Tag Archives: Seville

Exploring the Province

After our first week of classes, we ventured an hour away to another well known Andalusian city: Sevilla.

While the city is in the same province as Ronda, the climate change was more noticeable than I thought it would be. Ronda is breezy due to the mountains with little to no humidity whereas Sevilla is flatter and has a ridiculous amount of humidity on top of its high temperature.

Our first matter of business was a tour of La Catedral de Sevilla, the 4th largest cathedral in the world. Inside, we visited the main parts of the interior as well as rooms that represented different time periods of Spanish history, including the Baroque and Renaissance  eras. The thing that stuck out most to me was the builder’s need for symmetry–for example, if a door and window set was on one side of the room, there needed to be another on the opposite side to keep the room even. However, the set that was built for the purpose of symmetry is only the outline of the doors and windows instead of a set that functions.

Outdoor view of the Cathedral

Outdoor view of the Cathedral

Altar’s wall

Cathedral halls

Cathedral halls

Example of a door and window set created for symmetry

Example of a door and window set created for symmetry

Our tour guide also told us with great pride that the Cathedral held Christopher Columbus’s remains and was the final keeper of them after they’d been moved many times after his death. The tomb to recognize it is HUGE, especially when you learn that what they have is approximately 150 grams of a mix of dirt, miscellaneous particles, and Christopher. Even still, it’s impressive to have even only pieces of one of the most controversially influential people of all time.

Christopher Columbus's tomb

Christopher Columbus’s tomb

We then walked into the Cathedral’s Treasury where we saw all things gold from crowns to plates to small statues.

Crowns in the Treasury of the Cathedral

Crowns in the Treasury of the Cathedral

After the Treasury was the bell tower. 34 ramps and a handful of steps later, we arrived and were greeted by a view of the city’s skyline.

Sevilla's skyline

Sevilla’s skyline

Under one of the tower's bells

Under one of the tower’s bells

Next was a trip through Santa Cruz, a smaller region of Sevilla with streets so narrow that only a moped could fit through. Between all of the touristy shops and bars that crowded the area, we also came across Washington Irving’s home–originally I took a photo because I liked the purple flowers, but later on I realized whose it was when I saw the plaque on the side of the wall. It’s so weird to walk around in a place with so much history in every corner.

Washington Irving's house in Santa Cruz

Washington Irving’s house in Santa Cruz

At home, I live on a mountain with a ton of trees (which there are coincidentally not many of here) and have nothing of the sort. It’s such a different world here. In any case, after Santa Cruz we picnicked in a small plaza before walking back to the front of the Cathedral where we were greeted by a surprise that Susana had set up for us–horse carriage rides! They took us through Maria Louisa Park and ended at the Plaza de España where we got out to explore.

Even more flowers

Views in Maria Louisa

One of our other carriages on the opposite side of the street in front of the Plaza

One of our other carriages on the opposite side of the street in front of the Plaza

Overview of the Plaza

Overview of the Plaza

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From the Plaza, we walked around the town. Between dessert shops, the university, weddings and bachelorette parties, we saw a little of everything.

What about the donuts?

What about the donuts?

Desserts on desserts on desserts

Desserts on desserts on desserts

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^Street performers

The bachelorette party that we ran into was doing a scavenger hunt and had to find foreigners to teach Sevillana, a type of dance.  Imagine arms and legs flailing around in no particular direction as they directed us to move in certain ways. Needless to say, we were all limbs and turned into professional toe crushers, but we had a ton of fun. We also ran into a wedding on the way out of the Cathedral, complete with the rice throwing and what we like to call the Olé song. We don’t know if that’s actually the name or not, but the only word in the song is olé so I’d say it’s safe to say that it’s something to that effect. Getting married in that Cathedral is supposed to be a huge deal due to its reputation, so aside from the wedding party and guests there were extra bystanders that happened upon the event as they walked by…very much so like ourselves.

For the remainder of the day after that, we wandered, explored, and immersed ourselves into one of Andalusia’s best well known cities. Here’s to you, Sevilla

Our group in front of the cathedral before returning to Ronda

Our group in front of the cathedral before returning to Ronda

 


Location: Sevilla

A Letter to Sevilla

Oh, Sevilla.

How you exhaust me! I’ve now become acquainted with your winding cobblestone streets, your beautiful people, higher temperatures, and incredible monuments. Although acquainted doesn’t necessarily mean I would admit to knowing you just yet. It was only four days ago that I managed to get lost on my way home from a day trip.

However, I do think we are getting along nicely.

I must say, you have so much beauty. Several hundreds years worth. In my time that I’ve been here, I have gotten to visit your cathedral and look out of the bell tower, your amazing plaza, your incredible palace (where they filmed Game of Thrones), and a bunch of places in between!

Pretty incredible, huh? They even filmed a portion of star wars here!

Pretty incredible, huh? They even filmed a portion of star wars here!

You have kept me so busy that I’ve barely had any time to blog about you. I can’t believe how quickly time has passed here. And yet, I have had the opportunity to do so much already. Even though I’ve done a lot, I know that it still won’t be everything I wish to do. Therefore, Sevilla, I must cope with the knowledge that I may never truly get to know you as much as I had hoped.

What I have learned though is that you are, at times, like any other city. You have graffiti across some walls and monuments, and quite a few homeless people begging for money on the streets. There’s trash on the ground in some places, and I occasionally feel assaulted by smells that I would rather not smell. But at the same time, you are so different from anything I’ve ever known. History is rooted so deeply here. In the United States, you can’t see things like you do here. Our country simply isn’t old enough. Compared to you, my country is just an adolescent! Don’t take offense though, Sevilla, you age beautifully.

I have enjoyed you so much in such little time and will be sad when we part and go our separate ways in a few weeks. However, I will be happy to be home as well. You’re like a dream, Sevilla. And everybody knows that at some point, you must wake up from your dreams. I will appreciated your beauty while I’m still dreaming, although I know that I will do so even after I wake up.

Until then, Sevilla.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Seville-The city of beautiful details

It has been a little over a week since I arrived in Seville and I am continually amazed by the beautiful designs and details of all the buildings, parks,  and even the streets of the city.  I walk everywhere in the city and it doesn’t matter where I am going or what path I take, I am guaranteed to see some tile on the side of a building or a old wooden door. If I get lost while walking around, chances are I won’t end up in some alley filled with dumpsters but instead I will find myself on some cute little street that winds in several directions (sometimes making it hard to know where you are going). I often come across colored stucco houses and plants hanging out the windows. Of course there are the popular sites that are beautiful such as the Alcazar which is a huge royal palace that is 75% gardens or the Plaza de Espana which is a gorgeous semi-circle plaza decorated with endless colorful ceramic tiles. But just as much as these popular sites impress me, so do the everyday details that I see in the city. Below I have included some photos and descriptions about things that have caught my attention and maybe this will give you a better idea about the types of things that cause me call Seville the city of beautiful details. Seville often causes me to point and say “That’s beautiful” or stop and think to myself “That is so pretty”.

