Espicha

Friday, July 8

First of all, I can’t believe it’s Friday already. One week of school down out of four.

It’s utter insanity how quickly the time has flown.

But in celebration of our first Friday here, the program threw a large espicha for all of us to attend. An espicha is a large party, particularly one that includes Sidra.

We all met at a bus stop a few blocks away from campus, got on specially rented buses, and drove to Tierra Austur, a local restaurant and bar.

They gave us free sidra and wine and a bunch of tapas, or appetizers. It was great to try all sorts of local-made cheeses, sausages, and bread, as well as calamari, tortilla españa (like a quiche, but very specific), and a few other foods. All of it was delicious and the place was so cool.

Here are a couple pictures:

Some of the food. Chorizo, jamon, tortilla espana, and quesos.

The chandelier thing they had out of wine bottles. Anyone else think my mom is going to make one?

Some of us inside one of the huge barrels. Me, Matilda, Maddy, and Craig. 

Anyway, after the official espicha, we all went out around the town. One of the students from Mizzou lives with a host brother named Santiago. He’s 17, speaks English, is about to start college and knows everything about Oviedo and the area. He’s a lot of fun and has also become our unofficial tour guide.

Santi took us to some bars and a little dance club he knows, and we all just had a great time. It was fantastic to get to really know the people on the trip.

Being one of only two relatively sober people for the night, I had the pleasure of helping everyone walk home. It was actually really fun, and walking around in the cool night air in Spain feels great.

By Spanish standards, we were complete babies because we all got home at around 2. You wouldn’t think it, but in fact my 50 plus-year-old host mom was still up, watching American movies on television. And while I went to go hit the hay, she was still going strong. Crazy! 

Siesta

Thursday, July 7

Occasionally I just crash.

As my parents (and really probably anyone who knows me well) can readily tell you, I’m a sleeper. I love naps, sleeping, pillows, blankets and all of it. And while my bed here in Spain isn’t exactly four-star quality comfort, it feels wonderful every night to sink into it.

We’ve been going non-stop all week with class, time for lunch, an excursion, and then sometimes even an evening out. And so today, despite the fact that the excursion was to the beach in Aviles, I just had to crash.

I’ll call it my first true Spanish siesta.

In case you’re not familiar with Spanish culture, the siesta is a traditional Spanish custom. As I’ve explained before, lunch is the big meal here, and it happens at around 2p.m. every day. Everything around town shuts down. Stores close from 1:30-4, banks close, school lets out, and most government-run businesses like the post office and tourist desks won’t reopen. The Spanish go back to their homes and enjoy a large meal with their family. The sit and talk and enjoy each other’s company, and then they go take a brief nap until they have to be back at work.

At my house here, we have lunch when I get home from classes at around 2:15. And we always watch crappy television. There are these two shows we watch every day: one that’s called something like Hombres y mujeres y los dos (Men and Women and Both) which is basically a Maury or Jerry Springer-type show where they send women on dates with random men and then stir up fights between them; and then another called La Buena Ley (The Good Law) where they have a court case, the audience fights over what should happen, and then a judge makes a ruling. My favorite episode thus far has been when two sisters were fighting over their mom’s wedding dress. The older one originally had it, but the other one stole it, along with the man the older one planned to marry. Great television.

Anyway, after that we watch the 3p.m. news. I usually watch about the first 10 minutes, which is enough for the 2-minute overview they give first and then the big news of the day. After that I go get ready for our afternoon activities with the program, which have thus far started at 4.

Today, however, I decided to finally take the siesta I had been looking forward to.

Without really having the intention, I fell asleep for two and a half hours. It seems ridiculous in retrospect, but I don’t regret my decision at all. It’s never really above 70 degrees here, so the beach would’ve been cold and probably only more exhausting. And sometimes, you just need the nap.

Hopefully this will be a rejuvenation and not a habit. As much as I love napping, my intention while here was never to miss out on Spain for sleep. I want to continue seeing as much as I can!

Gijon

Wednesday, July 6

Each day for the first week, we have an excursion with the group from our school. Monday was the trip around Oviedo that ended in Sider, Tuesday was the climb to Jesus, and today we had a train ride and tour to Gijon. The city is the other tourist destination in Asturias, the province of Spain I'm in.

The city is beautiful, and even a little more picturesque than Oviedo. All of the buildings are beautifully colored, there are two beaches, you can see the whole bay, and it's really just lovely.

Taken from the giant hill you can climb that juts out into the bay. 

And then of course, what good is a tour of a city if we don't try their Sider afterwards??

Five bottles for our group of like 20 people. The Spanish are ashamed of how little we drink.

