Tag Archives: food

Mañana, Mañana

The past 10 days have been a whirlwind. It’s been a struggle to find time to post, but now that I’ve gotten into a pretty good schedule, I’ll be much more on top of things. For the first few days, I would immediately fall asleep whenever I touched my bed. The busy schedule is enough to leave you exhausted. Not to mention all of the walking around the city. And of course, the jet lag is real.

Here are some things I wish I had known before I left and have had to learn very quickly.

Luggage can and will be lost. Pack your carryon bag with at least one outfit and hygiene essentials. (No liquids more than 100mL allowed in your carryon bags, so be careful. Getting stopped at security is a hassle best to be avoided.)

Exhausted. Luggage stuck in London

What a way to start our trip. Our layover in Heathrow, London was short and I guess it took a while to transfer all of the bags from our first plane to the connecting flight to Barcelona. Half of our flight’s luggage didn’t make it. This included my suitcase and two of Lauren’s. It was surreal when the baggage carriage stopped turning, signaling that all of the luggage had been unloaded, and our carts were still empty. We were in a brand new country with none of our clothes. Great.

If this happens to you, do what we did. Go to the lost baggage claim and give them your boarding pass. Then, describe the suitcase that you had lost and provide an email where they can contact you when the luggage is located. If you provide your address, the airport will have the suitcase delivered as soon as it is located.

Lauren excitedly awaiting her luggage… that never came.

My suitcase came the next day, and luckily I had enough clothes inmy carryon to somewhat clothe me and Lauren until my bag came. Lauren didn’t have any clothes in her carryon, and her luggage didn’t come for three days. Someone told me that about 85 percent of luggage is delayed while traveling abroad. Be prepared.

2. People don’t work on the weekends, and most businesses are closed on Sundays.

Mañana, mañana is a saying in Spain that describes the work ethic of the people here. Everything is very relaxed, which is great. But it also means a lack of efficiency.

Our shower has been broken twice since we got here and it has been extremely difficult to get it fixed because it always breaks right before the weekend, where no one is around or willing to fix it. There is a lesser sense of urgency than in the United States, which is something that needs to be accepted.

We also found that all of the major shops, except for the cafes and restaurants, were closed on Sundays. Our day for being productive and crossing errands off our list turned into a huge waste of time when we took the train to Plaça Catalunya to find everything closed.

3. It is winter in Barcelona, despite the 60 degree weather.

If you walk around in a short-sleeve T-shirt in January, you will be stared at.

If you go out at night in a crop top and a skirt, no tights and no jacket, people will stare out of the windows and laugh at you. Because no matter how warm that weather is compared to Penn State, it is still winter. The temperature fluctuates enough that I would also recommend bringing your winter coat.

Bring a jacket to the bars and clubs that you don’t mind holding, or bite the bullet and pay for the coat check. Or, be the American that doesn’t mind the cold and ignore the stares. But you will stand out, and that isn’t always a good thing.

4. Cat calls are everywhere, and so are money scams.

You will be whistled at and called to on the streets if you are a girl. Just keep walking, it’s pretty harmless. One guy screamed in my friend’s ear when we were out in Tarragona, but that was just weird. You should never walk alone at night, even if you are a guy. There are particular areas you should avoid when it’s dark and it’s really important to know them before you go out, no matter what city you are studying in. In Barcelona, Las Ramblas becomes particularly sketchy at night if you are not in a group.

People asking for money are everywhere in Barcelona. While it may tug at your heartstrings, this is where judgement and a bit of cynicism comes in. The first day on the train a young boy got on and put a pack of tissue on the empty seats next to us and one on our windowsill. Attached was a short paragraph and a picture of him and what he said was his daughter. The paragraph was asking for money to help feed his daughter and support their life together. I was so sad when I saw it, but the next day I saw at least three other men doing the same exact thing. Your money is limited while abroad and you don’t want to be the sucker that falls for the scam. Be aware.

5. Sometimes you just have to pay.

Sometimes you just have to pay a little bit more for a better experience. It’s hard not to be obsessed with spending money and the current exchange rate. (Although right now it’s the best it’s been in a while!) But it’s important not to let it stop you from experiencing all the great things that the city has to offer. This is the time to enjoy life to the fullest. Be smart with your money, but understand that this may be the exact opportunity that you have been saving for for all these years. It’ll never happen again.

Budgeting is important and saving money where you can is definitely a must. We try to find the cheapest bars and lunch spots. We’ve started going back to our dorm during our lunch break so that we don’t have to pay at a cafe or restaurant, even though it’s about a 20 minute trip. But, indulging every once in a while is part of the experience and nothing to feel guilty about.

Once we start traveling I’m sure that I’ll figure out some more tips for booking the cheapest flights and hostels. I hope this post was helpful!

The best lunch I have had in Barcelona from Mussols right off of Plaça Catalunya

Mushroom croquets and vino rosado with Lauren to celebrate the start of classes at the PETIT POT Bistro

Crab croquets, veal and potatoes from our dorm’s dining hall

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 2

Adfrenchures: Chapitre 2
Jeu d’enfant / Child’s Play

Tea lights flickered in their lanterns, hanging from a fig tree in the backyard. A handful of rowdy toddlers switched off playing with binoculars, a plastic truck, and three heavy p�tangue balls, quite graciously taking turns with their toys. As I stood guard between the kids and the blazing logs of the barbeque fire, Liam, 4 years old, waddled up to me and gave me a stuffed tiger. It was bigger than him, so that when he carried it, the back legs dragged through the grass.

