently before a big exam or thesis defense or something of the sort, a student would sit where you can see Carmen Ana, and the surrounding benches would be filled with his professors. As he studied, they would give him advice and whatnot to aid in his preparation. Behind her, you can see a wall that exemplifies the strong presence of Arab decorations in the palace.
On the base of a tomb in the Alcazar, the fortified palace I've been referring to, you can see a lion, a dog and a rabbit. Throughout the building, these three animals were featured many times, respectively symbolizing la vigilancia, la fieldad y la inteligencia.
This is one of la fachadas about which Carmen Ana could spend hours explaining. Impressive, isn't it?
On a column on the facade of one of the university entrances, there is a frog on top of a skull. It is said that the student who finds this frog on his own will have better luck with his studies. Symbolically, the frog is supposed to have something to do with education being able to purge the mind of sinful thought as it makes us wiser to the ways of the world.
In high school, we read the book Lazarillo de Tormes that has a lot of cultural and historical significance for Spain as it was one of the first novellas picarescas, meaning it was one of the first that didn't try to idealize or idolize life but rather laugh at it from the point of view of an orphaned rascal. This photo is a view of the Cathedral in Salamanca from the bridge that adorns a few of the scenes from this story.
While walking along the bridge, we made a friend. Apparently it's relatively normal to walk an eight year-old albino ferret by leash and harness in Salamanca.
Las casa de las conchas, also known as the 'house of the shells', is another big monument in Salamanca.
Pretty much every Spanish city has a Plaza Mayor, where people gather for to eat, socialize, play some pick-up, protest, etc. This is Salamanca's. Fun fact from our tour - there are small bas relief head-shot portraits of each of the rulers of Spain that adorn each of the square columns at about eye level.
On the walls of the Universidad Salamanca you can see many variations of this symbol painted next to a name and a year. The symbols are comprised of the letters from the word VICTOR and upon reaching a certain degree of education at this university, you're privileged with the ability to commemorate yourself with your in this way.
So I've become mildly obsessed with the ceilings in each of the palaces and cathedrals we've visited (though I've done a poor job of documenting this). Cathedrals take hundreds of years to construct and over time, the architectural traditions and tendencies change. By looking at the ceiling, you can tell roughly when things were finished based on the style of the arches. Unfortunately, I don't remember what all of the different types we heard about were, but I can tell you that (and this is especially true in the palaces where you can see architectural influences from various cultures, most prominently the Arab culture) there's also a bit of symbolism in the way the ceiling arches do or do not connect. The Romans made everything arc in a perfect circle and the arcs generally all met at a point as if to pay tribute to the one all powerful God. Though also monotheistic, the Arab way of paying tribute to this idea (not shown in either of the photos below) was to have all of the arcs convene in a polygon as if to say He comes from everywhere and connects everything.
This was a view from inside the courtyard of the University. The surrounding walls were filled with those victor symbols.
Outside the Cathedral, one of the facades was recently restored and when it was done, they hid an astronaut in the sculptures.
This was in the palace. Apparently before a big exam or thesis defense or something of the sort, a student would sit where you can see Carmen Ana, and the surrounding benches would be filled with his professors. As he studied, they would give him advice and whatnot to aid in his preparation. Behind her, you can see a wall that exemplifies the strong presence of Arab decorations in the palace.
On the base of a tomb in the Alcazar, the fortified palace I've been referring to, you can see a lion, a dog and a rabbit. Throughout the building, these three animals were featured many times, respectively symbolizing la vigilancia, la fieldad y la inteligencia.
This is one of la fachadas about which Carmen Ana could spend hours explaining. Impressive, isn't it?
On a column on the facade of one of the university entrances, there is a frog on top of a skull. It is said that the student who finds this frog on his own will have better luck with his studies. Symbolically, the frog is supposed to have something to do with education being able to purge the mind of sinful thought as it makes us wiser to the ways of the world.
In high school, we read the book Lazarillo de Tormes that has a lot of cultural and historical significance for Spain as it was one of the first novellas picarescas, meaning it was one of the first that didn't try to idealize or idolize life but rather laugh at it from the point of view of an orphaned rascal. This photo is a view of the Cathedral in Salamanca from the bridge that adorns a few of the scenes from this story.
While walking along the bridge, we made a friend. Apparently it's relatively normal to walk an eight year-old albino ferret by leash and harness in Salamanca.