Afterwards a group of about 10 of us from Mizzou went out in Gijon for drinks and good company and fun. It was beautiful, but the whole city by the bay thing meant it was incredibly cold. The highlight of the evening had to be running full speed to make it back to the train, which leaves every half an hour. No one wanted to wait for the next one, so we sprinted!!

Nerd Alert

Wednesday, July 6

I realized in review that I haven’t really talked about classes yet. I think that’s because the days are incredibly long here. By the time I sit down to write each night, the morning classes seem days ago. As I’ve put it more than once, the days last so long, but the month is going to fly by.

But classes are great so far. Over the years, I’ve never really had a Spanish teacher with much influence from Spain. The majority of them were Americans who had studied in Latin America somewhere for a semester or two, and I’ve only had one native speaker, and she was from Mexico. The Spanish is incredibly different. It’s sort of like the difference between English from England and from America. They’re most definitely the same language (not quite so with Australia, so don’t make that far of a comparison) but the vocabulary, the colloquialisms, and the accent are all different.

So having my first Spaniard for a Spanish teacher is a wonderful new adventure. It is a little bit odd to understand his accent. I don’t think I’ve mentioned the Spanish lisp yet, but it’s a big part of my life. Everyone here lisps naturally.

The word for thank you, in America, is pronounced gra-see-as. Not so in Spain. It’s gra-thee-is.

And every “s” they speak gets chopped up into this th sound. But if you ask them to pronounce a “th” (I don’t know, say in the name Kathy?) it’s impossible for them.

Though important, I digress. My teacher, his name is Victor, for our morning class (from 9:30-11:30 and again from 12-1) has been great so far. He’s very animated, doesn’t speak too far over my head, and is working with us on things that are expansions on grammar we should’ve already learned. Each day already, I feel like I’ve learned secrets to the whys of the language that I never got. In language classes, it’s easy to get lost in the what, but he puts a lot of emphasis on the why and the how. It’s fantastic for a grammar geek like me.

My afternoon class is with my Mizzou professor, Zemke. He’s so odd but so fantastic. He started us out on the first day with what he calls the “Zen approach” to language. Don’t translate anything, he says, and you’ll finally start to understand. It’s so difficult when I actually tried it with my host family. It’s like trying to hear but not listen, and then still understand what happened. I’m working on it.

And then today Zemke made me have like 6 different “aha!” moments in one hour of class. He explains a lot about the differences in language in general, and the interesting tidbits about native Spanish that you need to understand for poetry, which is the unit we’ve started with.

For example (if you’re not interested in the nuances of Spanish, skip ahead three paragraphs!!), in English we start our sentences with emphasis and trail off. Think of “How are you doing?” we trail off our pronunciation, put less and less emphasis on each word, and even slur vowels to become “ya” and “doin.” But in Spanish they build until the end of a sentence.

Also, one of the biggest differences is that English relies on rhythm to sound right. As Zemke put it, you can fit as many syllables as you want into a second of time, and as long as you keep the seconds straight, English sounds right. But in Spanish, every syllable has it’s own space of time, and once you set a rhythm, every syllable should have the same time.

Final nerd point, in English we think words are little golden nuggets of their own, and are completely separate from other words. But in Spanish, syllables rely on vowel placement, not on word barriers. For example, in the sentence “Pienso que el año es largo” (Simple Spanish for “I think the year is long”), the two E’s next to each other in que and el won’t each be fully pronounced because they are two strong vowels. And, even more obvious to anyone who has heard Spanish, el and año will combine into only two syllables because the vowel (remember that it’s being relied on to form the syllable) will borrow the l. It sounds more like la-ño.

If you’re not finding this as incredibly interesting as I am, that’s ok. I’m only explaining this because of my final point, which is that I’m finally getting a great opportunity to not just learn this, but hear it and attempt to speak it. I learned all of these things at 1p.m. and then went home and ate lunch with my host mom and tried to decipher where she was doing this.

I’ve only been in Spain for a week, but I guarantee that my Spanish has improved ten fold. So much for the last six years, I’ve spent six days and I feel like I’ve learned more!

I Can See Jesus from my Window

Tuesday, July 5

Today I climbed a mountain (I’m not being metaphorical; stick with me).

Let’s rephrase - today I climbed 2/3 of the way up a mountain in sandals, gave up, and walked solo on the way back down. I put in my iPod to help the time go faster and to distract from how bad my feet hurt, and the second song that comes on…

“Aint No Mountain High Enough.”

Believe me, the irony was not lost.