“This is yours now,” he told me in baby French. I accepted the tiger graciously.

“Thanks, I’ll hang on to him for you,” I said, but then he motioned for me to crouch down.

“The tiger’s sick,” he informed me gravely, “His tail is hurt.”

Understandably, I went into emergency mode.

“We need a doctor! Is anyone a doctor? Doctor Mila! Calling Doctor Mila!” I shouted urgently. My host sister ran over, as this was a game we had played before with her teddy bear. (That poor teddy bear keeps getting sore throats.) She more or less tried to stick the binoculars up the stuffed tiger’s butt, and then declared him miraculously cured. She and Liam wandered off to go sit on the swings.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with my host family for this past week. With the start of class at Paul Val�ry and all the new things to do here, it’s left me barely enough energy to do my homework, let alone write this blog entry that’s been stewing in my brain for weeks.
I hope to write more consistently as I get settled in to a schedule and manage to actually attend my courses. I promise not all of my blog entries will be this long!

Last Friday, we went to a friend’s BBQ, where everyone was either under 10 or over 30. Many of the parents were like Anysia and Mathieu with children around 3 years old.

No one was able to truly relax and talk until 22h (10pm), when the kids were put to bed upstairs, the BBQ was finished, and about seven empty bottles of wine* littered the table. Liam gave me the stuffed tiger to hang onto again, so it sat underneath my chair while I ate. It was easier to talk to the kids, as when they didn’t understand me, they looked at me like I was a crazy person. Sometimes adults are too polite.

Over a huge stack of the most delicious barbeque I’ve ever eaten, I mostly listened as the adults talked about their children: the start of the new school year, Mila’s newfound fear of witches and monsters that made putting her to bed difficult, how to tackle the question when a toddler asks you “What happens after we die?” and isn’t satisfied with the response “No one really knows.” In fact, other than the French food and geographic location, this BBQ could’ve been a group of parents in any country.

Eventually, as is apt to happen, the conversation turned to differences between the United States and France. This is generally when I have to take off my listening cap and try to form coherent sentences in another language, so the pressure is on. We talked about the go-to comparison that everything in France is smaller (or, depending on your perspective, everything in the US is bigger). We talked about tipping waiters, and one dad informed me that he found the servers in the US to be one thousand times nicer than those in France.

“You walk in and they say ‘Hi, how are you? Here’s what we have on our daily menu,’ and they laugh and joke with you. Servers in America want to be your friend,” he explained, “It completely shocked us.”

“That explains why when I smile at servers here and ask for coffee, I’m so confused when they don’t talk to me,” I realized aloud. The icy cold blood of French servers was confirmed by the whole table.

But honestly, when it comes to cultural comparison, there isn’t much difference between America and France when it comes to the everyday / quotidien.

France isn’t like stepping into a different world. It’s like stepping into the same world, only you have to pull the flush button up instead of down and use bread to clear your plate instead of leaving it and say “God thanks (Dieu merci)” instead of “Thank God.”

France is like walking into your room only to find all of your things have been slightly rearranged. Your furniture isn’t in exactly the right place and some small things are missing. Maybe a window seems to have popped up on a different wall. But it’s still fairly recognizable as your room. In fact, you find many of the changes useful and don’t miss a lot of the things that aren’t there.

Ryan, who’s Geoblogging from South Korea, asked me to talk about French people’s habits and how they compare to stereotypes. This sensation of simply being in a shifted room has made it difficult for me to narrow down what’s simply human from what’s more ‘definitively French,’ whatever that means.

For instance, Mila cries every morning because she doesn’t want to go to school. We eat dinner around 6:30 or 7:00 and finish around 8:00 or 8:30 every night, which is a little later than in the US. There is no dryer in the house; they hang their laundry out to dry. On Saturday mornings, we go to the local farmer’s market under Les Arceaux and buy groceries. Then we drink “un coup” with friends at the caf� La Cigale, because the market is almost more social experience than shopping trip.

It’s been three weeks, and I can count on only one hand the number of times I’ve had a peaceful tram ride. I am constantly being hit on by French men, something that I seem to be experiencing with greater frequency and severity than others on the program. The French have different body language when out in public– they are cold, uninterested, and bustling. It’s difficult for me to reign in my eyes when I want to look at everything, so the program and I think the problem might be that I’m still adapting to French body language. Loud headphones and a book on the tram have not stopped the requests for my phone number or, that one time, from a random guy trying to romantically tuck my hair behind my ear. Uh, pardon, monsieur. I don’t know you and I just told you, “Sorry, leave me alone.”

Small cultural difference: pepper spray is ostensibly illegal in France.

One difference between the France and the US is the university system. In keeping with my room metaphor, the French university system is as if someone came into your room, exchanged your laptop with one from the early 90’s, and then proceeded to throw all your stuff around as if a tornado had passed through the house.

The course registration process is a nightmare, and that’s where the University of Minnesota study abroad team are absolute life savers. They do most of the legwork and we just leisurely select our schedule out of a compiled list of classes. Erasmus students and other programs don’t have this luxury; they need to show up, in person, at the secretary of every department they need to schedule a class in, wait in line, and physically write their name on a piece of paper. Even then, there may or may not be secondary or tertiary steps for them to confirm their inscription.

