Typical week.

June 3, 2007-06-03

So what of my life lately? The day is filled with class, naps, and escapades in the city. Typically my escapades amount to nothing more than café con leche at a nearby cafeteria (interestingly cafeteria means coffee bar. It kind of makes sense if you think of it café- teria. I’unno its one of those fun new language things I’ve been learning since I’ve been here where we have a completely different meaning ascribed to it). Truly there has been not much more to life than that.
My life is turning into a clear routine.
Step One: A casual purchase of the daily booze at the grocery store. This typically consists of rum, beer, or wine. Note that all the above are comparably cheaper in Spain than in America.

Step Two: I return home for dinner at 10:00. Enough said. Dinner usually precludes and/or postludes a fifteen minute discussin about random musings with my Lola (my Senora) and her son.

Step Three: Alemeda de Hercules. I have a fondness for this area of town known as the Alemeda de Hercules. A grandiose rectangular outdoor courtyard lined with Alemeda trees filled to the brim with indy record shops, jazz clubs, music venues, and artsy cafes. At approximately the stroke of midnight, hundreds of college kids, scene types, high schoolers, and rockers bring booze, smokes, and rolling paper and sit on the ground or near to bars.

Step Four (optional): Stay at Alemeda all night or head to Alfalfa - the area where the Euro study abroad kids, some locals, and a few Americans tend to chill. Do a few chupitos (shots) go home.




Yes yes. This is my routine, My only complaint is its SO hard to meet Sevillanos. My Spanish IS improving but slowly and my conversational Spanish isn’t where I would want it to be right now. Sevillanos are extremely friendly and willing to make small talk. However, a lengthy discussion or an invite to hang out later is difficult. Most people in Sevilla live and die in Sevilla. Their friends are friends since they were young and so becoming friends with random foreigners doesn’t make sense.

I’ve been trying to think of a remedy to this over the weekend. I think my solution is to meet gay kids. There are tons of gay guys and girls in Alemeda. From what I can tell they are just as dramatic, super friendly, and bitchy as gays in D.C. In other words, they make friends and loose friends fast. Furthermore, apparently much of the gay population in Sevilla is of rural origin or other parts of Spain or Europe. They themselves don’t have the cemented relationships other Sevillanos have. So perhaps, they are my outlet for more Spainyard friends. There are quite a few gay bars and gay people in general in the Alemeda de Hercules area and even more bars towards the river on the otherside of town.

Anyways, that’s all for now. This weekend I went to the beach and got the worst sunburns of my life even though I used SPF 35 and reapplied it multiple times. It hurts super bad and at least one part of my skin is purple and nearly pealing.

Oh and to Amy and Z. My mom was SOOO happy y’all visited; she sent me a really excited e-mail. So anyone in town I’m sure is welcome to visit with my mom, she’d be thrilled. Ok that’s all loves. Sorry this post is so rambly and shitty, my sunburns are killing me and I desperately need to lie down.

-Adam

P.S. Z if you’re reading this… beware! All they eat in Spain is pork. In fact, this relates to anthropology a bit. People tend to have more words for things that relate to their climate/food/lifestyle etc. There are a billion and a half words for different cuts of pork. Its really hard to keep it straight, so before you leave you might want to learn all the words so when you order food you won’t freak out and die. Some of it deceptively tastes like chicken or lamb. Today I had a meatball that was indescribable. I couldn’t tell if it was beef or pork. So just beware.