The street signs are a beautiful detail that can be found everywhere throughout the city. Most places in the U.S. that have street signs are pretty standard looking with the street name on top of a very large pole. But here in Seville the names of streets are formed out of ceramic tiles and placed on the side/corner of a building. I will admit that sometimes this characteristic doesn’t seem to be the best way to label a street because it is hard to see and especially when you are semi lost. And they don’t seem to always label each streets but none-the-less, I love their non-traditional method of labeling the streets and it  gives Seville charm.

Street Sign in Seville, Spain

A lot of the doors on buildings are made from wood or are a unique, artistic design. It seems that most people live in some sort of apartment building or townhouse type building. Usually the doors to the building are very different from each other in terms of design. One thing that took my friends and I some getting used to was the keys/locks/doors to our house. There really seems to be no standard door/lock and many of them seem complicated. My door has a handle but it is in the middle of the door and it does not turn, it is only for helping to push the door open. Even if the door is “unlocked” you still need the key to be able to turn the padlock and open the door. So we all had quite a few laughs about struggling to open/lock our doors.

Usually when you open the door of the apartment/townhouse building it opens into an enclosed patio with plants or a fountain. This is an architectural design very common in Seville and I think it is so nice to have a patio in the center of your building or house. The patios are usually surrounded by the rooms of the house or individual apartments but have no ceiling so that light can come in. This is how my University building is designed and I love it! I actually don’t have a photo of my University but maybe I will post one later. Also, really large doors to buildings such as churches or convents have smaller doors that open up within the large door. This smaller door is the one that is open most of the time and it big enough for people to walk through. Even though this smaller door is the size of a regular door, it makes me feel like I am in a movie scene or something such as Alice in Wonderland because it is really part of a much larger door.  They are so cute and I have included pictures of doors that caught my attention throughout Seville.

wooden door in SevilleOne of the many unique, wooden doors in Seville. If you look closely, you might be able to see where the smaller door is within the large door.

Entrance to a building in Seville

 

 

 

 

 

Another door in Seville. It is very possible that the arch of this door is influenced by Muslim architecture since it is similar to other Muslim arch designs present throughout the city. Seville was occupied by Muslims at one point during its historic timeline and several buildings have Muslim architecture characteristics.

 


Location: Seville, Spain

A New Experience

From Pennsyltucky to Europe

The journey wasn’t easy. Three flights in total that spanned from Philly to Boston to Madrid and finally my ultimate destination: Sevilla. My parents drove me to Philly from our house at 4:30 am, me having only gotten approximately 4 hours of sleep, only to realize that my flight left several hours later than I thought.

After a spontaneous trip to a diner for breakfast and a quick visit to the Liberty Bell, I was dropped off at the airport again, this time for good. It felt weird to say goodbye to my family, like I was about to embark on a journey from which I would never return. I consistently reminded myself that that wasn’t the case and tried to get excited for my journey. I even managed not to cry, which is next to a miracle for me.

Not going to lie, the flights were hellish. I only had a few minutes in between each flight landing (planes always seem late) and the next taking off which left me running through the airport like a chicken with my head cut off. Shuttles to different terminals and awkward running with luggage to the next gate in a panic ruled the day. On the international flight from Boston to Madrid, I got my own seat on the biggest plane I have ever been on and it finally hit me as the stewards and stewardesses said “Hola” that it hit me: I get to go to Spain. After 8 years of learning, it’s really happening.

 

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I highly recommend flying out of Boston. The view was absolutely beautiful.

I highly recommend avoiding airline dinners if you want to avoid stomach pain on your 7 hour flight.

I also highly recommend avoiding airline dinners if you want to avoid stomach pain on your 7 hour flight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After a long, sleepless flight across the Atlantic and another connecting flight from Madrid to Seville, we were picked up by CIEE personnel and transported to our homestays. I was so excited to meet my host family, a woman named Maria and her daughter, and had already been picturing what it would be like. I couldn’t wait to see what my room would be like or where I would be located in Seville.

 

We were dropped off and met Maria, a friendly middle aged woman with blonde hair, thick black eyeliner, and reddish lipstick. My brain, which was running on four hours of sleep and approximately 10 hours of travel time, was slow to process the rapid Spanish I was hearing but I managed well enough. She asked us our age, what we study in school, whether we had boyfriends, etc.

One thing is for sure, meeting a host family is kind of awkward. People don’t tell you that. You’re there in a stranger’s house and you have to speak a language that doesn’t come naturally to you. You have to learn the  norms of their culture (for instance, don’t wear socks around the house or be barefoot) and figure out how to socialize with these new people that you’ll be spending time with for the next month.

As much as I was enjoying the chit-chat with my new host-mom, sleep deprivation started to get me along with the uncomfortable greasy feeling that happens with a lot of travel. With that, my first official business in Spain was a rapid shower and my first time having a legitimate siesta.

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If you were wondering what a typical room looks like for a homestay, look no further! This is my room, which I affectionately refer to as my closet.

 

Home again

I should really be cleaning my room right now.  Both of my suitcases, my carry-on, and my backpack are sitting wide open on my bedroom floor, with clothes spilling out of their mouths.  This, paired with the state of disarray in which I apparently left my room in January (no memory of this), leave very little open floor space, stress me out when I look at my room,  and might be a fire hazard.  But every time I go to put things away, I end up sitting, staring, and thinking for a while about my time in Seville.

This, sadly, will be my last official GeoBlog post.  I returned home on Saturday, which was possibly the longest day of my life (though my trip to Seville, which lasted over 24 hours because of a long delay in Lisbon, has the record).  I imagine everyone goes through this when traveling “backwards” through time zones.  The day just did not end!  The sun stayed in the same spot for a long portion of the day, and by the time my mom and I reached home, I was absolutely spent.  It probably didn’t help that I had stayed up until 2 the previous night packing, and that I had had a trying last few days saying goodbye to my friends, teachers, and host parents.