I have showed up for three classes this week where I was not able to successfully learn. For the first, the professor did not show up. For the second, the class was permanently moved to a different day and time, without informing half the class. For the third, my contemporary dance class, the professor was two hours late and showed up just in time to say, “Hello, see you next week!”

As for smoking, the critically-thinking PLA member in me just can’t figure it out. The stereotype is that everyone smokes in France. A great number do. If you go out on the streets, you will see many more smokers than in the US (probably, I am literally eyeballing this number).

A ton of people here handroll their own cigarettes with papers, filters, and loose tobacco. My artist host dad handrolls his blond tobacco cigarettes after breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and while he’s working in his studio; however, I have seen high school students outside of the Lyc�e Joffre rolling themselves a Marlboro. So the frequency of handrolled cigarettes is another one of those “slightly adjusted furniture” moments.

But is it really that there are more smokers? Or is it that smoking is more socially acceptable in France, so they feel more comfortable smoking out in public, and thus we see them more, providing the illusion of more smokers?

I also can’t figure out if smoking is a class marker in France or not. Generally, in the United States, smoking cigarettes tends to mark someone as of a middle or lower class. (By contrast, smoking cigars is seen as a luxurious, manly interest.) Sometimes, cigarettes serve an aesthetic purpose, going with someone’s “style.”

When it comes to France? Who the hell knows. Definitely not me.

It’s nearly 7pm here and time for dinner. My host sister is sitting next to me, looking at the pictures of a comic book and pretending to read the speech bubbles. Earlier, she put on a “cirque” for me, which consisted of her shouting music-ish-sounding noises and waving around a scarf while occasionally falling onto the ground. She just told me that after dinner, I am reading her a story, so surprise, I have plans! [Later, after dinner (I get to have duck pat� with bread tonight!), I’m meeting some friends to check out Montpellier’s night life.]

Until then, I’ll be diligently saving the lives of stuffed tigers, researching invisibility potions for the tram, and chronicalling my mundane, Western-industrialized everyday adventures. Oh, and probably some pictures from S�te next time– we’re going on an excursion this weekend!

Au revoir!

—

*Split between 11 people.

Location: Les Arceaux, Montpellier, France

Arthur’s Pass and Wildfoods

This past weekend I traveled with a group of about 30 kids (along with 3 RA’s) on a weekend trip to Arthur’s Pass and Hokitika for the Wild Food Festival.

Taking off Friday morning we stopped a place or two along the way including Castle Hill, a series of speculated rock formations that are beyond fun to climb all over. There was a group shot taking under them before we were able to explore for a little over an hour, taking pictures and the guys daring each other to climb the highest most impossible rocks and jump from one to another (which was really unsafe) but thankfully no one got hurt.

We then continued to drive through the Southern Alps, still covered in green, and took pictures off all the great rock formations and rivers that cut through the Alps’ valleys.

Once we got into Arthur’s Pass we found our cabins not too far from the center of town, claimed beds and then went off for a hike up to Devil’s Punch Bowl. It wasn’t too hard of a tramp but it leads you up to one of the most fantastic waterfall with a big pool at the bottom that the group did not hesitate to go down the slippery wet path and into the freezing pool. I must say it was completely worth it, even though I had a cold at the time. I discovered it’s really windy and loud near a waterfall so it’s hard to hear people near you but the gest of most conversations is how cold it was. Of course all the guys just dove right in and swam around and I took it a little slower easing into the pool so my legs would numb up but of course with how slippery everything was I ended up falling right in anyway and getting soaking wet.

Saturday was spent in Hokitika or Hoki as the locals call it. There we went to the Wildfoods Festival and spent a few hours looking at all the booths and eating crazy foods. You could get anything from rocky mountain oysters to fresh honey comb there. The weirdest thing I partook in had to be the sheep brains. It was so disgusting that I could only eat a small portion of it, no one could finish more than a small bite, and ended up gagging at least 3 times. It was watery, had the weirdest consistency of anything I’d even eaten and was of course covered in barbeque sauce.

The best food there by far was the shark on a slice of bread with lemon and tartar sauce. It was so good I was ready to go back and get another helping if I hadn’t been saving my hunger for other oddities.

After we left the festival we headed down to the beach and lazed about in the sun till it was time to head back to Arthur’s Pass so we could take off first thing Sunday morning.

Of course one tourist stop was made in the mountains where we took a van group shot before hoping back in and making it back to campus around 1pm in order to recuperate for classes the next day.

Location: Hokitika, NZ

Quiero conocerte, Sevilla

The title of this entry, “quiero conocerte,” means, “I want to get to know you.” A nice way of saying I like you, I think I’ll hang around! It’s nice when new friends say this, and I love that this is exactly how I feel about Spain 🙂

Walking home, along the river:

My huge apartment building:

Starting Intensive Grammar

Every day from 3-6pm, I have class at the CIEE study center. That means leaving from the square near where we live at least a half hour before class to get there on time. It sort of eats our day, having a 3 hour class in the middle of it, but we’ve still been having some interesting experiences nonetheless. Randa was a little sick for a few days, but I have class with Hannah, so we’ve been sticking together most days. Taking another Spanish grammar class is especially boring for me, and grading is pretty tough! There’s no leeway for forgetting to add a certain part of an assignment, or special treatment, even if your Spanish is great. From what I’ve heard though, this is what to expect of any academic setting in Spain. There’s no eating, challenging the professor, or second chances in class here. I’m getting a good bit out of it though, looking up a lot of words in the pocket diccionario that I brought, and enjoying the moments between activities and lessons that we spend listening to rockola.com, which is like a Spanish Pandora.com. Hopefully having that at my disposal will help my comprehension.