I was headed up the mountain, which is just outside of town, with a group from my program to see the replica of the Jesus statue from Brazil. I guess the one in Brazil is like 45 feet tall or something, and the one in Oviedo is closer to 25, but they still love it and it’s sort of a pilgrimage here to go visit it and look out over the whole valley that the city is in.

I still get props for trying right?

You can see this Jesus from all over Oviedo, including, as you might have guessed from the title of this post, from my window. It’s actually sort of served as a north star for those of us who can see it from our houses, because it is a good orientation for what direction you’re headed while walking around. And since the streets aren’t always clearly marked, it’s nice to have something to go by.

So now that I’ve explained why I climbed a mountain, I bet you’re wondering (or at least my mom is) why I tried to do it in sandals.

Well apparently, unbeknownst to me, my host mom has played host mom many times before, including for the past six months to a student from Ohio named Andrew. When I came back to our house on Monday night, Andrew was just here all of the sudden. Turns out, he had been on a backpacking trip across northern Spain, and she had apparently told me that and I utterly missed it. Call it a language barrier.

Anyway, Andrew leaves for home Wednesday morning; so naturally, Merce throws him a party on Tuesday for lunch, which is the big Spanish meal. So when I get back for my lunch, she feeds me really quickly and is like, “Oh yeah, my family is coming over.” (But in Spanish obviously.) I had no idea if I should stay or leave or participate or what. I definitely didn’t want to be in my room alone, so when they all arrived, I decided to leave. Don’t get me wrong, they were very nice, and one of her daughter-in-laws complimented me on my Spanish and said that I sound like I’ve lived here for a while, not just two days (utter lies, but a nice thought). But I was leaving in a hurry, and though I managed to grab my water bottle, I didn’t even think to change shoes. And then when I got to our meeting place and was wearing sandals, I didn’t want to have to go back to a house full of people.

Which brings me back down the mountain three hours later. I ran inside really quickly, said hello, changed shoes, got my laptop, and left again. I walked the few blocks down to Los Prados (the mall if you’re not a frequent reader of this blog) and I sat and used the internet for a couple of hours. I uploaded photos, updated my blog, replied to emails, checked Facebook, and googled some things about Oviedo I had been wondering. It’s amazing how much I rely on having constant internet at home, and how different it is to not have it.

But it’s also brought me to the important realization that I will not have internet every day, and that thus this blog has a small road block. The game plan, as you might have noticed, is to write a blog (thankfully Microsoft Word doesn’t need internet) every day and then post them whenever I have internet. I’ve started adding the dates so it’s easier to keep track of my mental state.

When I finally got back to the apartment after my internet binge, all but one of her kids had left. Andrew and I ate dinner while all of them talked. It was surreal, how fast they talk in Spanish and how fluent Andrew is. He could joke with them, interrupt them to ask a question, really anything. He was also incredibly nice to me, he could tell I could understand most of the conversation, but that I wasn’t keeping up enough to really participate, so occasionally he’d ask me questions about my life, explain stuff about his, and best of all, tell me the tricks of the trade with Merce. Between the three of us at dinner, we got my eating issues sorted out. Apparently, she just wants me to tell her comparisons for how I enjoyed things (such as this soup is better than the chicken from last night). Hopefully that will really help.

It was actually great to have Andrew around for the day, even though he leaves in the morning. It was sort of like living with a translator for both the language and the lifestyle. And Merce is much more animated around him, so we were able to have a livelier conversation and hopefully that will continue into the future as well.

So I guess overall, I both climbed mountains and moved mountains today, for all of the progress I feel like I made with Merce. Luckily, I’m only a few blisters worse for the wear.

Mi Dia Primero

Today felt like it lasted forever, but hopefully this blog post will not reflect the same.

This morning we had our first round of classes, which turned out to be little of the sort. Merce walked me to the campus, which is luckily only a couple of blocks down from our apartment, and we had a whole-group meeting in an auditorium. I was surprised at the collection of students in the room. There are about 20 of us from Missouri, and there was a group from Oregon, but other than that it seems to be mostly just one or two students from universities, sometimes not even students, but professors.

The program director and a few students from the Universidad de Oviedo led an introduction, talked about classes, and discussed excursions on weekends and little things they have planned for around the city. It almost seemed like the elephant in the room that they were speaking Spanish, since the vast majority of the people around would have been much better off with English.

After that we took our placement exam for classes, which consisted of a front and back written exam and a brief discussion with one of the professors to gauge your listening/speaking skills. I found out later in the day (and I was worried, mind you) that I did get into the advanced class that I needed for my classes for Mizzou.