Las casa de las conchas, also known as the 'house of the shells', is another big monument in Salamanca.
a estudiar
Since classes began on Monday, I've hardly had a moment to sit down and think let alone to write. It's been an interesting feeling I've had these past couple days - in a country and a city that is so chill (especially for its size) I find it strange to feel slightly rushed or stressed. I'm not talking stressed like I have a mountain of midterms and projects and various commitments to attend to at the same time, rather in the sense that I've had a week of doing absolutely nothing at home followed by two days of travel and several days to play in three gorgeous Spanish cities and on Monday I found myself suddenly confronted with tarea. For those that know me well, it may seem surprising that I balk at my workload, which to be honest is microscopic compared to my normal load at Duke. As a pre-med mechanical engineer, it surprises me as much it does you that I should be nervous for literary homework. I think I may have contracted senioritis about a year and a half early, or maybe its just the infectiousness of the laid back atmosphere and (non-humid) 80-something degree F weather we've had all week.
If I'm being honest with myself though, I actually find the classes themselves to be quite interesting, though that could just be the result of how radically different they are from the number-filled courses I've become accustomed to in the past year or so. Our Monday/Wednesday class is centered around violence. Spain has had a history of oppression and cruelty that you would never guess from the generally amicable vibe that the population exudes, and this class intends to investigate it historically, through literature and through our own experiences with the culture. I've been watching more of las noticias since arriving in Spain than I think I have in the last year (which is probably a good thing as I should probably be at least slightly better informed about what's going on in the world...Anna, I miss your daily texts from CNN in AP physics! Haha good times...) and all of the talk is of la crisis. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, here has something to say about the economy and the opinions of the different political parties. No one that I've talked to seems particularly overly concerned - they're all making their way through life just fine - but it's kind of like an overhanging presence. We met this one memorable 86 year-old man while stretching in the grass next to the river after a run. He reminded me a lot of my Serbian soccer coach - super fit, overly healthy and very friendly/willing to impart his opinions - and he engaged us in a conversation (over the course of which he told us that to be healthy and live a good life, we had to run or swim everyday, climb a mountain, eat fish at least three times a week, never drink and only ever eat fruit for dessert). He's retired now and utterly and completely happy with every part of his life except for the fact that he didn't study past high school (to reinforce this point, as we talked at least a dozen people walked by and greeted him with a hug - seems like he's the man of the river's paseo) and despite the fact that four of his seven brothers' families were hit pretty hard by the economic crisis, nothing could dampen his high spirits and his obvious love for his country. Anyway, returning to thoughts about the violence class - we're reading four novels and the first (La Familia de Pascual Duarte written by Camilo José Cela) has to be completed by Monday with an accompanying two-page reacción. The reading isn't long, but it's very dense and quite graphic. I'm a little over half-way done and so far we've seen the deaths of two parents, a son and a brother, the shooting of a dog, and the stabbing of a friend and of a horse, but I'll spare you the rest of the details.
Our Tuesday/Thursday class is an investigation into la literatura y los artes visuales de España and the best way I can describe it is as multilateral. Everyday our classes last three hours in the same classroom and honestly the hardest part for me is not understanding or answering with the depth of thought required of us but the fact that I have to stay in the same seat for three hours. Normally, we get a break about half-way through, but sometimes (like today) the professors get so wrapped up in what they have to teach us (at least they're super passionate about their subjects though! that's a nice change from the past semester...) that they forget to pause the class until someone asks to go to the bathroom. In this class we're reading to obras de teatro, both written by Antonio Buero Vallejo. Actually, these books have caused me a lot of trouble - the book store associated with our university didn't receive a full order of the books so there are a couple of us who were left without. I've searched high and low on the internet to see if I can find a pdf or eBook copy but to no avail. I've also tried over seven different librerías and it seems that Las Meninas and El Sueño de la Razón aren't actually that popular of books here. Well, por lo menos, I now have an extensive knowledge of the locations of Madrid's finest bookstores (one of which was like a Barnes and Nobles or a Borders on steroids - five stories high! They carried every single other work written by Buero Vallejo except the two I needed...). For today, we had to have read the first third of Las Meninas, which is a fictional interpretation of the life of the Spanish painter Diego Velazquez around the time that he was creating his most famous painting which was also named Las Meninas. We're also looking extensively at the poetry of Jorge Guillen and other authors and artists from about the time of la Generacion 27 to the early 1950s, not only for their content but also for the ways that they influence each other and create stories about the time period during which they were written/painted.