Wednesday May 30th - The Caves

The Evening star is so bright here. It practically competes with the moon. Maybe its always been this bright and its taken Sevilla for me to notice. At night instead of talking to myself, I tried talking to her. Maybe I’m going crazy, it just gets so completely lonely in my tiny dingy of a room.
Ship. I’ve decided my little room on the roof is a tiny sailboat, floating above the city. I can here the ebb and flow of the city below – church bells crashing, the drinking of tinto de verano, and the roaming of wild dogs. All the noise of the city is below me, distant; and I alone sailing above. Very Ameliesque in a way (how many people are having organisms right now?). I guess I could I could not have asked for a better homestay.
Wednesday was a somewhat frustrating day. The program hosted a trip to the mines and caves surrounding Huelva – a city about an hour and a half away. We began the day early, completely weary and anxious and ended it in much the same manner. Our first stop was las minas de rió tinto – The mines of Wine River. The mines were… much as mines should be – long dark and cavern like. The one astonishing thing about them was a lake formed by miners pumping water out. As the guide blabbered about compositions of rocks and the mine’s 5,000 year history, all I could do was stand transfixed at the incredible color of the water. The edges were a yellow slowly bleeding into a crimson red giving the illusion of fire due to the high mineral content and acidity of the water. The body of water itself was huge and found deep within a huge desolate valley in the rock- dotted with the stray shrub or fig tree. The overall effect was startling and from our photo vista, difficult to capture with the camera. However, the guide portrayed the place perfectly by conveying the colloquial name of the place: the wounds of the earth (El dolor de la tierra), a place where Gaia herself would bleed red with blood.
Next, we left the mines to go to a tiny village of 4,000 inhabitants secluded deep in the mountains. Linares de la Sierra, the town was called, had approximately one laundry “facility”, two bars, and thousands of cats. Our new, much more enjoyable, very handsome twenty-something year old guía referred to it as something of an anachronism – revealing a Spain of years past. The town DID have one public font that everyone got water from, and ONE outdoor laundry area where people used washing boards to clean there clothes, as they had told us about before. However, what was most memorable about the town was the plethora of cats. It seemed as if cats outnumbered residence. Likewise, accompanying this army of felines where their familiars – ancient old ladies. Indeed at least one of these centenarians was blind, and clearly many more mumbled under their breath. I have suspicions this was the town where old cat ladies came to die. I became completely enchanted with this one stray – a midnight black cat with lime green eyes. I was petting the poor thing – half feverishly with love, half worried about fleas – and it followed me throughout the town. I suppose there were just so many cats and so few people, a few cats fell through the holes of proper welfare. In the end, we (halfheartedly) left. The too-short stay in the eerily empty town was suplanted by a trip to go to see the Grutas de Las Maravillas.
I’m not going to write much about this cave. To me, a cave is a cave is a cave. Stalagmites and underwater lakes and cavern-guides who are hunched over with crossed eyes seem to be universals across the world. In fact, by the time I walked in the cave, I was ready to walk back out and head to Sevilla. After a much to long subterranean hike, we entered our bus and I took an hour and a half nap home. Then continued my dreaming for another two hours on my own bed.
That’s all for now my friends. I hope to talk to each of you soon. I’ll post some pictures of the mine and village soon… I let someone borrow my camera cord.

Of big hair and heavy metal

Monday, May 28th

I’m going to start posting the days I write these on top because for some reason my attaché doesn’t attach to the computers at the internet café, so I can only load these up when I go to the Palacio (the building with my classes). And those computers can be extremely busy… like at times it takes an hour for one to be empty.

So about Malága. We get off the bus, and are immediately greeted by a wholly four star luxury hotel. We were greeted at the door by bellhops and waiters who took our bags and served us complimentary wine and prompted us to be seated in the reception area as they offered us green olives. The place was fantastic.

The town of Malaga, on the other hand, was a bit of a disappointment. It was not as historic as Sevilla. There was less of the frantic energy and apparently we were told wrong. Malága was a few kilometers east of the Costa del Sol – the Spanish Riviera with its infamously touristy but beautiful beaches. Malága was instead a “port” town with a dingy beach and a halfhearted boardwalk.

We met up with some “intercambios” or exchange students from the local university and they took us to lunch and showed us around. Where Sevilla is trapped somewhere around 1981, Malaga is trapped in the early 90s. The city was chalk full of Heavy Metal addicts and, to contrast, pastel wearing yuppies. In fact, I was talking to the intercambios and they told me they had dressed conservatively for us and typically they’d be sporting heavy metal t-shirts! The girl had giant 80s hair, and the guy had that long dirty look sported by my brother in 93. It was kinda amusing. They were asking me about Metallica and random 90s and 80s metal bands. I confessed I didn’t know much.



We also went to the Picasso museum there. It was fairly interesting though I’m not the biggest fan of Picasso. Most the works there were not anything to write home about.

The night, we vowed to go bar-hopping till 6 am. We made it to 5, and then I had to help carry one guy home.

The next day was absolutely incredible. We went hiking in a fantastic natural park near the tiny pueblo of Antequera. It looked almost as if it was taken from the land before time. The guia related that a vast ocean in the Triassic period had
carved out the rocks. I would describe more but I feel like the pictures will do more justice.
Hope everyone is feeling splendid, Talk to you later!



-Adam

Friday I'm in Love.