At the end of my last post, I had mentioned how hard I thought goodbyes would be at the end of this semester.  And they were not only difficult, but also strange.  How do you say goodbye to someone or something without knowing when you are going to see them again?  Or if you will ever see them again?  It feels like a normal goodbye– like you are parting ways just until the next day.  Except that a part of your brain, which is tasked with having some idea of the future and of conceptualizing time (however vaguely and ineptly), forces you to try to bridge the temporal distance between your present goodbye and your next encounter.  But you can’t, because the question of when or whether you will meet again is marred with uncertainty.

I remember boarding the plane to Lisbon (with a connecting flight to Seville) in early January, amidst snow drifts and anxiety.  It was one of the scariest moments of my life.  “There is no getting out of this now,” I remember thinking.  Bad thought to think.  But I had no idea what would be in store during the close to 5 months on the other side of the Atlantic.  I spent those 5 months meeting some amazing people and coming to know some amazing things.  And now that I have taken the time to know these people and things and have come to love them all, I’ve left them without knowing when we will meet again.

I struggle at the moment with the distance between myself and these people and things, but also with the distance between myself and my present surroundings.  I have heard that this is something that study abroad students face when they come home: they feel frustrated because the people around them have not had the same experiences they have just had, and they feel misunderstood.  That is how I feel right now, though I am elated to see my friends and family for the first time since Christmas.  But I am frustrated that I can’t make people see what I have gone through, and all I have learned about myself and the world.  It’s ironic, because during these past 5 months I frequently felt like I couldn’t convey thoughts or feelings to others; I didn’t have the vocabulary in Spanish to do so.  The irony is, now that I have returned home and have at my disposal a language in which I am well-versed, I still can’t express what I feel.

Though I am a little down because the excitement of this adventure has finally begun to dissipate– out of habit, I still check my phone often, wanting to see what the day has in store– I can’t help but have anything but gratitude towards the people who made my experience so incredible and the city that became like a home.  So I want to say it once, with sincerity and love and a few tears: thank you.  I hope we’ll meet again soon.

me holding the Seville flag next to the river


Location: Seville, Spain

A Very Long Update

I’m not sure how many more of these I’ll write–I’m scheduled to fly out of Seville two weeks from tomorrow.  I feel as though I haven’t posted enough during this semester, and yet when I look back, my posts are long and filled with detail.  I’m surprised at how little time I have had to write, especially since I have wanted to produce quality posts.  There was always something exciting going on, and I would always say to myself, “I’ll write after it’s over.”  But I kept falling behind, and the more I did, the more I had to write.  The task grew bigger every week and so my time to fill in all of the additional details shrunk. That said, here are some updates on the things that have happened since my last post!

Trip to the UK

What a cool week.  It was only 5 days in actuality, but including my travel days I was gone for almost the entire week.  I flew into London to meet my friend Kim from Penn State.  I explored London for a day and a half–just walking around the city, seeing some of the main sites (Big Ben, Parliament, Westminster Abbey), eating ice cream on the Thames.  It was cloudy and cool there, which I expected.  But I’m glad I got to see it.

Trafalgar Square

A bustling Trafalgar Square.

At the end of the weekend, I took a train from London up to Stirling, in Scotland, to meet a friend from my Seville program.  We took a 12-hour tour of the Scottish highlands, which was amazing and beautiful and most of which was spent driving and looking out the window at the pretty landscapes.  Our tour was guided by a wonderful driver, who had a microphone attached to his head and who would talk while driving for all of the 12 hours about the names of all of the sites.  It was, however, the coldest weather I had seen since leaving the U.S. (there was snow!!!! I may or may not have mentioned at the beginning of this blog that my goal this semester was to escape the snow.  But, the views were worth it in the end).

me, at Loch Ness during the highlands tour

The highlands tour included a stop at Loch Ness!

Finally, I ended up in Edinburgh for a night to see one of my best friends from high school who is studying there (hi, Jes!!).  While I was only there for a total of about 18 hours, in that amount of time I got a view of the cityline, tried an ice-cream float, and saw a little bit of what Scottish nightlife is about (hint: cold if you go in March.  But a lot of fun).

Semana Santa

In Spanish, Semana Santa translates to “Holy Week,” and is celebrated in a big way in the days leading up to Easter.  Due to the fact that I was in the UK, I missed the beginning of it, but I purposely planned my trip like that because my host parents told me that the end of the week was best anyway.  I arrived back in Seville on Wednesday night, and some of the more important pasos–the “floats” with representations of Christ and Mary (on separate floats, and usually one of each per church) began to “salir”– to leave their home churches and proceed to the city’s old, enormous catedral.  This is what Semana Santa in Seville is all about: men from each church position themselves beneath these heavy pasos and carry them on their shoulders from their home church to the catedral and back.  They literally shuffle the entire distance, and depending on how far the church is from the catedral, it can take half a day–12 hours.  The men switch off so they can take breaks, but it is an incredibly challenging (and rewarding) job.  Additionally: these men pay to carry the pasos, because it is considered a privilege to do so.  

 

an image of a Seville street during Semana Santa

Though I didn’t take this picture (credit: apartclick.com), it gives you a better idea of the enormity of the celebration and the amount of people who pack the streets to see the pasos.

The Thursday after I got home from the UK, my host mom sat me down for dinner and said we were going to watch the church of La Macarena–another very important and old place in Seville–begin its procession.  Well, they started late, and as it was getting on 12:30, 1 AM, I was wondering if we were still looking for this to start or if it had already happened.  I debated asking my host mom if I could go to bed, since she and I would be getting up at 4:45 the next morning to get a good spot to watch the pasos.  Finally, I said (as politely as I could), “Just wondering, are we still waiting to watch this paso leave the church?  I’m a little tired and was hoping to get a few hours of sleep before we leave tomorrow.”  For some reason the lights in the room were off but I could tell she was slightly annoyed because she didn’t respond right away.  Oh my gosh, I have offended her, I thought to myself.  And we have to spend the entire morning together tomorrow.  She told me we were still waiting for this paso to leave the church, but since it was late, I could go to bed if I wanted.  I apologized and waited a few awkward minutes before leaving the room.  The next morning, however, we were both so tired that we had forgotten about whatever awkwardness there was the night before and rushed into the center of town to see the processions.  We ended up spending a really nice 8 hours together that morning, with a churro/coffee break somewhere in-between.  I have no idea what time that happened, but I do know that we left home at 5AM and came back around 1:30 in the afternoon.  You bet I slept well the next night.