If I'm being honest with myself though, I actually find the classes themselves to be quite interesting, though that could just be the result of how radically different they are from the number-filled courses I've become accustomed to in the past year or so. Our Monday/Wednesday class is centered around violence. Spain has had a history of oppression and cruelty that you would never guess from the generally amicable vibe that the population exudes, and this class intends to investigate it historically, through literature and through our own experiences with the culture. I've been watching more of las noticias since arriving in Spain than I think I have in the last year (which is probably a good thing as I should probably be at least slightly better informed about what's going on in the world...Anna, I miss your daily texts from CNN in AP physics! Haha good times...) and all of the talk is of la crisis. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, here has something to say about the economy and the opinions of the different political parties. No one that I've talked to seems particularly overly concerned - they're all making their way through life just fine - but it's kind of like an overhanging presence. We met this one memorable 86 year-old man while stretching in the grass next to the river after a run. He reminded me a lot of my Serbian soccer coach - super fit, overly healthy and very friendly/willing to impart his opinions - and he engaged us in a conversation (over the course of which he told us that to be healthy and live a good life, we had to run or swim everyday, climb a mountain, eat fish at least three times a week, never drink and only ever eat fruit for dessert). He's retired now and utterly and completely happy with every part of his life except for the fact that he didn't study past high school (to reinforce this point, as we talked at least a dozen people walked by and greeted him with a hug - seems like he's the man of the river's paseo) and despite the fact that four of his seven brothers' families were hit pretty hard by the economic crisis, nothing could dampen his high spirits and his obvious love for his country. Anyway, returning to thoughts about the violence class - we're reading four novels and the first (La Familia de Pascual Duarte written by Camilo José Cela) has to be completed by Monday with an accompanying two-page reacción. The reading isn't long, but it's very dense and quite graphic. I'm a little over half-way done and so far we've seen the deaths of two parents, a son and a brother, the shooting of a dog, and the stabbing of a friend and of a horse, but I'll spare you the rest of the details.
Our Tuesday/Thursday class is an investigation into la literatura y los artes visuales de España and the best way I can describe it is as multilateral. Everyday our classes last three hours in the same classroom and honestly the hardest part for me is not understanding or answering with the depth of thought required of us but the fact that I have to stay in the same seat for three hours. Normally, we get a break about half-way through, but sometimes (like today) the professors get so wrapped up in what they have to teach us (at least they're super passionate about their subjects though! that's a nice change from the past semester...) that they forget to pause the class until someone asks to go to the bathroom. In this class we're reading to obras de teatro, both written by Antonio Buero Vallejo. Actually, these books have caused me a lot of trouble - the book store associated with our university didn't receive a full order of the books so there are a couple of us who were left without. I've searched high and low on the internet to see if I can find a pdf or eBook copy but to no avail. I've also tried over seven different librerías and it seems that Las Meninas and El Sueño de la Razón aren't actually that popular of books here. Well, por lo menos, I now have an extensive knowledge of the locations of Madrid's finest bookstores (one of which was like a Barnes and Nobles or a Borders on steroids - five stories high! They carried every single other work written by Buero Vallejo except the two I needed...). For today, we had to have read the first third of Las Meninas, which is a fictional interpretation of the life of the Spanish painter Diego Velazquez around the time that he was creating his most famous painting which was also named Las Meninas. We're also looking extensively at the poetry of Jorge Guillen and other authors and artists from about the time of la Generacion 27 to the early 1950s, not only for their content but also for the ways that they influence each other and create stories about the time period during which they were written/painted.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
the day of the cafes
I've half-written a post about Salamanca to finish out my thoughts on our trip from the weekend, but it's not quite ready to be posted. Instead I give you a slightly more random collection of thoughts and mini-excursions through the city from today.