Adjusting to My New Linguistic Identity

I mentioned this briefly in a former post, and am finding it more and more prevalent, the more I interact with native Spanish speakers. Wanting to express a certain part of my personality, but not being able to, is one of the most intimidating, and difficult things about making new such friends. I’ve been going out and spending time with a couple of people who only speak Spanish, and though it’s cool that they consider me bilingual for being able to communicate with them, and speak English, it’s beyond frustrating at some times. When I can’t made a funny remark, explain something in detail, or understand a story being told, I feel like I need to just start over learning Spanish all over again, and that’s discouraging. Luckily, people are patient for the most part. Willing to rephrase, or say things again slower, or emphasized differently. The accent, much as I can mimmic pretty well, still throws me off some times. Today, I made my friend Carlos repeat himself more than 3 times, when what I heard coming out of his mouth was “pixa,” and didn’t seem to make any sense, before I realized he was talking “pizza.” When I finally got it, I just rolled my eyes and made fun of his accent. I felt a little stupid for having needed to ask for so many repetitions, but sometimes there’s nothing more to do, and I’d rather understand than not know!

Spain in Action

On Tuesday we were leaving the study center to head for a caf� in town that we like, walking on the main road, when we ran into an enormous crowd of people. As we got closer, we could hear shouts and then chanting, and noticed that a bunch of people had signs and matching t-shirts on. Both bore the photo of a girl who didn’t look older than 14, and had her name – Marta del Castillo. According to an article that Hannah found and read to me, it was an anniversary of her disappearance. The true controversy of the matter is that though her boyfriend came forward saying that he murdered and threw her in the river (the one I cross over every day to walk into town :/ kinda scary when Hannah and I realized that), there has not been justice. Because they could not confirm that the boyfriend was culpable, or find a body, it seems the police and justice system at large left the mystery unsolved. Tens of thousands of people across the country have joined the city of Sevilla, and Marta’s parents in a desperate cry for justice. Apart from the unbelievable story that is headliner, I found it amazing that the people of Spain united in this way to speak out against silence. Hannah did too, and said she didn’t understand why it was such a big deal, “This happens all the time in America, but people in the States don’t do that,” she remarked. I agreed that it was really incredible to see people making such a big to-do, because they really believe that together they can change things. I hope they do.

The Way People Are

Spending time in caf�s after class is a good way not only to get homework done, but also an opportunity to see how else Spanish natives function when they are together. Hannah and I sat at a table across from each other, while other students did the same throughout the tiny establishment. At one point, 5 middle-aged Spanish friends walked in together, and upon failing to drag to tables together because of the huge weight on the bottom of them, and the lack of space, they simply resigned to all sitting around one tiny table. In Europe, it seems, it’s not unusual for people who know each other well to be in close quarters if need be. The group was sitting almost shoulder to shoulder and they didn’t seem to be complaining about it!

In our apartment, we watch a lot of TV. Everything from “telenovelas” (soaps), game-shows (which are the hardest for me to follow, because of all of the cultural references and often, quick paced interaction), “noticias” (news), and movies are concerned with the state of “El Pa�s” (“The Country,” a common reference to Spain, and also the name of a main news source here). Most everything we watch, even the likes of the Spanish version of “How It’s Made,” talks about the bad economy. Tonight however, the message really started to hit home. Apparently SpanAir just went bankrupt, so newscasters were talking to people waiting in the airport to get different flights or go home. There was also a segment about the people who worked for them, who were all saying they didn’t know what they were going to do next, or how they would find work again. One woman said she’d been a flight assistant since she left high school. These kinds of stories really bring to light the meaning of common terms used here, such as “crisis,” which is on the lips of Spaniards everywhere, and plastered on walls in the form of posters and graffiti (I know it’s looks like English, but the Spanish word, [KREE-SEES] carries a lot more meaning lately).

On top of the economic hardship, and the lack of jobs, it’s clear there are other problems in Europe that might slip under the international radar, but do not go unnoticed by natives, or the news. The other day when we were watching the news, there was a(nother) story about a woman who was murdered by her husband, due to extreme domestic violence. The people here seem so calm and with it, I wouldn’t have thought of Spain as a place where that’s something to worry about, and Loli seemed to think it was out of the ordinary how many tragic occurances there have been like this in the past few years.

Art in Town 🙂

There’s a lot of random graffiti, street art, and other forms of expression going on in Seville. Everywhere you walk, there are either big murals on walls, pictures of saints on tile, or flamenco dresses in windows. The buildings themselves are mostly old, stone or brick structures that have maintained their form, and either wear an antiquated layer of dark dust and grime, or have been cleaned to show the bright grey color of their walls. There are also memorials, statues, and free-standing structures in plazas and parks all over the place. When I went for a run with Hannah and Randa yesterday morning, there were murals and graffiti the whooole way down the place where we ran, which was a good 3 kilometer stretch along the river (and absolutely awesome, not to mention). We even saw some kids with sketch pads and brushes, painting away over some older work.