Since we were done for the day, a group of about 8 of us walked to Los Prados. It's basically a mall. There is a 14-screen movie theater (THEY’RE SHOWING HARRY POTTER!), a huge food court, the equivalent of a Wal-Mart, and a whole bunch of smaller stores. I needed to get out of travel-sized toiletries, so I bought some shampoo and toothpaste and things like that. I also desperately needed tissues, since I am allergic to basically the entire outdoors here and have had a stuffed nose the whole time.

Then I walked back to the apartment, watched TV, and ate lunch with Merce. She made me some fantastic soup, and we had yet another discussion about her making me too much food.

At that point, we had a group tour of the city. It was a pretty good tour, and it lasted two hours. If you want to see pictures, my Picasa has a bunch. At the end, the tour guides, who are students at the university, bought everyone some Sider (pronounced see-dare) from a local bar. Sider is basically a European version of cider mixed with beer. It’s disgusting, but the locals, and even some people from our group, love it. It’s apparently an Oviedo thing, and they’re famous for it.

We made plans to meet back up for drinks at 9:30, so I went home and had dinner with Merce. I think with this meal, I finally got through to her about not wanting to eat so much food. She made chicken with an egg on top of potatoes. It was delicious, and I told her so multiple times, but I still think it hurts her feelings when I don’t finish everything she puts in front of me.

At the end of the day, I had a glass of wine with some new friends sitting outside of a little café. It was wonderful to just sit and enjoy the lively people and the beautiful scenery of Oviedo while we all told stories and shared about our lives. Hopefully the next month will be full of this kind of relaxing and beautiful evening, even though tomorrow, with the start of real classes, probably brings homework!

Mi Casa Nueva

Is it weird or stereotypical that I connect riding a train with Harry Potter? Only having ever ridden on a train once, it was quite an eye-opener to experience traveling from Madrid to Oviedo by train. There were about 25 platforms (such as Platform 9 and 10, but not 9 and ¾), and I was surprised by how much it felt like an airport. We had to find our schedule on the board, see which platform we were on, go through security and everything.

It’s also crazy how nice the trains are, and I wasn’t even in first class, unlike my Madrid companions. Right after we started traveling, they played a movie and when it was over they played television on the screens.

Typical to my nature, I fell asleep about 45 minutes into the ride, and was only awake for about the last half an hour. But in the short time I was awake, I got to see a lot of beautiful countryside. Near Madrid, Spain is pretty flat. Not Illinois flat, but not mountains either. As we got further north, you could see the mountains in the distance and they were green and beautiful and majestic.

Next time I woke up, we were in those mountains. Occasionally there would be a house set up amongst the hills, and I have to wonder how someone lives all the way out there. There never really appeared to be roads, and there was lot of space from house to house. It was also odd, maybe just to me, how long the tunnels we went through were. We would go into a tunnel and seem to just stay there, and it would 5 or more minutes before we were back outdoors.

Once we arrived in Oviedo, I had to grab my luggage and make my way to the pick-up area. I was incredibly nervous for this. I had arranged on the phone with my host mother that she would pick me up at 4. I kept repeating myself “domingo a las cuatro.” I could only hope that she would actually be there. When I came out to the waiting area, there were several people there with signs for other names I recognized from my group, but not my own name. As I’m looking around, a short, older woman comes up to me and says “Kathleen Rudd?” Despite the typical mispronunciation (“Rude”), I knew she was looking for me, and as she started chatting away in Spanish way faster than I could understand, we went outside to catch a taxi.

Her name is Merce (sounds sort of like Mercy, but shorter), and she is an incredibly sweet, older woman. She lives in a cute little apartment only a few blocks from the University, and when we got there, I met her brother, Carlos, who I think lives with her some of all of the time.

Here’s a picture of my room. She said they painted it just for me.

After I got settled and unpacked, she made me dinner. I wasn’t incredibly hungry, but ate as much of the salad, chicken, and pasta she gave me as I could to be polite. Still, when I was finished, she asked me if I didn’t like it and what I did like so she could make me something I’d eat. I tried to explain that I did enjoy it (the chicken really was good) and that she didn’t need to go out of her way. Hopefully, I didn’t insult her too much. 

Orgullo

One thing to note about Spain is their incredibly different concept of time for meals and sleep. Breakfast is about the same, around 8-10a.m., but lunch gets pushed back all the way until 2 or 3, before the siesta. And Spaniards don’t eat dinner until 9p.m. at the earliest.

As a group, we’ve tried to push back our eating times little by little, but it’s hard to adjust when you’re body has had a lifetime of expecting dinner at 6p.m. Today we at the latest we have all week at 8p.m. and we were the only people in the restaurant besides the girlfriend of one of the workers.