Despite the fact that most of us had slept only about 4 hours during our stay in Salamanca (more on that adventure to be featured later in the aforementioned partially finished post), much of the group of 10-12 out of the 40 on our program that I've spent most of my time with so far decided to explore the discotecas of Madrid. That's all fun and whatnot, but neither Caitlin or I could quite bring ourselves to rally last night. As we've gotten more comfortable and better acquainted with our surroundings, we've come to realize that our area is populated, for the most part, by people about the age of our grandparents. Por eso when we want to go out and whatnot, especially at night, we're taking care to make sure that we know when the different lines of transportation stop running, where all of the different stops and stations are, and that we have enough money for a cab back if need be. Somewhat along the same lines, as we've passed more time here in our homestay, it's become apparent that whatever communication barriers exist between us and our hostparents have less to do with language and more to do with the generation gap between us and them. This is not a complaint, but more of an observation. Talking with the hostparents is a lot like talking to one's grandparents - you have to look them directly in the eye and articulate super clearly even though it sounds more or less like they eat their words (a trait of a slightly more southern dialect of Spanish, I believe). There's a lot of repetition of certain parts of the conversation and whatnot. Interesting observations and whatnot, I think.
And our hostmom is definitely a mother - we tried to leave this morning without eating a full breakfast but she stopped us at the door and insisted that we sit and at least eat toast and fruit and unas galletas del desayuno and drink a glass of juice as well as a cup of coffee. Having stayed in last night, we decided to get up early this morning to pay homage to El Rastro, a trip we'd been told by some friends who participated in DiS last year that we had to do while in Madrid. El Rastro was, essentially, an enormous flea market that's open every Sunday from about 9a to 3p. We walked the 30 minutes or so it took to get to this 4 block market. Though I didn't buy anything today, there was much to be admired - jewelry, artsy clothes, second hand clothes, old records, antiques, random pieces of art, trinkets - I know where I'm going to have to go back to for gifts later.
I'd promised my friend Taylor (un amigo mio del centro catolico de Duke - a friend of mine from my involvement in Duke's Catholic Center) that I'd go to Mass with him in the afternoon, but when Caitlin and I had had about enough of El Rastro (it's been a gray day and at that point clouds had begun to spit at us), I had about an hour and a half to kill so we wandered around a bit and ultimately found ourselves sitting in a quaint, brightly lit cafe called Cafe y Te, fitting right? Coffee in Spain is something of an art, and it seems that everyone drinks it, and they do so ALL the time (but hey, after last semester so do I - I guess that puts me one step closer to fitting in?). Granted, here it's served in smaller portions, but still one with breakfast, one late in the morning, lo quieres despues del almuerzo?, o despues de la cena?. It's crazy. So as we sat and practiced our Spanish in the cafe we decided to try some of the more artsy coffee options. I ordered un cafe bombon, two shots of espresso with a bit of condensed milk. It came in a small clear mug, which further gave it a sophisticated sort of feel as the layers of coffee and the milk were clearly visible. Though simple, it was rich, filling and warm - definitely an idea to bring back to the states in place of a latte. Perhaps as memorable as my first experience with cafe bombon were the people we met in the little cafe. A young family with two little boys that were fascinated with our accents, our short Filipino waiter (to me, our encounter with him epitomized the magic of communication - while neither of our primary languages were Spanish, the Spanish language was where we could meet to understand each other), un madrileno (a born and bred citizen of Madrid) who yapped our ears off for about ten minutes about everything from the weather to the different universities in Madrid to the various things he thought we needed to do during our six weeks here.
La Misa was an incredible experience in and of itself, though it wasn't without a few mistakes. Taylor had gotten the information from his host mom that the last Mass in La Catedral Almudena would begin at 1:30p. The cathedral is situated next to the palace and therefore it's in a very busy area. We met a few minutes early and quietly entered the cathedral, but how surprised we were to discover a service underway! We slipped into a back row in what I hope was a reverent fashion and tried to piece together what was going on. Were we late? Had we mistaken the time? Were we just plain wrong? We couldn't quite understand the priest and there were about 15 or 20 white-robed people (men and women), and after 20 minutes everybody left. Confused and in awe of the cathedral, we walked around a bit and ultimately ended up wandering down to the La cripta neo-romanica where, at last, we found the Mass. It was about halfway in and we had to argue a bit with the guard at the entrance to convince him that yes, we wanted to attend the service and no, we weren't going to take pictures and yes, we really were Catholic Americans. The service, or at least what we saw of it was incredibly interesting. It was a little bit difficult to understand as it was mostly in older style Spanish and there were muchas palabras desconocidas, but having attended Mass almost every Sunday for as long as I can remember I could at least follow what was supposed to be happening and piece together which prayers were which. Perhaps most interesting was the fact that, though the words differed, with parts like the Nicene Creed, the Our Father and various responses, the tone used to utter them was exactly the same, with the same intonation and the same number of syllables.