Some of my own art, this is the main bridge that goes across the river to the “Mainland” of Sevilla:

and a view of some palm trees in Triana, from the other side of the rio:

Mmmh I love the Food!

I’ve pretty quickly come to learn why they say that the mediterranean diet is among the healthiest. Some days, Loli serves me whole plates of steamed greens, like spinach – which is usually mixed with chick peas – or cooked beans; sometimes potatoes and cauliflower with a fried egg; and almost always bread with the meal to sop up oils and juices, and oranges or yogurt at the end of the meal. I love it! The food is always fresh, and lately it’s been really interesting too. We had seafood for a few days, which included whitefish and shrimp with melt-in-your-mouth soft, chopped potatoes in a light broth for dinner one night, and a seafood macaroni and cheese the next day for lunch when Loli’s daughter, her husband, and their baby came to town. Today we had fried potatoes with egg, it was good but I feel like I need to go for another run after all the carbs!! Dinner though, was all protein – garlic-lemon chicken from last night, and mushrooms in olive oil – yum!

Stay tuned! I’ve got a trop to C�rdoba with my program in two weekends, and the week after that, Carnaval in C�diz, with We Love Spain.

Location: Triana. Sevilla, Spain.

A Million Minutes in a Day

Arrival and Start of Orientation!

So once everyone arrived on Monday, we all realized that our rooms were organized by first name, so I was in a room with two girls named Hannah! At first we thought it was a coincidence but then the room of Emilys and the room of Ashleys, and the room of Amandas assured us otherwise.

Dinner was great, there were lots of fresh veggies and fruit, and some meat, which looked good – for those who would eat it.

After eating, everyone took some time to primp and then split up and go out for drinks and to walk around. I ended up with girls from the room of Ashleys and a bunch of kids from Penn State, so it was fun to sit around and talk Happy Valley with some new and some familiar faces. A few of us that had Spanish 3 together freshman year are planning to go to Ronda, where our professor for that class was from, at some point in the semester. Ronda is unique for its beautiful landscape of cliffs and mountains, many peoples’ homes are carved right into caves and the sides of cliffs! Worth the trip, and in your case, checking out some photos 😉

I’ve spoken to some of the other kids from PSU who have both been here for a a few days and still arriving. I hope I have the opportunity to spend some time with them, this will be such a great experience for all of us to have together and go back to State with memories! Funny enough, the bar we went to tonight was Irish. So much for acquainting with the Spanish culture!! I’m sure though, that we’ll get plenty of that over the course of the semester 🙂

Pretty much everyone got back the the hotel by about 1am, which is very early for a normal night out here. We had to get up pretty early the next morning and most people were very jet-lagged from just having arrived, so that was a good thing.

Another Long and Busy Day

Breakfast yesterday, which I’d missed the day before, was great! There were cheeses and prunes, olives, tomatoes with mozzarella and pesto, and a variety of hot dishes that I decided against when I saw all the fresh fruit! Our “guia,” or guide, Carmen, told us that this was not very traditional breakfast food, and more typical of a hotel than a morning spread at home.

After breakfast, we left for 4-5 hour tours of town. We walked around the area where O’Neil’s was to see part of the university, and try to get bus (which is really just a giant rail car that shares the street with regular street cars) tickets, but as Carmen said, sometimes they’re just not available at the nearest kiosk. So we walked a little further, and then took it all the way through the part of town where I’d had dinner on the first night, and into el Centro, where the Cathedral, tons of shops, the main bank, and university buildings are located. We saw so many things on the tour that day, it would be hard to recount. I’m sure we’ll see them all again and I’ll write about and have photos of them in due time.

During orientation they reiterated a lot of things that we’d read or heard about prior, but some things were new. Things like warnings about the fact that everyone wears slippers in the house because most homes (apartments, in our cases) have tile floors that get very cold in the winter. We finally found out about our homestays, most of which were with families. Mine was with a woman and her elderly mother in an area called Triana, where I would live within blocks of all of the girls from my orientation group, and walking distance across the bridge from the university. We also had some information sessions about our classes and homestays, between which (and through the start of the latter of the two) I slept because I was soo exhausted from the constant activity. The same was true today between breakfast and our check out at noon, probably because we had such a late night last night. We left the hotel after a short “descanso” (break), and headed for a flamenco show in town. The area we went to is called Barrio (neighborhood) de Santa Cruz, and used to be inhabited by the Jewish population of Sevilla. Now, there are some remnants of their presence, but mostly in the form of galleries and small pieces of Judaica in little glass cases. I saw one such case in La Casa de la Memoria de Al-Andalus (clearly more recently Moroccan-influenced), which was neat because everything else here is of very intensely Catholic, and/or Moorish roots – like the Catedral, which is a breathtaking mix of the two.