Travel break

The weeks in-between Semana Santa and the next holiday week, Feria, were spent in Sevilla.  I was so relieved to not be traveling for a while, because after that week of returning from the UK and watching all the Semana Santa activity, I was wiped out.

…then back at it in Rome

The weekend before Feria, I went to Rome for a few days.  It was fantastic!  I had been there once before, when my family went to Italy, but had actually not spent too much time there since we were mostly traveling around Tuscany and did not stay in the city for more than a few nights.  Notably, the first night I was there I ate an entire pizza by myself.  I’m pretty proud that I did that.  This time, again, I only spent a few days in Rome, but I didn’t make an agenda.  I just walked around and took streets not knowing where I was going.  My friend from my Seville program joined me on Saturday (I got there on Friday) and we saw more things we wanted to see and ate things that we wanted to eat (pasta and gelato).  Two awesome things that happened on this trip: a) we climbed to the top of St. Peter’s basilica and I had a really breathtaking moment when I looked down at the church with music playing and b) also at St. Peter’s basilica, it started to rain while we were outside in the square but the rain was glittering in the sunset and a rainbow formed.  It was a cool moment.  

a rainbow down the street from St. Peter's basilica in Rome

I feel so lucky to have seen this happen.

Feria

The second of the holiday weeks, called Feria, originally began in the mid-1800s as a gathering for farmers to trade animals and other agricultural things (technical term).  After a few years, the casetas–the little temporary houses set up for Feria where traders could do business–became really popular not for the animals and other agricultural things but for the drinking and eating and merriment.  Now, over 150 years later, the only animals present at Feria are the horses that drag along the carriages.  I spent a lot of time at Feria, as I wasn’t traveling any more that week; I probably spent between 20 and 25 hours there, over the course of the week.  There really isn’t too much to say about it other than that it is a delightful mix of dancing, drinking (rebujito–a mixture of 7-Up and a wine called manzanilla), eating, and more dancing.

a view of the street during Feria

A view of the street during Feria

the "portada," or entrance gate, to Feria

The “portada,” or entrance gate, to Feria. This is a temporary structure and a new one is designed each year.

Paris, France

The weekend after Feria, I took a spontaneous jaunt to Paris with my friend from Scotland.  It was so great, but there was truly an endless amount of things to see.  We spent two and a half fairly busy days making our way around Paris in the rain, seeing of course the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre but also walking along the river, visiting a section of town called Montmarte (making a stop at the Sacre Quor, which gives you a great view of Paris) and sampling crepes.  While it was rainy and we were exhausted, I’m so glad I was able to visit.  

the Eiffel Tower in front of a cloudy sky

This photo was skillfully “auto-awesomed” by Google. 

This post is a little shorter than the others, but is also chock-full of my activities, which included so many other moments of laughter and coffee-driven craziness.  I wish I could recount them all.  Two quick funny and sad stories to part.  First, the funny one.  About a week ago I was watching a Spanish celebrity-pranking show (like Punk’d, but better).  There was a really funny moment when one of the celebrities ended up having to unexpectedly host a funeral, and the family kept making her do increasingly weird things, like watch a strangely upbeat polka band perform and taking a picture with the casket (“I don’t know if I should clap,” she said after the band stopped playing.  Then in regards to the picture: “I don’t know if I should smile.  I have never taken a picture with a casket before”).  My host mom and I were laughing so hard that we could not breathe.  We both had tears coming out of our eyes  Oh man.  I still laugh thinking about it.

Now, the other story.  The night before I left for Paris, I got back late and was very tired, especially since I needed to wake up the next morning at 3:45 to catch a bus to the airport.  When I got in, my host parents were still up.  I had just been to see a flamenco show, and they wanted to hear about it.  “Come on!  Come in!  Tell us about it!”  No, I said, I’m very tired and I need to get up early tomorrow.  But they made me come in anyway.  I told them a little about the show and then all of a sudden my host dad started saying, “Why do you have to leave so soon?  Can’t you stay here a little longer?”  Again, I said no, my date was already set, it costs a lot of money to change it.  I could feel the tears welling up.  He kept pushing me and asking why I couldn’t stay, and as I tried to explain that I wanted to, the tears started flowing.  “Oh no,” I said out loud, and laughed through my tears as they handed me a tissue.  “Look, she’s crying!” they said, also laughing.  “All of the students cry when they leave.  We cry with them.”

Well, now, why did they have to go and tell me that?  Goodbyes will be so hard this time around.


Location: Paris, France

The abroad “horario diario”

As I began this post, I was 30,000 feet in the air, somewhere between Zurich and Madrid (EDIT: Looking back, I realized that I was on this flight during the time that the Germanwings flight crashed.  Scary!).  I was on my way back to Seville after having spent the weekend with my dad in Hamburg, Germany, where he was visiting for work.  Lucky for me I got to see him on my birthday (which was the day I started this post!) and was able to celebrate by eating lots of meat (mostly sausage) and drinking a fair amount of German beer.  This past weekend, I headed into London to visit a friend and to see the city a bit.  Then I went up to Scotland to see another friend, and I stayed there through Wednesday.  Though I will admit that I skipped classes to see my dad in Germany, I won’t have to miss this week because we are celebrating “Semana Santa,” or Holy Week, in Seville.  I came back yesterday in order to see the processions, or “pasos,” that make Seville so famous for its pre-Easter celebrations.  This will include my host mom and I getting up at 5:00 AM tomorrow in order to go into the center and see the holiest (?) of all of the pasos, La Madrugada (“the dawn”), which begins its march in the wee hours of Viernes Santo–Good Friday.

sausage in mustard at Dom in Hamburg, Germany

One of the two official beer-and-meat 21st birthday meals.

But I’ll save my Semana Santa and UK experiences for the next post (or the one after that).  Today, because I am realizing how little time I’ll spend in Seville over the next two weeks, I want to tell you about my life in the city where I am studying and give you a taste of the day-to-day.  I’ve been keeping a running list of some of the things I think you’ll find most interesting in my handy dandy notebook (credit: Blue’s Clues) which is sitting beside my computer.  Note: I include here a significant number of tangents about European life/things that made me laugh/other miscellaneous and not directly related details.  But, as always, I hope you enjoy regardless.

NOTE: I apologize in advance for the lack of pictures in this post.  For some reason, the photo uploader on sites.psu isn’t working too quickly tonight.