I titled this post "the day of the cafes" because, to be honest it was full of coffee (if you hadn't gotten the picture already). I had planned to start writing less about the food, but today's lunch doesn't deserve to go unnoticed. Upon my return from the cathedral I found that my hostmom had prepared us a feast: una paella de mariscos that she'd made completely from scratch, great helpings of una ensalada fria and a tower of apple and kiwi slices. I'm surprised I had room for dinner tonight. After lunch me descanse un rato, though I still haven't quite been able to bring myself to fully partake in la cultura de la siesta, before enjoying a small cup of coffee with my hostparents. We've started a Facebook group for the DiS program to better coordinate and not waste money on texting and whatnot as we try to meet up across the city and so it was decided that we would trek over to el barrio que se llama La Cueca in a quaint cafe that was highly recommended as "un lugar muy chill" (verbatim, I promise you) by former DiS participants. It was a little pricy and I think the size of our group more than slightly annoyed el mesero as we obnoxiously crowded eight of us around three tv-tray-sized tables. Coffee was the last thing I wanted, but to be honest around 5p is when it is common to gozar de una bebida so Caitlin and I decided to try the tinto de la casa (a move that I think improved our standing with el mesero) again, so sophisticated, right?
A full adventure for a day with nothing planned, if I do say so myself, but we had one more little event worth noting before I sign off for now. So....se ha roto la cerredura de la entrada de nuestro edificio, that is to say, we broke the lock on the door of our building....now, don't freak out like we did because apparently this happens two or three times a year because the door is made of iron, which renders the size of the lock fixed and very small, but according to our hostdad because the more than 100 people living in the building go in and out multiple times a day, the small lock doesn't last long. Now, the truly funny part of this situation is that we got not one but both of our keys stuck in the lock as we used the second to try to jimmy out the first. Although they keep telling us its not a big deal, let's call it la mala suerte de las americanas.
Despite the fact that most of us had slept only about 4 hours during our stay in Salamanca (more on that adventure to be featured later in the aforementioned partially finished post), much of the group of 10-12 out of the 40 on our program that I've spent most of my time with so far decided to explore the discotecas of Madrid. That's all fun and whatnot, but neither Caitlin or I could quite bring ourselves to rally last night. As we've gotten more comfortable and better acquainted with our surroundings, we've come to realize that our area is populated, for the most part, by people about the age of our grandparents. Por eso when we want to go out and whatnot, especially at night, we're taking care to make sure that we know when the different lines of transportation stop running, where all of the different stops and stations are, and that we have enough money for a cab back if need be. Somewhat along the same lines, as we've passed more time here in our homestay, it's become apparent that whatever communication barriers exist between us and our hostparents have less to do with language and more to do with the generation gap between us and them. This is not a complaint, but more of an observation. Talking with the hostparents is a lot like talking to one's grandparents - you have to look them directly in the eye and articulate super clearly even though it sounds more or less like they eat their words (a trait of a slightly more southern dialect of Spanish, I believe). There's a lot of repetition of certain parts of the conversation and whatnot. Interesting observations and whatnot, I think.
And our hostmom is definitely a mother - we tried to leave this morning without eating a full breakfast but she stopped us at the door and insisted that we sit and at least eat toast and fruit and unas galletas del desayuno and drink a glass of juice as well as a cup of coffee. Having stayed in last night, we decided to get up early this morning to pay homage to El Rastro, a trip we'd been told by some friends who participated in DiS last year that we had to do while in Madrid. El Rastro was, essentially, an enormous flea market that's open every Sunday from about 9a to 3p. We walked the 30 minutes or so it took to get to this 4 block market. Though I didn't buy anything today, there was much to be admired - jewelry, artsy clothes, second hand clothes, old records, antiques, random pieces of art, trinkets - I know where I'm going to have to go back to for gifts later.