One of the most evident issues with time has been the incredible partying going on outside our window each night. There are several bars, a pizzeria, and a café right outside, and when the party only gets started at 9p.m. you can bet that it doesn’t end early. It’s strange, but there are literally more people on the streets at 5a.m. than there are at 5p.m. And once the party is over (and it never really is) they move all of the chairs from the outdoor patio and bring in a truck to wash it all, at which point it’s morning and the noise level has yet to die down.

It’s been difficult to sleep, but sort of in an endearing way. I imagine it’s a muted version of the way new parents must feel every time they get woken up. You hate that you’re awake and that 20 minutes of good sleep you just had is over, but you have this awe and excitement for the thing that woke you up.

And Madrid is exciting and awesome, the people are fantastic and so lively, all of the buildings are part of the beautiful Spanish architecture. We’ve done a little bit of the tourist-y things. We went to a couple of churches, including the one the royals used to attend until they moved to a church closer to the palace; we walked to a few fountains and plazas; we explored one of the largest parks in the city, which felt a little bit like it should be a zoo.

And then we walked out of the park into an even more zoo-like area. Without knowing it was this weekend, we have stumbled three times upon festivities from Pride Fest in Madrid. Pride, if you don’t know, is a huge celebration of the LGBTQ community. In Madrid, which has the largest gay district (not very PC, but that’s what it’s called) in Europe, Pride was a huge event. There were parades and concerts and all sorts of things going on.

This is their logo. “Orgullo” literally means pride. I just appreciate the cleverness that is only possible because this is Spanish.

Later that night, we went walking around La Puerta del Sol, the central area near our hostel, and found all sorts of street performers and characters, and even a fantastic band. Hopefully you can watch the video here:

Then we walked up the street in search of refreshments, and stumbled upon more Orgullo! It was a lot of fun and excitement and energy, and we weren’t even there late at night. A tour guide from our hotel (we didn’t go on the pub crawl he was guiding, so I felt guilty through our whole conversation) told us Orgullo is the largest party in Madrid each year, and that we shouldn’t miss it. But it really wasn’t a choice for me; I was too exhausted and had to be up the next day for my train to Oviedo. 

Hace calor

Hace calor simply means it's hot.

And let me tell you, it is HOT!

I feel like I have done nothing but sweat and feel uncomfortable and attempt to sleep despite the heat for the last two days. Unfortunately, I had a really bad stomachache and headache this afternoon, I think in part due to the heat. I'm feeling much better, and with the help of Leanne and Maddy, who brought me crackers and a seven up, I will hopefully make a full recovery.

Despite spending the afternoon napping (I'll call it a siesta instead of a nap, it sounds more cultural and less lazy), I have managed to see quite a few cool things already. In addition to the Plaza del Sol, where my hostel is, and all of it's surrounding area, we've also walked to Gran Via, a shopping district, a few churches, the national Congress building, the Ritz hotel, and we walked around but didn't go in the Prado, the world-famous art museum of Madrid. I believe that's on the list for tomorrow.

Anyway, here's the link to the Picasa album I have going, if you're interested in checking out the sites with me!

https://picasaweb.google.com/112626058496689085361/Spain2011?authkey=Gv1sRgCLGBv5HfkrC1zAE

El idioma

Of course, there is a huge language barrier for me in Spain. Yes, I've taken 6 years of Spanish, and yes, I've spoken and listened and read and all of it before. But that doesn't stop the constant inundation of Spanish from being occasionally overwhelming.

I'm pretty sure from people's facial expressions that they can immediately tell when I speak that I'm an American. More than once, the person has just switched to English for me, instead of waiting for me to pick up what they're saying in Spanish.

I'm not sure how this makes me feel exactly. Part of me is grateful that I'm understood in some way, and part of me is upset at the last six years and why exactly I'm still not anywhere near fluent. It'll be interesting to see if, after a month of living in a Spanish household and taking literature and civilization classes, if I've greatly improved or not. Fingers crossed.

On the flip side, one of the weirdest and coolest things is sitting at a cafe or in the lobby with the two girls from Mizzou, chatting in English, as is completely normal for us, and getting odd looks because suddenly we're the ones speaking a minority language.

I've been on the other side of the table for that one, and I've always thought it was really cool that those people could just sit there and speak another language, but let me tell you that it's harder to break out of the shell of what's normal. You don't think "Oh, I'm speaking another language right now." You're just speaking, the effort is only when the waiter asks you what you'd like or when the shop owner gives you your total in euros, in Spanish.

Speaking of totals, I bought my first Spanish item. 3 guesses which stereotypically me item it is??