The all-nighter: Cádiz and back in 12 hours

Never in my life had I pulled an all-nighter before two weekends ago. Of course I had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning at some sleepovers, but always in the comfort of PJs and a sleeping bag. So I was unprepared for the adventure my group went on two Saturdays ago: an 8-hour promenade through the streets of Cádiz at its famous Carnaval, which takes place over the course of eleven days every February. Regarded as one of the best Carnavals in the world, this fiesta was a must-see for our adventurous group. We were excited to witness and participate in the tradition of showing off creative disfraces (costumes). We were also eager to watch the legendary chirigotas--large singing groups that write and perform satirical music commenting on politics and current events.

So on a cold (at least, by Andalusian standards) Saturday night we donned our regrettably store-bought costumes and took a train to Cádiz. We noticed some great costumes on the train: my favorite group comprised five girls wearing big sunny-side up eggs made of foam and traditional Flamenco accessories--a Spanish omelette!

When we arrived in Cádiz, we were greeted by an ever-growing mob of people in crazy outfits. We passed a large plaza packed with food vendors and made our way into a knot of narrow and winding streets, where most of the celebration was taking place. As difficult as navigation was (walking through Cádiz was reminiscent of the first days I spent in Sevilla, confused, with my nose in a map) we managed to find our way to another large plaza housing a stage. There we watched a chirigota perform and talked--or rather, shouted over the crowd and the amplified voices of the witty Spanish singers--with some Andalusian natives.

I was impressed by how warm and welcoming the people we met at Carnaval were. The only comparable event I have ever attended in Boston is the 4th of July fireworks spectacle, where people were definitely not as friendly!

After leaving the chirigota concert, we wandered around the city, in and out of cafés, taking in some much-needed caffeine. At 5 in the morning--8 hours after arriving in Cádiz--we boarded our train back to Sevilla. As much fun as I had in Cádiz, it felt good to go back to the city that now feels like home.

Popurrí

I have been in Sevilla for one month--long enough to have established a daily routine but not long enough to feel like my routine isn't special. So every time something unexpected/funny/foreign happens, I get excited and file it away in my brain, saving it for emails, this blog, and stories for my grandchildren. In the states, when something unexpected/funny/foreign happens, I take less than a second to think about it and throw it away. But here, my brain is quickly growing crowded with those unexpected/funny/foreign happenings. So today's post is a little bit of potpourri, or as it's called here, popurrí.

Jorge's Latest Shenanigans

1. Jorge walked in on me getting into the shower. He ran into his room, very upset. I like to think that I was cool as a cucumber in this situation, saying I didn't care and that now he has hard evidence that I do NOT have a culo gordito.

2. Jorge has chicken pox (maricela). I have also had chicken pox so I know I won't get it, but I certainly can get shingles. Which is why I grow very upset when he comes into my room and rubs his face on my pillows and clothes. Which he has done more than once.

3. Jorge has taken to picking up cushions from the couch and waving them at me, yelling "TORO! TORO!"

4. Yesterday I walked into the apartment, greeted by Jorge shouting, "hola fea, Papa está haciendo caca!" Roughly translated, "whaddup uggo, Dad's pooping!"

Hermanitas de los Pobres

I realized I couldn't handle working with the people who were really mentally out of it. While working with them was an emotional drain, I think what actually made me decide to seek a change was my inability to communicate. They couldn't understand a word I said, and the few times they spoke, I couldn't understand what they said. They also kept asking me to take them home (or to their rooms) or just let them leave. When I could find an actual employee to tell them that the elderly person was tired and wanted to rest, they told me I wasn't allowed to take them back to their rooms.

I decided I was awful company for them and that I was not getting enough practice speaking Spanish. I went to Nancy, the gap year coordinator/mother hen here and told her I was unhappy with my volunteer situation. She ironed things out for me so that the next time, I only worked with people who could carry on conversations about things that exist. I helped in a computer class and sat in on a memory class. My time in the computer class is sort of how I pictured all of my time in the elderly home going: talking to people, helping them, making them laugh. I was seeking grandparent-grandchild relationships with these people, and I could feel that (sort of...a little...hopefully) happening in the computer class.

Then, during their memory exercises, I had a great time even though I wasn't really helping out. María, the occupational therapist whom I follow around and try to assist, read the elderly folks a paragraph about a man celebrating his birthday. Then she gave them a copy of the paragraph with some words, names, numbers and dates left out so they could fill in what they remembered. Chaos ensued as everybody started cheating off each others' papers and mouthing answers to one another from across the table. It was so funny to see these elderly folks--who until this point had seemed so dignified--go a little nuts with the exercise. I am hoping that from now on I can take a more active role; I would feel better being more helpful and getting to interact with some of the ancianos.

Sevillanas Class

I haven't really said that much about Sevillanas yet. This four-part dance, a Flamenco derivative, is practiced at the Feria de Abril, a week-long fiesta that takes place every--yes, you guessed it--April. Feria is a huge deal here: every year a new gate is constructed at the mouth of the fair grounds. The gate is huge and glitzy and very close to where I live, so I have been keeping tabs on its development! The dresses are also a big deal; every self-respecting Sevillana owns at least three. My host mother, Helena, owns five, including one for when she is pregnant. Since Feria is so important, the CIEE girls decided it would be embarrassing if we couldn't participate even a little. We haven't discussed the fact that we might not get to put our moves to use because Feria is really for true Sevillanos; the casetas, or dance tents, are all invitation-only. Putting aside that small snag, we threw ourselves into intense study at a dance school in Triana. It is a lot of fun, as public humiliation often is if you can master the art of self-deprecation. The CIEE girls make up the majority of the class, but there are a couple of 8-year old Sevillanas who kick our asses twice a week from 7-8 pm. We tend to ignore them because they have an advantage (it's in their DNA, I'm serious).