I'd promised my friend Taylor (un amigo mio del centro catolico de Duke - a friend of mine from my involvement in Duke's Catholic Center) that I'd go to Mass with him in the afternoon, but when Caitlin and I had had about enough of El Rastro (it's been a gray day and at that point clouds had begun to spit at us), I had about an hour and a half to kill so we wandered around a bit and ultimately found ourselves sitting in a quaint, brightly lit cafe called Cafe y Te, fitting right? Coffee in Spain is something of an art, and it seems that everyone drinks it, and they do so ALL the time (but hey, after last semester so do I - I guess that puts me one step closer to fitting in?). Granted, here it's served in smaller portions, but still one with breakfast, one late in the morning, lo quieres despues del almuerzo?, o despues de la cena?. It's crazy. So as we sat and practiced our Spanish in the cafe we decided to try some of the more artsy coffee options. I ordered un cafe bombon, two shots of espresso with a bit of condensed milk. It came in a small clear mug, which further gave it a sophisticated sort of feel as the layers of coffee and the milk were clearly visible. Though simple, it was rich, filling and warm - definitely an idea to bring back to the states in place of a latte. Perhaps as memorable as my first experience with cafe bombon were the people we met in the little cafe. A young family with two little boys that were fascinated with our accents, our short Filipino waiter (to me, our encounter with him epitomized the magic of communication - while neither of our primary languages were Spanish, the Spanish language was where we could meet to understand each other), un madrileno (a born and bred citizen of Madrid) who yapped our ears off for about ten minutes about everything from the weather to the different universities in Madrid to the various things he thought we needed to do during our six weeks here.
La Misa was an incredible experience in and of itself, though it wasn't without a few mistakes. Taylor had gotten the information from his host mom that the last Mass in La Catedral Almudena would begin at 1:30p. The cathedral is situated next to the palace and therefore it's in a very busy area. We met a few minutes early and quietly entered the cathedral, but how surprised we were to discover a service underway! We slipped into a back row in what I hope was a reverent fashion and tried to piece together what was going on. Were we late? Had we mistaken the time? Were we just plain wrong? We couldn't quite understand the priest and there were about 15 or 20 white-robed people (men and women), and after 20 minutes everybody left. Confused and in awe of the cathedral, we walked around a bit and ultimately ended up wandering down to the La cripta neo-romanica where, at last, we found the Mass. It was about halfway in and we had to argue a bit with the guard at the entrance to convince him that yes, we wanted to attend the service and no, we weren't going to take pictures and yes, we really were Catholic Americans. The service, or at least what we saw of it was incredibly interesting. It was a little bit difficult to understand as it was mostly in older style Spanish and there were muchas palabras desconocidas, but having attended Mass almost every Sunday for as long as I can remember I could at least follow what was supposed to be happening and piece together which prayers were which. Perhaps most interesting was the fact that, though the words differed, with parts like the Nicene Creed, the Our Father and various responses, the tone used to utter them was exactly the same, with the same intonation and the same number of syllables.
I titled this post "the day of the cafes" because, to be honest it was full of coffee (if you hadn't gotten the picture already). I had planned to start writing less about the food, but today's lunch doesn't deserve to go unnoticed. Upon my return from the cathedral I found that my hostmom had prepared us a feast: una paella de mariscos that she'd made completely from scratch, great helpings of una ensalada fria and a tower of apple and kiwi slices. I'm surprised I had room for dinner tonight. After lunch me descanse un rato, though I still haven't quite been able to bring myself to fully partake in la cultura de la siesta, before enjoying a small cup of coffee with my hostparents. We've started a Facebook group for the DiS program to better coordinate and not waste money on texting and whatnot as we try to meet up across the city and so it was decided that we would trek over to el barrio que se llama La Cueca in a quaint cafe that was highly recommended as "un lugar muy chill" (verbatim, I promise you) by former DiS participants. It was a little pricy and I think the size of our group more than slightly annoyed el mesero as we obnoxiously crowded eight of us around three tv-tray-sized tables. Coffee was the last thing I wanted, but to be honest around 5p is when it is common to gozar de una bebida so Caitlin and I decided to try the tinto de la casa (a move that I think improved our standing with el mesero) again, so sophisticated, right?
A full adventure for a day with nothing planned, if I do say so myself, but we had one more little event worth noting before I sign off for now. So....se ha roto la cerredura de la entrada de nuestro edificio, that is to say, we broke the lock on the door of our building....now, don't freak out like we did because apparently this happens two or three times a year because the door is made of iron, which renders the size of the lock fixed and very small, but according to our hostdad because the more than 100 people living in the building go in and out multiple times a day, the small lock doesn't last long. Now, the truly funny part of this situation is that we got not one but both of our keys stuck in the lock as we used the second to try to jimmy out the first. Although they keep telling us its not a big deal, let's call it la mala suerte de las americanas.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
vamanos a segovia
I've had a brief hiatus from writing (I know, I know, you all must have been in such despair without your daily dose of entertainment from me) because I've been without internet for the past couple of days while travelling. The way our program, which is aptly named Duke in Spain (DiS), is structured, we take one Monday/Wednesday class and one Tuesday/Thursday, and on all but one weekend there are organized excursions. Most are day trips but to start things off right, the program director took us on an overnight trip to tour the cities of Segovia and Salamanca.
