¡Sevilla!

I have officially been in Sevilla for almost four whole days. It seems like it has been a month with all that we have packed in. So, lets start from the beginning.

Cade and I met our host family on Thursday night. We have a wonderful mother, Paula, who really wants to make sure we understand her. She speaks some English, but refuses to use it unless we really don’t understand her. She is an incredible cook and, I think, has some crazy past life. She is so quiet and reserved, and then out of nowhere she is doing flamenco in the kitchen. Wonderful woman. Our father, José, appears to be a history aficionado. I think he is extremely smart and knows everything – except for how to speak slowly. I can get about 25% of what he says on a good day. However, that is better than the 5% on the first day we were here. Eventually I will benefit from his unending wisdom.  Sergio is our 15 year old little brother, who is great, he knows a bit of English and likes to learn English words as much as we like to learn Spanish words. We do little exchanges. Claudia is our almost 10 year old little sister. Sassy is the only word to describe her. She also ends every sentence with “¿me entiendes?” which means “do you understand me.” Sassy, that one.

Anyway, that is our family. We live in a tiny 4 bedroom apartment super close to El Centro, meaning we are 10 minutes away from everything, hypothetically. We generally get lost and so we leave 30 minutes early for everything. The streets are like a laberinth here. Seriously. Half the roads are not on the map that was given to us (now worn, torn, and creased), and half of the roads on the map do not have street signs. I am sure we will get it eventually.

My dad spoke with the conductor of the Madrid (?) symphony a few months ago and mentioned that I was studying in Sevilla. The man laughed and said, “She won’t be studying there.” Boy did he know Sevilla. There is somuch to do. The nightlife is awesome and the cultural ways of doing things are so different from in the US. Take timing, for example. We eat lunch around two, dinner around nine, and going out before eleven is lame. You can walk down the streets at 2:30am and there are still massive amounts of people everywhere. Not just young people partying, but all ages, sitting around tables at café’s with a glass of wine or a beer.

Cade and I went out on Friday night, had a couple of drinks with some friends from our group, and throught we were so hardcore for not getting home until 2:30 that morning. At lunch the next day Paula, our host mom, asked how late we were out. When we answered, she responded with “Pfft” and a shrug of her shoulders. Our mom did that. It is a different culture, and I love it. However, getting home, early, at 2:30am isn’t going to cut it with a class starting at 9:00am.

Speaking of classes. I had my first class, Introducción de Literatura Española. That is going to be an interesting and terrifying class. Something about taking a class in Spanish in Spain… I am taking four other classes, Conversación y Redacción (Conversation and Retention), International Business, and International Marketing. I will let you know how those go when I have them, look for post number four, coming soon.

Back to this weekend. (I just realized this is going to be a really long post, sorry.) A bunch of us had a very “When in Spain…” attitude and bought tickets for a bull fight. That was a fascinating experience, one that will not be repeated. Let me sum up what goes on in a bull fight, if you are squeamish or an animal rights activist, I would suggest looking up cute puppies on Google at this point.

First there is a big procession with all of the people involved in the fight. I couldn’t help but chuckle when the matadors stepped out, yes they really do wear those sparkly, tightfitting outfits, with the pink socks.

After the procession leaves the ring again, the matador goes and kneels in front of the door where the bull comes out. He spreads his flag-thing (scientific, huh?) our in front of him and then gives the signal that he is ready. At this point, the crowd literally shushes anyone making any noise. This guy is bravely (stupidly?) risking his life, give him some respect.

After the bull charges out, the matador waves the flag, basically enraging the bull and making him charge. At this point, other matadors come out to wave their flags in order to confuse and enrage the bull further. During the first bull, while they were doing this, the bull charged one of the less experienced guys and literally trampled him. They rushed him to the hospital, but I guess it happens a lot because the show went on.

When this gets a little less exciting, these special men in other sparkly suits come out with little hook/spears.  They stand there looking a bit like a praying mantis, They run at the bull (okay, pause, who in their right mind runs at a bull?), and stick the hooks into the bulls back. It is all very aesthetic, because the hooks are colorful and coordinate with each other. They stick (or attempt to stick) six total hooks into the bull.

At this point, the bull is even madder. I mean, I guess I would be too if there were six hooks sticking out of my back. The wave the flag some more, the matador getting closer and closer to death. Then when that gets boring, the men on horses come out with big spears. This was the worst part for me, because sometimes the bull would charge the horses and lift them up with the horns. The horses had armor-like stuff on, but still. The poor little guys couldn’t see what was coming. Anyway. The men stabbed the bulls when this happened, and yup, you guessed it. The bull got even more mad.

After some more flag waving, near death experiences, and cheers from the crowd (only at certain times, other times, SHHHHH), the matador pulls out a very shiny sword. The matador approaches the bull, appearing to seduce it, entices it, it runs, he runs, and BAM. Sword through bull. Bull dies. Crowd cheers. Then they drag the dead bull around the arena.

Rinse and repeat 5 more times.

All in all it was a very interesting event to have been a part of. Would I go again? No. Would I recommend it? Yes. It is a big cultural thing that is entrancing to experience, if not also a bit nauseating. So that was bull fighting.

Sevilla is a city impossible to describe with words. I am going to attempt it anyway with a bit of rambling about what I see out of the window right now. It is alive, loud, and historic. There are bikes everywhere, women riding mopeds in heels and dresses, no flip flops, and hot. The people here speak fast and cut off the ends of their words. Our director told us that if we could understand and speak with Sevillianos, we could understand and speak with anyone. Ninety percent of the homeless people here have dogs, they are also incredibly polite. The men are not shy with compliments, and the women dress impeccably all of the time. There are lots of tourists, but hardly any natives speak English. The coffee is great, but good luck finding tea anywhere except for Starbucks (Which, embarrassingly enough, is where I am right now. A good cup of tea is perfect for a sore throat. My house mom blames  it on us keeping the window open at night and not wearing shoes in the house.)

Well that is that. I could write for hours, but I will hold back for now. If you felt so inclined as to comment or shoot me an email it would be awesome. Also, if you think about it, prayer for acclimation and establishing a routine would be very welcome; all of this hustle and bustle is a little tiring right now.

If you are still with me, thank you. It really means a lot that people back home are thinking about me and interested in what I am doing here. It is a beautiful experience but I wish I could better share it with the people I love and care about back in the States.