The flamenco itself was incredible. About 90 of us sat squeezed into a high-ceilinged room with a wide banner of ornate tile all the way around. There were old deep red brick-tile floors where the concrete underneath was partially exposed in one small spot from the continuous stomping of heels to a traditionally Spanish beat. After a routine, but comical advisory not to use cameras until the end, and that smoking and videos were prohibited, the show began. First, two men entered the room and sat in two chairs on the small stage. One played guitar while the other clapped, tapped his feet, and sang. Next they moved off to sit behind the stage, and were joined by a dancer, who wowed the crowd with his sharp but flowing spins, stomps and turns. A woman eventually joined them to clap, and occasionally called out various phrases and words in time with the music. Later she danced while the male dancer did the same for her. It was when she was dancing that I remembered the profundity of the emotion behind this art. I was overcome with awe by the reality that flamenco begged of the dancer what I would expect to be a very deep emotional commitment, as well as a physical one. The man and woman then danced together, and made an abrupt exit before coming back in for a short encore and bows. That was when I started to truly feel like we were in Spain, when we saw this example of the dedication to the culture that has been so valued and well-preserved by its people.

After that, our half of the program (groups 1-9, 85 people + 9 guias), made our way down the street for tapas. We ate so much, I didn’t know how I would walk home afterwards. Piles of potatoes with ketchup and mayonnaise, various roasted veggie, meat, and seafood dishes, and some interesting things I’d never seen before. For example, fried salsa balls, which were bite-sized spheres of pink salsa that tasted like gespacho, bread battered and deep fried. We didn’t get home until almost 1am, at which point some people were ready to (and some did) go out, while others hung around the bar until the lights went out and we figured it would be best to get some sleep.

Moving into the Homestay.

This morning, we had to be up by 9 am for breakfast, and downstairs at 10:30 for orientation activities and Spanish “entrevistas” (interviews), to confirm our language placement. Between the two I took a much needed nap, and afterwards brought down my bags to prepare to leave the hotel and move into my homestay at 11:30. Upon meeting my se�ora, or host mother, we exchanged a kiss on each cheek (always starting with the left), made fun of how much stuff I had (along with the other 20 se�oras standing around us), and caught a taxi to Triana. When we first got there, my host mom introduced me to her daughter and talked with some friends, and then helped me schlep those two deadweight bags up the 3 flights of steps to the 3rd floor. This is another thing about Spain that continually confuses me, despite the fact that I was educated about it in high school: the numbering of the stories in a building. The ground floor is considered Planta 0 (referred to as the “Planta baja”); the one above that, the primera (“1a”) Planta; and what we would call the third floor is la segunda (“2a”) Planta, and so on. In North American counting, we live on the 4th floor, which I prefer, mostly because 4 is my lucky number 🙂

When we finally got all of my stuff in, my host mom asked if I wanted to go for a walk with her daughter and grandson. I wanted to see some of town, so this was a perfect opportunity to do so. We walked around with her new born baby, Ivan, in a stroller, talked about Spain, where she lives now (outside the city in a place called Alcal�), and soaked up the warm afternoon sun. Another thing we learned from Carmen – which I witnessed again on this walk – was that it is perfectly normal for people to take a break in the middle of the day for tapas and a beer. The streets are always full of people sitting or walking around, enjoying the company of one another and the day. I love this aspect of the culture, and think it’s a healthy way to interact, get exercise, and some fresh air.

We had our first meal at about 2:30. It was a plate of potatoes, garbanzos, spinach, and pinto beans that had been cooked with pork (my fears of misunderstanding “red meat” became as real as i’d anticipated they might). I had a little and simply explained that I include “cerdo” in the list of animals I don’t eat.

I had a quick Skype chat with my dad to update him on how things were going – it was nice to see him and hear his voice 🙂 My host mom then took me to meet up with my group at 4:15 in a plaza nearby. We walked from there to the university for more orientation meetings and info sessions. On the way, i realized that the main road between our neighborhood and the other side if the river, where we were headed, was Calle Betis! It’s one of the most popular strips of shops and tapas bars in town, which I’d heard about before I got here, and mentioned in a pre-trip post. Anyways, this time we walked into a large building where hundreds of students were studying for final exams, which are taking place in the next few weeks. After a grueling two hours of trying to keep our eyes open, and then waiting for who knows what, we found the guides that had been holding us up and made our way into town near the Catedral for tapas.

I went with two girls that I’ve been spending a lot of time with, Ronda and Hannah (Childs – who was my roommate at the hotel), to have some desert while everyone else had drinks at an outdoor bar with our guides afterwards. Ronda and I split a “postre” (dessert) de chocolate y galletas (chocolate and cookies – really more like “rich, soft, cream and choco-layer slice”) and each had coffee. This was delicious.

Finally, we made our way back towards our end of town with 3 other girls. Hannah and I were looking for my apartment after dropping Ronda off at hers, which actually happens to be part of the same building that I live in, and got a little lost. We walked into the wrong number apartment section simply because it was opened, and locked ourselves in by closing it behind us. Hannah was afraid we’d be there all night, but I assured her we’d find a way out in the next 5 minutes. Without hesitation, I knocked on a door in the third floor, where I could hear loud voices, and a friendly looking man answered. I asked him in Spanish how we could get out, and if he would come down and unlock the door. He responded in English, and of course, it was much simpler than we’d realized. We just had to buzz ourselves out with a button that looks like the light switches on the way up the steps.

At last, Hannah and I made it into my apartment, when I realized that I had my address on my homestay assignment paper. She came in and I introduced her to everyone and then said goodnight. I just took my first shower in the apartment, which was great, considering the small quarters, relative to what I’m used to. I’ve already grown accustomed to asking to use anything that belongs to my host family, and using Spanish to communicate everything. I love Spain, and can’t wait to become better acquainted with my family and the area we live in 🙂

When do we eat? A cultural lesson.