La Matanza

Remember before I left for Spain, when I wrote that I hoped people in Sevilla would like jamón serrano as much as people in Madrid do? Well, they like it more. In fact, here they have jamón ibérico, which is supposedly even better. Serrano is to ibérico as Dunkin' Donuts is to Starbucks. I can't tell the difference, but the latter is considered to be of a higher quality and thus is much more expensive. The point here is that in order for people in Sevilla to be happy, a lot of pigs have to die. And so, my gap year group was brought to a matanza (slaughter) of a pig in the countryside this weekend. I was dreading this. Even hard-core aficionados of toreo (bullfighting), which to me, looks pretty gross, were shocked when I told them my weekend plans. "You're going to see a matanza? Those are really disgusting. You will probably be a vegetarian by Monday."

The matanza was, in fact, really disgusting. It was sad and disturbing when the pig was brought out of the truck and forced onto the slaughtering table, and it made some pretty upsetting noises. Fortunately, after it died and the carniceros (butchers) burned off its hair and skin (that was also pretty gross, for the record), it no longer looked like an animal. It looked like uncooked food. After the pig had been dismembered, we left and went to a nearby museum. It was a jamón museum. I'm telling you, they take it really seriously here.

The guy who administered the fatal cut, sharpening his knives.

I can't imagine a pig-killer looking any different, can you?

Needless to say, I'm glad the matanza is over and that there isn't another one scheduled for this semester. While this experience failed to convert me to vegetarianism, it did make me feel like puking and/or crying.

I've let the matanza overshadow our visit to Córdoba, an error which I will now try to correct because Córdoba is really quite impressive. I had studied its famous mosque-turned-cathedral in Art History last year. I was dazzled by the rows and rows of red and white arches and the delicate light that entered through high-up windows and trickled down to the floor. I had high expectations for the visit to Córdoba, and those expectations were all surpassed by miles. I will let some of my photos do the talking:

The cathedral, which was built inside the mosque. Another burn on Islam!

An example of the aforementioned red and white

arches being bathed in delicate light.

The arches and some typical Islamic architecture.

The columns are all different from one another because they were recycled--taken

from ancient ruins! Sustainability points.

El grupo!

Well, I must say hasta luego. I have dance class tonight! More on that in my next post, I promise.

Hermanitas de los Pobres

Today was my first day at my volunteer job. I chose to work at an elderly residence called Hermanitas de los Pobres (it is run by nuns). So far it's not exactly what it was advertised as--which was going on walks with old people and doing arts and crafts with them--but that's okay. Hopefully there will be some arts and crafts in my future there, because I love arts and crafts so, so much, but if there aren't, I'll live. I mean, the promise of arts and crafts was definitely really appealing to me when I chose where I would volunteer, but it wasn't what sealed the deal. The real reason I liked the idea of Hermanitas so much was I thought it would be a great place to develop meaningful friendships--because a lot of the elderly are eager for these--and practice my Spanish. I was a little depressed by the mental capacity of some of the people I met today. I know that when you get older, you lose your memory and some people get Alzheimer's, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw today. I watched a 91-year-old woman named Carmen try to identify the first four letters of the alphabet and distinguish between the colors red, orange, yellow and green. It's scary thinking about that happening to my parents, people my age, me. My mind, my capacity for thought--even about stupid things like television and which cookies to buy--mean so much to me. I had the most fun I've ever had working on my high school newspaper because it was fast-paced, it required thinking things through from start to finish, and it required the ability to articulate one's thoughts. I don't ever want to lose those abilities. I don't want anybody to ever have to lose those abilities.

Well, I feel I must end my musings on a happier note, so here are two lists.

Funny things that have happened recently:

1. Jorge, the 3-year-old in my host family, has taken to calling me "culo gordito" (fat ass) and "fea" (ugly). "Buenas noches, fea!" Ouch.

2. I saw a little boy (not that little though. Probably like four or five years old) peeing in the street while his mother encouraged him. I was surprised by this because Sevilla is very clean and not in the third world.

Things I have learned from Juande:

Juande, my Communication teacher (the aforementioned Mercedes teaches Grammar) is a very colorful character. Highlights from his classes include

1. The time when he announced definitively that monogamy is unnatural. I tried to prove him wrong with the examples of lobsters and penguins (which I learned mate for life through "Friends" and Never Been Kissed, respectively), and he said, "no somos ni langostas ni penguinos," meaning, "when you grow up, you either won't get married or your husband will cheat on you." Sweet, Juande.

2. The time he tried to explain "playing doctor" to the class and we weren't sure if he was talking about little kids taking each others' temperatures with Fisher Price equipment or slightly older kids doing slightly naughtier things.

3. The time he told us to be careful where we announce how much we like churros because apparently the name of this delicious dessert is a euphemism for penis.

4. The time he kicked me out of class because I said Lady GaGa was the next Madonna.

I love Juande.