Daily/Weekly Routine

This seems like a good place to start!  Thankfully our program does not offer any classes that begin before 9AM, and even more thankfully I was lucky enough to have all of my classes start at 10:30.  I wake up around 8:15 so I can shower and eat before I leave at 9:30.  My host mom is such a sweetheart and always has my breakfast materials (which I will tell you about in the next section) laid out for me at my spot on the table.  This “spot” is arbitrary and subject to random changes, as I learned quickly over the first few weeks of my stay.  During breakfast and dinner, I sit at one of the heads of the rectangular table.  But during lunch, I sit at one of the long edges next to my host mom, who may or may not join me for breakfast or dinner.  It depends on the day.  Lunch, however, we always eat together, and when my host dad knocks on my door and asks me if I want to help him “poner la mesa” (set the table), I know it’s almost time to eat.  Again, food info is coming in the next section.

I walk to a nearby bus stop with some friends from my program who also have 10:30 classes.  Originally, our orientation guide introduced us to the Metro–the equivalent of a subway–to get to the university, but we discovered that the bus station is closer to our apartments and also costs less per ride.  So we bus ourselves into Universidad Pablo de Olavide each day.  I am taking just four classes this semester: Spanish literature, Spanish language, global economics, and intercultural communications.  For the most part, these classes are okay.  The Spanish teaching style is difficult to adjust to, particularly because:

  1. Several of the professors, who are native Spanish speakers but teach courses in English, tend to have trouble expressing themselves in their second language.  This makes discussion, as well as getting our questions answered, difficult.
  2. It often seems like professors are trying to “cater” to the American, discussion-based class style, but have difficulty maintaining these discussions because they have not practiced enough (or so it seems to us) and also perhaps because they don’t understand everything we are saying.

All in all I am not thrilled with my classes here.  This could also be partly due to the fact that I have found my niche in the English program at Penn State and am thriving under the guidance of our wonderful department.  But, if nothing else, it has been nice to take a break from the sometimes rigorous book-reading and paper-writing.  I’ll have my fill of that over the summer and next year.

I have class until 2 or 3 in the afternoon, at which time I come home for lunch.  For those who don’t know, Spanish people tend to eat very late (it sometimes borders on 3:30 for my host family), and lunch usually lasts a while.  I am typically eating and talking with my family for one to two hours during lunchtime.  I really enjoy everything about the meal, though it can be exhausting to keep up with the conversation and to pay attention to the television (which is on during all of our meals).  For this reason, I take a little “descanso” or “siesta” (rest/nap) after lunch.  I don’t usually sleep, but I like to relax in a sunny spot in my room for an hour or so.

At this point, my day can take one of many turns.  Sometimes, I’ll take a run with a friend to Parque Maria Luisa, which is situated next to La Plaza de Espana (if you Google “Sevilla,” the Plaza de Espana will be one of the first images to show up).  Some nights I’ll meet up with my “intercambio”–a language exchange partner who wants to practice English just like I want to practice Spanish.  We go, for example, to get tapas and a drink, or walk around, and take turns speaking each language.  Recently, she won us movie ticket vouchers!  So we’ll be doing that sometime soon.

Once a week, I volunteer at a “colegio,” which in this case is a private, religious primary school which educates kids between the ages of 3 and 14.  I help out with a group of 7-8 year olds, which has been really fun so far.  To be honest I feel like I don’t do too much while I am there besides laugh at the funny things the kids do and every once in a while I help out with a little activity.  Unfortunately I have missed the last two weeks, the first because I got drenched on my way there during a chaparron (a downpour) and this past week because I was in Germany visiting my dad.  And next week the kids don’t have school because it is Semana Santa!  So it will be a while before I visit the colegio again.

The afternoons are also good for heading to a cafe to do some homework or for taking a walk to the center of Seville.  Otherwise, it can be nice to stay in for the night, especially after traveling over the weekends.  I will usually finish up homework, write this blog, or e-mail friends and family before dinner.  Between 9PM and 10PM, I wait for my host mom’s knock on my door: “Ana. Cena.”  Anna, dinner!  I head into the family room to sit with my host parents for dinner and usually end up staying for an hour to an hour and a half.  Then I go to bed!

Food

I may have already posted about food before, but that was pretty early on and Anna from 2 months ago had no idea that she would like as many Spanish foods as she does now.  Of course, I liked breakfast from the start.  I usually have two pieces of toast and put on top of them whatever my host mom sets out for me.  At first, it was butter and jelly.  I didn’t realize that people put butter and jelly on the same slice, so I would cover one piece with butter and one with jelly.  That is, until my host mom subtlely suggested, “Anna, Noelia (my host sister) likes to eat her toast with butter and jelly on the same piece.”  I got the hint and it’s actually really good!  Other breakfast combos: cream cheese and jelly (even better than butter and jelly), a tomato/cream cheese paste with turkey, chocolate-filled croissants (another favorite).  Alongside my eatables, I have a glass of hot milk, to which I add either cafe cappucino (a powder which makes a sweet cappucino/latte type thing) or Cola Cao, which is the Spanish equivalent of something like Nestle or Ovaltine.

breakfast of toast and coffee

my usual view in the morning. recently my host mom let me pick out a new flavor of jelly!

Lunch here, not breakfast, is the most important meal of the day.  It is certainly the biggest, and because of that I am usually stuffed to the point of not moving for at least 20 minutes after the meal has ended.  I would say our most frequent dishes are soups and fish platters.  The soups are either creamy (usually cream of some type of vegetable) or those filled with beans (garbanzo, lentils) and a wide variety of vegetables.  I have learned to LOVE lentils, even though I did not like them at all before leaving.  My host mom usually adds some chorizo picante, or spicy sausage, to the lentil mixture.  I am truly upset now that the winter is over (which is weird for me) because Sevillians tend, logically, to not eat hot soups when it is 110 degrees outside.  The lentil days are numbered.

As far as fish, we have had what seems like every type imaginable.  Bacalao, sardines…I really don’t know the names of all of the fish.  My host mom always tells me “We’re having this fish today,” and then waits for me to react, because we have usually had that type of fish before.  But I can’t keep all the names straight and they all taste similar anyway.  It is crazy to me that 1) my host family eats the eyes, head, and tail of many types of fish and 2) that I usually have to remove the spines of the fish I eat.  I am not used to either of these things, though having been here for close to three months now I am growing accustomed to having to do it.  I am still not the biggest fan of fish but I need some protein in my life and being so close to the sea, it is a staple in many (most) Spanish homes.