Adjusting to the eating schedule has been a bit of the challenge, but I like that we have a lot of time between meals, it means we’re hungry when we eat and we really appreciate the food! Breakfast is what ever time you get up, lunch is some time between 1pm and 3pm (or even later some times), and dinner usually consists of tapas any time from 8:30pm to 10ish. Eating late has never really worked well for me, but it helps that we walk around so much and have the opportunity to digest that way.

PS: Because the photo situation here totally sucks, and I’m going to be posting most things on my FaceBook anyways, I’d suggest checking that out. I have an album called Instagram Photos, which has edited versions of all my favorite photography, and will soon upload an album of all of my Spain photos 🙂

Location: Triana. Sevilla, Spain.

明けましておめでとうございます

A little late, but Happy New Year everyone! My postcards have started reaching the west, so I should probably update the internet as well on the opening of 2012 in Japan.
Although Christmas can almost be considered a normal day for Japanese folk, New Years is a complete 180 degree turn. It is the biggest holiday and a time for family and tradition, not partying and midnight smooches.
The holiday starts with December 30th. Many families and shrines do a big clean (direct translation from 大掃除)a which is kind of like spring cleaning. It makes a lot of sense, actually, to bring in the New Year with a clean home. Cleansing is a big part of Shinto, one of Japan’s principle religions and where a lot of traditions originate.
December 31st, New Years Eve, we watched a four hour long concert special hosted by popular boy band Arashi. During the later half, we had 年越しそば or End-of-the-Year Soba. Soba symbolizes longevity~!
Strangely, the concert ended at around 11:45. For the next fifteen minutes, we watched the news’ live converage from the biggest shrine in town. People were cleansing themselves by standing under freezing waterfalls, queuing in front to be the first to pray and there were only gongs ringing through the night. It was rather bleak and needless to say, there was no countdown. As I watched the second hand tick past the 12, I couldn’t help but think “America does it better.” Though I understand and admire the ceremonial aspects, it was too anticlimactic for me. Apparently other channels had a more exciting feel, but we only had basic cable to work with, so…
January 1st, New Years day, Lera came over. With my host family, we went to the shrine down the street to pray. Since we opted out of the extreme water fall option, we cleansed only our hands (so cold!) and then prayed at the front after waiting in line.

We had a beautiful traditional lunch made by my host mother. This includes the mochi soup (bottom) which is a must-have celebratory food item. This was all a bit much for most of us, but we did ask for seconds on the soup because mochi is just gooey and yummy.

My host parents also gave us otoshidama (お年玉) which is a cute little envelope with money in it. 1,000¥ each (almost $13). That’s a tradition I could get used to!

All in all, I would say New Years is definitely one of those things you have to experience in Japan. It is just really peaceful and delicious.

And now the sad realization has settled in that I have reached the halfway mark and time is decreasing. For those who noticed my location is different than usual, I will explain why soon!

Location: kuwana-shi, mie-ken, Japan

My Side Quest

Japanese food is different, but except on special occasions when you see the real traditional dishes, it is kind of normal. Not to say that eating fish a couple times a week and Miso soup every night is the same palate that I enjoyed in America, but it is fairly adaptable, I feel. Nothing really out of the ordinary, just different ways of mixing the usual ingredients of the world.
So with that boring piece of information in mind, I have found a way to spice up eating in Japan. And that is by buying the many different flavors of Kit Kats. In America, they only come in two flavors if you’re lucky: typical milk chocolate and white chocolate (rare, but true). In Japan, they go all out. And this isn’t just with Kit Kats, the menu at places like Starbucks and McDonald’s also have special touches, but this post is only about Kit Kats.
Fun Fact #1: Certain flavors can only be bought in certain regions.
Fun Fact #2: in Japanese, Kit Kat is キットカツ (like きっと勝つ) which in English means “You will surely win.” Ego boosting chocolate is a go!

Here is a list of flavors I have tried so far with the respective regions.

-White (seen above; nationwide)

-Dark (Nationwide)
-Red Bean Toast (Nagoya/Tokai region; pictured right–>)

-Strawberry (Nationwide)
-Green Tea (Kyoto)

-Hojicha Roasted Tea (Kyoto)

-Cinnamon Cookie (Kyoto)

-White: Air In (Nationwide, I believe; present)

-Sakura Maccha Latte (Nationwide..?)

I’d have to say White is still my favorite since it has a cookies n’ cream effect to it. But if I had to choose from the crazier flavors, Sakura Maccha Latte is quite tasty.

Some people choose to be sake or sushi connoisseurs, but me, I like Kit Kats.

Location: minami-ku, nagoya-shi, aichi-ken, Japan

Is There Christmas in Japan?

This is a question that I was getting from my family. Of course at fist, I gave a resounding “Yes, of course!” but as I look back on it, I don’t know if I should be so sure.
Japan has a lot of of access to all things Western from clothes to entertainment to language. Therefore, the knowledge of particular Western holidays is also well known if not also celebrated (Halloween and Christmas for example). Christmas being as huge as it is (Santa does go worldwide, after all), Japan puts a real effort into decking the halls, streets and whatever else needs decking, like the KFC Colonel for example. (compliments to Lera for the pic!)