Friday May 25th

What to say? I apologize for my lengthy, flowery, and utterly baneful posts. My life is not that interesting, but I suppose without roommates, neighbors, or much classes all I ever want to do is read and write. I’ve finished a book and two plays in a week if that says anything.
In any case, Calle Betis on Wednesday didn’t turn out as planned. Instead, I met with two of my friends – two fratboys from University of Colorado Boulder – (strange bedfellows no?) at our “go to bar” – Cabo Loco.
The night started out innocently enough. A beer here. A tequila shot there. There was tons of Spaniards out (friendly as ever), that we exchanged words with. At some point however, I had an encounter with the little green fairy… and I hope NEVER to repeat our meeting. I was holding my liquor quite well actually, but that green stuff packs a mighty punch.
I remember walking home carrying my multicolored keys. Green goes to the door. Red to the roof. And Yellow your home. Somehow I managed to get back and pass out on my bed. The next day was hell. The one bright side to my miniature green misery, was I had some of the most vivid and spectacular dreams of my life.
My sister opened a second store in Dallas, and became wildly successful. My brother took over Metro cinema in Colleyville and he and Lela made an amazing indy theatre. Daniel nearly died in a motorcycle accident but was miraculously unharmed and vowed never to take such risks again. And so much more. I saw buildings get torn down, cities rise up….
This weekend, I’m heading to Malaga. It used to be the locale of the rich in famous – a Spanish Riviera of sorts. It is supposed to be lovely but extremely touristy now. However, the beaches are said to be charming and there is supposed to be a magnificent Picasso museum. In any case, do send me your numbers because I lost my book full of numbers. I plan on using my phone cards at some point to call people besides my parents…. Cool. Hope everything is well with y’all!
-Adam

I lost everyones phone numbers. Facebook message or e-mail me them.

Awesome.

Stringing the moments together...

(Just FYI, I usually write this the day before then post it during my breaks in class the following day).


Life is a not made up of a series of moments. It’s a string of actions and events woven into a tapestry of existence. Some threads last forever, foreshadowing the future to come. Some change colors. Ambiguous in their course. However, all the threads in the end, interrelate and blend with the grander fabric of reality.
In other words, I’m a strong believer that events in our lives foreshadow other events, occurrences and events in the world are all interrelated. What you see in the world, becomes your world. The mechanics of this are beyond me. A friend of a friend is attempting to work out the Theory that unites all theories… but that is without a doubt beyond me. So as the mechanics are beyond me, my observation of this idea remains.
The events of the past two days mesh perfectly with this idea. Monday night, I was invited to the bar Cabo Loco. Though this bar, happens to be one of the few things I CAN find in this labyrinthine city, I got terribly lost. I found myself in an area with jazz clubs, art cafes, and record shops. Perhaps, a sevillano blend of U-street (Deep Ellum). The people had a peculiar look to them that I could not exactly put my finger on until I spotted two bars - El hombre y el oso and italica… It seemed I had stumbled into the Oaklawn (Dupont circle) of Sevilla… I wrote a mental note to myself, and continued to be lost for another 10 minutes.
Eventually I found Cabo Loco. We had a few drinks, and some Europeans came in. It was a mixed crowd of French people, Italians, and Sevillanos. I was, at the time, quite bored with my American amigos so, I decided to befriend these Europeans. Our mutual languages were broken English and broken Spanish. We tended to stick with Spanish because that seemed to be what they preferred. Apparently, most of them were exchange students from Europe who have been attending the Universidad de Sevilla for nearly the last year. The rest were expatriates and sevillanos that they had befriended.
I ended up leaving the Americans, and bar hopping with my new European friends. Needless to say the night didn’t end till the next morning… for various reasons… So much happened and it was great fun but I care not to recount. It would take too long, and I’m getting weary of writing in English. Ask me about it sometime over a drink and you’ll hear an interesting story indeed.

Lets just say, the threads of the last few days came together.

Tuesday, was a waste of a day. I wasn’t hung over… but I had only slept an hour for at least 24 hours if not more…. The siesta on Monday had not been very successful and I didn’t sleep that night at all. And so Tuesday, I was incredibly clumsy, got lost everytime I left the house, went to bed early, and was extremely anti-social and emo. I decided weariness gives me culture shock, because everything perturbed me, depressed me, and made me homesick.

Today is Wednesday, and much better than yesterday. I suppose its because I’m well rested but… there is not a problem in the world. I’ll likely go out tonight with my American friends, who mostly bore me, at Calle Besis – the clubbing, bar, youthful, area of the town.