We met at the university at 9a to depart on the hour-long drive to Segovia. Segovia is a very old city and it reminded me much of the kind of place that can only be described as quaint. In fact, it is so old that its most prevalent historical sites date back to the Roman Empire. The picture above was taken from the top of a building in La Plaza Menor. Below are photos of Segovia's palace and the views from the top of its tallest tower. One hundred and fifty two spiral steps it took to climb to that view, but I think the photos speak for themselves when I say that this journey merece la pena. As for the rest of the palace, it was pretty cool and I enjoyed the tour a lot. Our guide's name was Carmen Ana, and she'll be with us for each of our excursions over the next couple of weeks. She's a scholar at heart with degrees (I'm not quite sure of which levels) in Spanish literature, history and architecture and her extensive studies aren't just impressive in name. Standing outside the palace, she could go on for well over an hour about just the doorway.
We met at the university at 9a to depart on the hour-long drive to Segovia. Segovia is a very old city and it reminded me much of the kind of place that can only be described as quaint. In fact, it is so old that its most prevalent historical sites date back to the Roman Empire. The picture above was taken from the top of a building in La Plaza Menor. Below are photos of Segovia's palace and the views from the top of its tallest tower. One hundred and fifty two spiral steps it took to climb to that view, but I think the photos speak for themselves when I say that this journey merece la pena. As for the rest of the palace, it was pretty cool and I enjoyed the tour a lot. Our guide's name was Carmen Ana, and she'll be with us for each of our excursions over the next couple of weeks. She's a scholar at heart with degrees (I'm not quite sure of which levels) in Spanish literature, history and architecture and her extensive studies aren't just impressive in name. Standing outside the palace, she could go on for well over an hour about just the doorway.
Perhaps better known than the palace in Segovia is the aqueduct. Constructed in the first century AD during the Roman rule, this structure is about 2000 years old. Although not used today, Carmen Ana informed us that it is still perfectly functional - just not as efficient as modern methods of water transportation. For those (like me) who don't have much prior knowledge about aqueducts (though I do remember having to do some kind of project about them in Mrs. Oppenheim's 5th grade social studies class - Anna, perhaps it was when we had to build that ridiculous model city?) there is no cement or adhesive of any kind holding the stones together. Their own weights and the ensuing pressure is what holds it all in place. Upon hearing this, my inner nerd immediately began to picture free-body diagrams of the blocks...
Impresionante, no? Alright, well to finish off the photos from Segovia, here are
Thursday, May 17, 2012
a explorar
Again as I write, I'm waiting for dinner. It would seem like all you're going to hear from me this summer will have to do with food (jaja - that's Spanish laughter for you!). We had our orientation this morning in the classroom that we'll be in for the whole summer. It's six stops away by el metro que se llama CIRCULAR and then about a ten minute walk beyond that. Incidentally, the one building that we'll be dealing with all summer is across the street from the SLU (St. Louis University) campus - the one I would have attended had I not decided to go to Duke. Small world, right?
After the orientation, Caitlin and I returned home to almorzar with our host parents. Lunch came to us as a small bowl of a tomato-based stew, filled with chunks of meat, potato, carrots and onions, and it was accompanied by a portion of fresh bread (of course) and little fried bullets of that same cheese that had topped the pasta yesterday. This cheese, I was informed at el desayuno is called Manchego and it also served as a spread for the toast we had for breakfast. We finished up our lunch fairly quickly and spent awhile chatting with Emilio. We learned more of our family and some of his rendition of the history of Madrid and Segovia (where we're headed tomorrow para una excursion!). Most interesting of the topics we talked about had to do with what Emilio described as the growing diversity in Spain. He talked a lot about (and we heard a bit of this from our program director at our orientation as well) how the concept of race and racial identity is relatively new in Madrid - something that has only begun to crop up as groups from different countries around the world have started immigrating en masse. He told us how he rarely hears any single person being singled out racially - no slurs or instantaneous prejudice - but that varying groups within the city (say an entire neighborhood of Koreans or something of the sort) tend to stir up tensions. Just an interesting observation of his that I thought I'd share.