Christmas time and Christmas can be celebrated in a variety of ways of course, but it comes down to being with one’s family. In Japan, this is hardly the case. Christmas gives off this romantic holiday vibe. It’s a time where it is necessary to have a date and if you don’t, you are probably crying in your room (sound familiar, Valentine’s Day?)
Since Christmas is a holiday for lovers, you better believe all the stores are open, casually playing Christmas music. Slurping ramen and listening to Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas is You is the most entertaining moment of the season, I think. Such an unlikely combination.

After exchanging gifts with my host parents and having some breakfast, they went grocery

shopping and then my host dad went to the pool to work up an appetite.
Now, Christmas dinner does have a role in Japan, but it is much less extravagant and more commercialized than anything I have ever seen. The big thing to do is to make a reservation at KFC about a month in advance. Not only make a reservation for your order, but for your pick-up time. This stuff actually gets sold out, it is that serious.

Japan loves foreign things, but when they get imported, they also get a bit distorted. That distortion evolves, unnoticed, on this small island and manifests itself into something distinctly Japanese. If you can appreciate a bit of a twist, then it is quite enjoyable.

Next up on the calendar, a look at a real family oriented, tradtional holiday in Japan: New Years.

Location: minami-ku, nagoya-shi, aichi-ken, Japan

Chorizo

Since I have been in Barcelona, I have been introduced to many new types of foods and various dishes that these foods are included in. One of the most important raw ingredients that I have noticed is the Spanish sausage chorizo. In one of my classes, Food as an Expression of Culture, I did a presentation on chorizo, so I would like to share the history of this Spanish necessity with you.

Chorizo is a pork-based sausage seasoned with garlic and paprika (Spanish call it piment�n). It is known for it�s red color, which can be attributed to the piment�n. It has been a part of Spanish culture for centuries, even before the red peppers that make the piment�n were brought to Spain from the Americas. Although recipes vary, all at least contain the same basic ingredients chopped pork, salt, piment�n, garlic, and white wine.

Pork has always been an important part of Spanish cuisine. Centuries ago, each family had their own pig. In the late autumn/early winter season, the pigs would be fed until they were ripely plump, until the time of the matanza. The matanza was when village families gathered together and slaughtered their pigs to make hams, sausages and other pork products. The hams would then be salted, and the rest of the pork was chopped together and fermented with spices for one to two days. Then the meat was stuffed into casings made from the intestine of the pig, tied into links, and hung in the drying room where the cool, dry outside air could circulate through gaps in the tiles and windows and draw out excess moisture from the sausages.

Nowadays industrial production is able to replicate the conditions of these mountain drying rooms, with constant temperatures and controlled humidity, so that chorizo and hams can be produced year-round in optimum conditions, but many of the best chorizo are still produced using the age-old artisan methods and hung in the traditional drying rooms in the mountain air to cure.

The length of time that the chorizo is cured for depends on the size of the sausages, and also depends on if the meat is to be cooked or eaten sliced. Small, soft chorizo (used for cooking) needed to be cured for about a week, and larger, thicker chorizo could take a couple of months to dry out.

Variations of chorizo include dry cured, fresh or �soft�cured, and semi-cured. Dry cured is intended to be sliced, and when purchased can be eaten immediately. Fresh cured, also known as �soft�chorizo, must be cooked before consumed. Semi-cured is not as cured as the dry one, and not raw like the fresh one, but it can be either consumed immediately or used for cooking.

I see chorizo in everything here. In my dorm, they serve it at breakfast with cheese, at lunch on sandwiches, on pizza, in tomato sauce, mixed in with vegetables, and so many more ways. They even have chorizo flavored chips! I have to admit, I’m not a huge fan of pork, but I really do enjoy this Spanish sausage.

Location: Barcelona, Spain

My Wife!! = Mr. Wong’s place

Mr. Wong’s is a local restaurant in Mong Kok, Hong Kong, with favor toward tourists …… mainly tourist WOMEN! The Owner and main employee of this fine establishment is Mr. Wong. He is a highly energetic, funny, clueless, friendly, determined, middle-to-old aged man! He constantly tells his customers he is looking for a wife and that he has been to several places in the U.S. trying to accomplish this goal. He tells all his female customers they are beautiful, and sometimes gets a little touchy, but never disrespectfully or inappropriately. He doesn’t care who you are, what you look like, what your skin color is. He welcomes EVERYONE, with a sweet spot for American women. LOL

Mr. Wong’s restaurant is not big and fancy, but it has a lot of heart and a fun atmosphere! He serves Chinese family style food for $50 HK dollars, which amounts to almost $7 US dollars. He brings out dishes of his choice – or if you know the 100 different types of food on the menu (it is all in Chinese writing), then you can order your own! When I say this place is worth your money, I truly mean it!!! He brings out endless amounts of food and beer (I don’t like beer too much so I grab some soda) for the groups that line up to eat at his establishment.

I have never seen Mr. Wong’s restaurant have a slow night. His establishment only employs (from what I’ve seen) a cook, himself, and one other helper for when he is very busy. On average, I would say Mr. Wong has a endless, full restaurant (30-35 people) with a staff of 3. This is a great place to kick back and have fun with your friends, or a nice pregame place before you head over to LKF or some other party scene for the night!

Here are some pics below! I stopped taking pictures of the other food, but I was more interested in eating. Sorry! J

Location: Mong Kok, Hong Kong

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