We eat other things besides soup and fish.  Several times, my host mom has made a pasta bolognesa dish, which I absolutely adore.  This is the only lunch food that I finish before my host parents do.  Sometimes we have fried eggs and vegetables; sometimes we have chicken and french fries.  We always, always, always have bread, whether it is in typical roll form or in the form of “pico,” which are tiny crunchy breadsticks that I would probably refer to as crackers in the United States.  We’ll often have “salad,” which can either be a traditional salad with lettuce, shredded carrots, corn kernels, and vinegar dressing, or which can also be simply a whole tomato sliced up and topped with vinegar and some seasoning.  Tomatos are another food I didn’t like before coming here, and now they are the first thing I eat when I sit down.

After our salad and main course, we dig into a side dish that my host mom has prepared.  Many times these are empanadas, which are like small, fried dumplings filled with some type of meat or fish (for example, chicken or tuna).  Now that I think about it, this side dish is usually a fried food, whether it is an empanada or just plain old fried fish.  And after this, we all usually have a piece of fruit.  During my first few weeks here, oranges were the fruit of choice, and especially mandarinos, which are the perfect size orange and are easy to peel.  In January, I was eating 2 oranges per day because they were so plentiful and because I liked them so much.  Now, since oranges are going slightly out of season, they are harder to peel and not as sweet.  So, instead, we eat bananas, pears, and apples, with the rare strawberry thrown in there.  After the fruit, lunch is finally over, though my host parents usually have tea or coffee afterwards, extending lunch/the post-lunch siesta by another hour.

Dinner is a less extravagant affair.  Many times my host parents themselves do not even eat dinner because they are full from eating little snacks throughout the rest of the day.  Through March, when it was still “cold” outside, we would always have soup.  This is usually just hot water with a packet of some kind of stir-in soup/pasta.  At the beginning they would make fun of me because I couldn’t eat the soup while it was just out of the microwave.  “You eat so strangely,” my host dad said to me once.  “You take little bites of everything and you don’t eat the soup while it’s hot!”  Actually, Fernando, when I try to sip the hot soup it burns my tongue and mouth, so I have to eat everything else before it.  (I really am doing well with my host family.)  My host parents will also have a piece of fruit, and my host mom will give me my own portion of whatever fruit they are having.  Then she will also make me something else: eggs and sausages (which look exactly like hot dogs but taste better), microwave pizza (bocapizza), a piece of fish, a bocadillo.  The other week she made me 4 spring rolls and chips.  It was fantastic.

There have been a few awkward situations where I have to tell them that I don’t like certain foods.  One of the first of these was a plate called callos.  I remember being really hungry the day Rosa served it, and I also remember her explaining to me that she thought I would like it a lot.  So it was with eagerness that I dug into lunch and started forking the callos into my mouth.  About 3 bites in, I realized that the stuff had a weird texture and was a little chewy.  Two bites later I was no longer hungry because I kept thinking about how the callos looked like cow skin.  I am not a vegetarian and this was one of the first instances in my life when the reality of what was sitting in front of me–a dead animal–became overwhelming.  After not eating it for 10 minutes I apologized and told Rosa I couldn’t eat it.  She asked why, and my host sister said, “Because she doesn’t like it!”  Bluntly put, but Noelia hit the mark.  Later, I looked up callos on Wikipedia: its English equivalent, tripe, is “a type of edible offal from the stomachs of various farm animals.”  I made it clear that I absolutely cannot have this dish again.

Also famous in Spain are olives, which I have learned that I hate.  I was pretty much indifferent to them before arriving in Spain, though I rarely ate them.  That probably explains the indifference.  I can’t remember where I first tried olives here, but I have developed a strong aversion to them.  This is unfortunate because my host family loves olives, and they love to buy different kinds and to have me try them in case I end up liking one of them.  My host dad will prompt me: “Pruebalo!”  Try it!  I say, “No, Fernando, I really don’t like olives.”  Then my host mom will chime in: “No, but these are different than the other ones.  You will like them.”  I look at them for a minute before reluctantly plucking one from the bowl.  I even more reluctantly put it into my mouth, and then try to chew and swallow it as fast as possible.  They make my head hurt and I usually grab some bread to get the taste out of my mouth.  The most recent kind they had me try was filled with anchovies.  They were surprised when I didn’t like it.  I wasn’t.  I went through a week or so when my host mom was making me bocadillos with mortadello, or olive loaf, which in short is a type of ham that is ruined by the olives that are interspersed throughout it.  I had to claim that it was upsetting my stomach, which it really was.

I do actually like a lot of the food that my host mom cooks, and one time after I told her that, she gave me the name of the blog where she gets many of her recipes from.  It is called Cometelo, which in Spanish means “Eat it yourself.”  All of the recipes are in Spanish, but don’t forget that you conveniently have a translator (aka, the writer of this blog) if you see anything you like and want to understand what it is saying.  That will be the true test of my fluency.

Miscellaneous things

Here are some random details about my life that I thought you might find interesting!

  1. When I first got here, Sam Smith’s “Stay With Me” was the theme song for practically every Spanish soap opera I saw advertised.
  2. Most of my peers’ homestays (including mine) do not have printers.  Instead, we have to go to a local copisteria or papeleria, where we pay on average 10 cents per sheet printed.
  3. While it is usually warm year-round, days when it is cloudy, cool, or rainy hold up the laundry process.  All clothes are line-dried here, so if you need something to be clean/dry and it is cool or rainy, you are out of luck.
  4. The other day, my host parents sent me a short video of Sevilla via WhatsApp, which my host mom had me watch three times in one sitting.  She kept asking me if I could understand the music lyrics, and I told her I needed to listen more carefully.  She would restart the video, and then talk her way through it, so I could never hear the words enough to understand them.  About the video, my host mom said when I show it to my American friends, “Van a flipar.”  They are going to…flip?  I looked up “flipar” and it doesn’t translate, so I’m assuming they take influence from English.  I thought it was the funniest thing in the world.  (I’ll be sure to show you this video.)
  5. Speaking of language, my host dad told me the other day that his foot was “dormido.”  I asked him to clarify once or twice before realizing that they use the exact same expression in Spanish that we do in English to describe the phenomenon of their limbs being “asleep.”  It doesn’t sound like it would be a revelation, but it took me a few seconds to figure it out.


Well, this post ended up having only three sections, and what I have learned from the Spanish people so far, I am not surprised that these sections mainly consist of me talking about socializing and eating.  That is what life seems to be about here, and I’m not complaining.  Join me next time for another adventure (expect some news about Semana Santa!).