While most of the city closed down to take their siesta after our lunch, Caitlin and I joined back up with Max with an unofficial quest to master el metro. We spent awhile studying the maps and after riding around a bit decided to get off at the stop by La Plaza de Espana and then walk up La Calle de la Princesa to check out the seven-story Corte Ingles. The store reminded me of a combination of the giant Marshall Fields in Chicago and your typical Forever XXI.
Alright dinner now - I'll talk more about our wanderings later!
---- 5/19/12 ----
To tie up this post from the other day, here's a photo of the Spanish Air Force building we found as we wandered. We then returned to the area of the city near our homestay and decided to try out the little riverside cafe in front of our building. At this point, it was about 8p and dinner had been scheduled for 9:30p in our household and our host parents had told us earlier that it's been common for the girls that they've hosted in the past to enjoy a drink, with or without a small appetizer, around that time before they came home for dinner. And with this in mind, Caitlin and I accomplished a first: we each ordered una cerveza con limon, a beer diluted with lemon Fanta. It was light and bubbly - the perfect refreshment to cap off our afternoon's explorations and heighten our growing sense of cocky sophistication as we work to grow more accustomed to the culture here.
Dinner followed with broiled fish (sorry it's been a couple of days, so I don't remember what type), more fried queso manchego some fresh veggies and a yogurt for dessert. As we ate, Emilio put las noticias on the television. He had eaten earlier and thought it might be a good idea for us to get a better sense for the major current events in Madrid. Believe it or not, the program Emilio chose was actually the same one that we used to have to watch for Sr. Yavetsky's class - I guess that dreaded weekly assignment was useful after all! I won't go into a detailed explanation of the stuff we heard about on the news, but I did want to share that the one story that I think I have the confidence to say that I understood 100% was a report about the dwindling number of girls in engineering, robotics and computer science. Just thought that some of you might appreciate that (I see you, Liz!).
After the orientation, Caitlin and I returned home to almorzar with our host parents. Lunch came to us as a small bowl of a tomato-based stew, filled with chunks of meat, potato, carrots and onions, and it was accompanied by a portion of fresh bread (of course) and little fried bullets of that same cheese that had topped the pasta yesterday. This cheese, I was informed at el desayuno is called Manchego and it also served as a spread for the toast we had for breakfast. We finished up our lunch fairly quickly and spent awhile chatting with Emilio. We learned more of our family and some of his rendition of the history of Madrid and Segovia (where we're headed tomorrow para una excursion!). Most interesting of the topics we talked about had to do with what Emilio described as the growing diversity in Spain. He talked a lot about (and we heard a bit of this from our program director at our orientation as well) how the concept of race and racial identity is relatively new in Madrid - something that has only begun to crop up as groups from different countries around the world have started immigrating en masse. He told us how he rarely hears any single person being singled out racially - no slurs or instantaneous prejudice - but that varying groups within the city (say an entire neighborhood of Koreans or something of the sort) tend to stir up tensions. Just an interesting observation of his that I thought I'd share.
While most of the city closed down to take their siesta after our lunch, Caitlin and I joined back up with Max with an unofficial quest to master el metro. We spent awhile studying the maps and after riding around a bit decided to get off at the stop by La Plaza de Espana and then walk up La Calle de la Princesa to check out the seven-story Corte Ingles. The store reminded me of a combination of the giant Marshall Fields in Chicago and your typical Forever XXI.
Alright dinner now - I'll talk more about our wanderings later!
---- 5/19/12 ----
Dinner followed with broiled fish (sorry it's been a couple of days, so I don't remember what type), more fried queso manchego some fresh veggies and a yogurt for dessert. As we ate, Emilio put las noticias on the television. He had eaten earlier and thought it might be a good idea for us to get a better sense for the major current events in Madrid. Believe it or not, the program Emilio chose was actually the same one that we used to have to watch for Sr. Yavetsky's class - I guess that dreaded weekly assignment was useful after all! I won't go into a detailed explanation of the stuff we heard about on the news, but I did want to share that the one story that I think I have the confidence to say that I understood 100% was a report about the dwindling number of girls in engineering, robotics and computer science. Just thought that some of you might appreciate that (I see you, Liz!).
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
las primeras fotos
Mom, wouldn't you love this as your backyard? Might be a little big though - this is the back left corner of the Palacio and the center garden that runs up to it.
And here's the rose garden - can't wait to see what they look like as more start to bloom!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)