Forgive my bad grammar and spelling. The more I write and speak Spanish, the less English makes sense to me. Español es más natural que Inglés. Perhaps this is a good sign?! No sé. I don’t know. I suppose my American friends here are good company but I miss everyone tons! Hope things are alright in D.C. and Dallas or wherever you may be! Talk to you soon.
-Adam

En el Centro

Forewarning... this is a very long blog message of 90% rambling... no need to read.

There has been a frenzy of activity in so little time. Flamenco... La fiesta de la torero"... mi nueva casa. Flamenco... is nearly indescribable. Two men in a beautiful Moorish patio. One, lightly tapping his leg. The other, violently strumming the guitar with a highly complex melody. Vines hang limply against a back wall competing against azure tiles that intricately map the floor below. The man, who is lightly tapping his foot, suddenly stops. A deep breath… his neck veins pulse and the entire room becomes still as he croons a passionate and sorrowful melody. A few moments later, a woman, brightly smothered in polka-dots, accompanies the singer with fast-paced and dramatic step-dance. The end result was a rhythmic threnody that almost replicated the feel of the city itself. Drunk with the music and dim lighting, I was at times catching myself almost falling asleep. Not because it was boring, but because the tune itself sounded almost like wine. At times wine completely overtakes you, and there is shouting, kissing, and complete inebriation. However, underneath this chaos, wine gives you that steady pulsing buzz that in the end leads you to your bed. Flamenco, in all its harshness and passion, ultimately inspires complete surrender. And more than an hour, would undoubtedly put anyone to sleep.

And so afterwards, a group of the study abroad people and I ventured to a tapas bar to get some coffee and a snack. They were pretty cool people. A art history major from Colorado. A music major from Florida. And a very very tall Spanish major. At the tapas bar, I had a cheese tort with raspberries and goat cheese and an espresso. Needless to say it was amazing.

Four of us decided to venture off through the barrio de Santa Cruz after the meal and somehow we found ourselves in the middle of a block party of sorts. It was an outside square with a bar on one side filled to the brim. Old ladies, young children, parents, and teens. A stage was set up and there was live music and some karaoke. I had a few tinto veranos (it’s the local wine mixed with some orange or strawberry fanta… its quite good) and some local beers, we were having a good time. This one man, who we came later to at the end of the festivities as "el torero", took a particular liking to us. He drunkenly taught us the art of sevillano dancing. He seemed a bit off, but a likeable guy. And so we danced the night away doing congo lines, sexual group dancing, etc. Needless to say it was awesome. At the end of the night, I was talking with this sevillano who was a friend with this strange man who taught us to dance. Apparently, the dancing man was a bullfighter (el torero). I guess it explained the craziness.
In any case, the party ended early… I suppose because there were so many old people, and we got back to our place around 3:45 and I went to bed.

**
Today has been mostly a blur. I got assigned to my homestay house and it seems I have quite a bit to live up to. The kid from spring, is here till the end of the month. He’s a really really nice guy from Puerto Rico…. But… yeah he speaks fluent Spanish so I feel even more nervous speaking and am making lots of silly errors. The Senora’s accent is also very difficult… harder than other sevillanos I met… I’m not sure why.

My room… is incredible. I have a tiny room on the roof of the 4th floor equipped with a bathroom, shower, microwave, etc. Its probably about ¾ the size of my living room at Munson. However, being on the roof completely makes up for it. I have an incredible view of the city. I’m a block away from the art museum, and a square where all the artist hang out. I also, apparently, am in the artsy area of town. And on the edge of the major shopping area. So basically my location rocks.

The only downside is I was talking to the Puerto Rican, Ricardo, and apparently it’s a bit isolating. The Senora and her son, are very very friendly. However, because I’ve got my own place and what not, we tend to only hang out during lunch or dinner. To be honest, I’m perfectly okay with this arrangement. The only reason I have some hesitation is I feel like it won’t help my Spanish abilities that much…. And I feel somewhat discouraged being here.

Wow I wrote a lot. You don’t have to read it all… in fact its more for me rather than you. In any case, I’m posting some pics up soon and you can check out most of what I’ve said visually and skip my rambling. Much love.

-Adam

P.S. The top picture is a random typical sevilla street. The other picture is the courtyard of El Palacio- the building where i take classes. And the last one is a view of my tiny rooftop room. To see more pictures go to

http://picasaweb.google.com/Truth.and.Beauty.Bombs

I´m not sure how much i´ll be updating the photos though because it takes a long time on these computers.... I´ll probably just add them to posts instead. Cool kids