Location: Seville, Spain

Morocco

I guess the last time I left you all, I was about to make my way out of Spain and into the incredible continent of Africa for the first time in my life.  I am so excited to share my experience in Morocco with you, but first, here are the pictures from Granada that I promised (with captions!).

Granada

We made visits to the barrios of Sacromonte, Albaicin, and to the Alhambra, which is an enormous and ancient palace that used to house the Moors.  We also ate some really great food and made friends with a really nice bartender named Maryann, who worked at a little cafe/restaurant near our Air BnB.

view of Granada and Alhambra from the mountain

La Alhambra on the left, and the city of Granada on the right

panorama of Granada and Alhambra from  Mirador de San Nicolas

another shot of Granada/Alhambra, this time from the Mirador de San Nicolas

gardens inside the Alhambra

gardens inside the Alhambra

 

breakfast of coffee and a bocadillo with Spanish ham

your typical Spanish breakfast: coffee and a bocadillo of Spanish ham, olive oil, and a light tomato spread

Morocco

picture of the Atlantic coast in Rabat, Morocco

Granada was absolutely lovely, but what I am about to share with you about Morocco was a completely different kind of experience.  It was not what you or I would normally consider a “vacation,” and I’m glad it wasn’t.

There has been a certain comfort in visiting the European highlights; though I didn’t necessarily know places like Portugal, Granada, and Barcelona before visiting them, I at least had an idea of what to expect.  I knew that we would be relatively safe traveling on our own; I knew that we could easily navigate public transportation to get where we needed to go; I was aware of the social customs that should govern our behavior while visiting these places.  The familiarity was comfortable, or at least comfortable enough so as not to overwhelm my travels.

For Morocco, I immediately felt like that this more or less guaranteed comfort went right out the window.  We were told that the ferry from Tarifa (in Spain) to Tangier (in Morocco) might be rough.  That we shouldn’t stray too far from the group once we disembarked.  That when we walked through the outdoor market in Tangier, there might be bloody animals hanging from the roofs of the vendors’ stands (there were).  That we should not drink the tap water or else we would risk getting sick (some did).  That we should carry our passports on us at all times, because in many places, we could be stopped and asked for proof of our presence in Morocco.  These warnings gave me some fear.  It was with shaky legs that I followed our wonderful tour guide, Sarah, off the boat and handed my freshly-stamped passport to the imposing, uniformed guard in Tangier.

picture of our travel group

Our travel group on the bus. We were limited to one backpack each for our 4 days in Morocco.

CIEE (my study abroad program) decided to conduct our tour of Morocco through an amazing organization called Morocco Exchange.  As I said, we were assigned to Sarah, who had been a Peace Corps volunteer for several years and now currently lives in Rabat, the country’s capital.  We were lucky to have Sarah as our guide for many reasons, I think especially because she had an awareness of our naivety and of our touristy tendencies as Americans.  But she combined this awareness with the experience of living alongside the Moroccan people and the understanding of their customs and behavior.  Therefore she was able to acknowledge many of our misconceptions and gently present us with a raw understanding of how things really are in this developing country: that most houses don’t have access to hot water; that many women (girls) are forced to marry at a young age; that the illiteracy rates are high among both men and women; that children often must travel (alone) miles and miles to school on a bus early in the morning in order to attend school, and for this reason many of them drop out.

Sarah shared with us a touching story about her time serving in a small village in the Peace Corps.  Her host sister, who was maybe 15 or 16 years old, was about to be married to a much older man.  This sister was nervous and upset, and Sarah was trying to comfort her.  Sarah classified this as both a high point and a low point of her time in the Peace Corps, and admitted that the memory always made her sad.  She started crying as she was telling the story, and I think this was the point when I reflected on how real the experience was and how real the people in Morocco are and always will be, even if in the United States we can’t see or hear them.

We don’t see people sitting on the guardrails of the highways in the countryside, not because they want to go somewhere else but because they don’t have anywhere else to go.  We don’t see children walking along deserted roads in the countryside, probably making their way back from school, which could be hours away from home.  We don’t see the square miles of shanty towns, the groups of homes made from tin sheets and cardboard, around which often the government often builds walls so other inhabitants of the city don’t have to see the poverty.  As is the case for so many of the things we do (or don’t do), it’s easier to construct barriers than to deal with the problem.

an enormous grave site in Rabat

You may not be able to tell (I couldn’t), but this is an enormous field full of gravestones.

I don’t mean to convey that the people of Morocco sit around all day and think about how difficult their lives are, because this was absolutely not the case.  In fact, nearly every Moroccan person I met seemed genuinely happy, not only to discuss their own lives but also to compare their life in Morocco to ours in the United States.  One of the great things about this program was that, each day, we were able to sit down with a group of Moroccans–two groups of students from Rabat, one family from the rural countryside–and just talk.  We talked about what their educational experiences had been like, what their views on homosexuality were, how dating and relationships function.  These conversations were many things: they were sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes funny.  But all of the time, they were informative and emotionally enriching.

In many ways, we (the members of our American group) were similar to the Moroccan students.  We both expressed a yearning for quality education–for one group, it was more accessible than the other.  We talked about travel–because so many Moroccans and North Africans seek a better life in Europe, it is much more difficult for them to travel north (ie, obtain a passport) than for us to travel south.  Sarah reminded us on our last day that one of the Moroccan students who had accompanied us (and had served as our translator when we talked with the Moroccan family) wouldn’t be able to enter the Spanish enclave of Ceuta (or Sebta) with us because he lacked a “blue book.”  Our passports are so much more valuable than we often realize.

I feel like I’m rambling.  Let me tell you briefly about some of my favorite things:

  1. That I was left breathless at the sight of hundreds of Muslims bowing together in prayer
  2. The flawless hospitality of our host families, who provided us with more food than we possibly could have eaten in the 2 days we spent with them and many of whom offered us a place to stay should we return to Morocco
  3. Being able to hear the stories of many Moroccans, young and old, and also the stories of Americans who have lived and worked alongside these Moroccans
  4. How the presence of God (Allah) permeated not only the physical landscape in the form of mosques, but also the social landscape in the form of language (I heard the phrase “Enshallah,” meaning “God willing,” more times than I could count)
the mountainside city of Chefchaoen

the “tucked away” mountainside city of Chefchaoen–our last stop

I don’t really know what you’re going to take away from this post, disorganized as it is.  To be honest, I am still trying to make sense of my experience, though I enjoyed every minute of it.  But between the time I returned from my trip and sat on my bed, exhausted and amazed, and now, two weeks later as I am writing this post, I haven’t been able to answer any of the enormous questions that Morocco put in front of me.  Why have I been granted such a privileged life while millions of girls (and boys) in Morocco haven’t?  Do I have a responsibility to help those who aren’t as privileged?  Is there any such thing as “responsibility,” or is it just a way of justifying the process of imposing our own worldviews on others because we believe that our way is the best or only way?  How will I ever be able to return to my “normal” life in the United States without that pull in my heart, telling me to remember all that I learned in Morocco?

*

This weekend will be the first that I haven’t traveled since…I think the end of January or the beginning of February.  Wow!  I am tired but have a good amount of travel still to go.  It’s nice to be in Seville this weekend though, and I am slowly realizing that I wish I had stayed here for an entire year just so I could see everything I want to see and still have plenty of time to enjoy the city where I’m actually studying.  I was hoping this weekend to have a chance to get to some of the museums but I forgot that the main reason I didn’t plan travel for this weekend was because I have midterms next week.  I did, however, sign up for a hike in the Sierra Norte tomorrow, so I’ll be studying the day away today.  Look out for another post soon about how things are going here in Seville (preview: they are going really well)!

 

 

 


Location: Rabat, Morocco

Adventures Inside and Outside Sevilla: Part 2

I don’t need to reiterate how packed my schedule has been since the last time I posted (…I can’t remember when that was).  So I think I’ll just jump right into a few of the things I have been doing!

Cordoba

Cordoba feels like a lifetime ago!  CIEE Seville (my program) only went for the day, but we saw a good amount in the few hours that we were there.  It was chilly and a little rainy the morning that we left, but by the time we reached Cordoba (about 1 1/2 hours by bus), the sun was starting to peek out and the day seemed like it was starting to turn out.  We took tours of both the cathedral and the Alcazar (“castle”) in Cordoba.  I haven’t encountered a cathedral or castle in Spain that hasn’t left me reeling in awe of the architecture.  I can’t believe that many of these buildings, which have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, are still standing today and still hold the same charm they likely once did.  Walking through the mosque section of Cordoba, I couldn’t help but imagine Muslims from hundreds of years ago kneeling on the same floor where I was standing in 2015.

One of our favorite things to do in the Alcazars across Spain (and pretty much any historical site) is to see how high we can climb and where the best view is located.  Cordoba was no exception!

view of Cordoba from the top of the cathedral

I can’t believe it exists, either.

By this point, the day had cleared up and warmed up, and we enjoyed a walking tour of the city, followed by some tapas for lunch.  Like I said, it was a fairly short trip, but it was nice to walk through the narrow city streets and compare it to Sevilla.  Here are a few more shots of the city:

a wall that reads "I have found a shortcut"

“I have found a shortcut”

the river Guadalquivir that runs through Cordoba

the Guadalquivir also runs through Cordoba!

Granada

This past weekend we traveled West to the Islam-influenced city of Granada.  After some initial difficulty finding our Air BnB (a great resource for those of you planning on studying abroad at some point!), we settled in and got our weekend started.  First off was a somewhat-accidental journey to the top of a mountain in Granada, to the region known as Sacromonte and Albaicin.  The mountain is filled with not only some gorgeous views of the famous Alhambra, but also of the city of Granada itself.  As night was approaching and some rain clouds began to move in, we headed down the mountain to find some souvenirs and tapas.  The next day, we visited the Alhambra, and though it was a little bit rainy, our specific tour was permitted into some areas of the gardens where we wouldn’t have otherwise been able to go.  Awesome, right?

I PROMISE some pictures of Granada (and a more thorough explanation) in my next post.  I have to get up early tomorrow morning (ie, leave my apartment at 7:00AM) to go to a new continent: that’s right, I will be heading to Morocco for the weekend!

I am a little nervous about this trip since Morocco is, from what I can gather, very different from the European and even Western cultural atmosphere I am so used to.  But I am also excited and I hear so many great things about it.  Wish me safety, luck, and enjoyment!

 


Location: Cordoba, Spain

The 6-week decline

Before arriving to their destinations, study abroad students are advised that homesickness (of varying degrees) is an inevitable part of the study abroad experience.  It makes sense: all of a sudden you are thrown into a new life with new people and, in my case, a language that you don’t speak very well.  It can be a difficult adjustment.

I really am enjoying myself here, but I’ve encountered in the last week or two a new kind of frustration regarding the language and culture barriers.  When I first arrived to Seville, it was a funny for me when I stumbled through conversations with my host parents and was able to share humorous misunderstandings with my American friends here.  But 6 weeks in, I often get tired of not being able to express myself in Spanish.  Even the simplest messages, like “I’m not feeling great today” or “I can’t finish all of this food,” lose the nuances of kindness and respect that I would be able to add in English.  I would hate to come off as rude to my host parents and I hope they can tell by my tone of voice and facial expressions that I appreciate what they do for me.

Other things are made difficult with my limited knowledge of the language.  What I affectionately refer to as my “stupid little phone,” the cell phone I have to make calls to people in Spain and which looks like it was yanked straight out of 2001, is testy and sometimes won’t make a call or send texts messages, even though I am pretty sure I paid for minutes.  When I went to the phone store once to recargar, or to recharge my minutes, I could not understand the employee who was trying to explain to me why I had depleted my phone credits so quickly.  The phone is working for now but it could go any day without notice.  Or maybe it is okay!  I truly have no idea.

My vocabulary in Spanish is limited, so I don’t feel like I can always express accurately how I feel about something or what my views on a particular topic are.  I find myself with often ending a sentence in the middle of a thought and telling my host parents “No tengo las palabras”–I don’t have the words.  I get frustrated because when I like something or think something is good, the only thing I really know how to say is “Esta bueno” or “Me gusta,” even when my feelings are more complex than that.

I write this not to scare off you potential study abroad students, but to tell you that there are times when you will feel down and to hopefully provide an example for how to work through the tough times when you are away from what is familiar and comfortable.  Muster up some of that Penn State pride you feel so strongly when you are at school, and use it to power through your frustration and confusion.  Keep doing things with people and living life the best you can.  I hope as I continue writing this blog I can share with you how I cope with some of the difficulties abroad.  It’s important to recognize that they do happen, but also that they don’t have to interfere with your international experience unless you let them.

To balance out the melancholia of this post, here’s a funny picture of a sign I found in Portugal.  “Approaching the sea can be dangerous.”

 

 

a sign in Portugal: "approaching the sea can be dangerous"

 

 


Location: Seville, Spain