We have passed the two-week mark. Two weeks and I will return to home and all the goodness that entails.
The most common question as of late is how I feel about the dwindling number of days. It is bittersweet for sure. I have not struggled with homesickness while I have been in Spain. I tend to be content whatever the circumstance, a good trait for traveling. Still, I think I have reached the point where I am more excited to be home than to stay in Spain. This by no means lessens my experience or stops me from taking advantage of every minute I have left. It just means that 4 months is a long time to be away from the familiar.
But returning has its consequences too. There is a lot of Spain I will miss. I can definitely see myself returning to Spain someday, hopefully sooner rather than later. Quite honestly, I am enchanted by this country. In my small travels to other European countries, I have found nothing else comparable to Spain. Sometimes I fancy myself spending retirement in a seaside pueblo.
So, as I go forward onto my last two weeks, I prepare for my final exams. How far I have come in learning the language I knew very little of coming into this experience. Sometimes it is hard to see this progression as I survive on a day-to-day basis. It takes something like studying for all-accumulating, only-grade-in-the-gradebook exams to help me see where I started.
While we were in Barcelona for the past days, Oviedo became decked in holiday cheer. The cathedral square in the center of the city has been turned into a life-sized nativity, complete with a three-story tall Christmas tree. I wasn’t expecting this to happen in a country that denounces religion, but really, who can pass up some good ole Christmas Cheer. For the most part, Spanish homes remain undecorated except for an occasional stuffed Santa crawling over a ladder hung off the apartment balcony. The Spanish celebrate Nochebuena (the Good Night) and then Día de Los Reyos Magos (Day of the 3 Magi) in early January. Traditionally, the latter has been the only one celebrated, but with growing globalization, Christmas Eve has made it into the holiday schedule.
The temperature has consistently been in the mid-50 degrees F so far this December, with the exception of December 1, where it was sunny and mid-60’s. Nothing to complain about. More frequently now rain gets added to the mix, but that isn’t even all too often. I am looking forward to my arrival at home, just in time for Christmas. I miss December weather with the promise of snow in the air, mittens, boots and sweaters. I miss the feeling in December when home is a haven, a retreat from everything cold and dark. Christmas becomes all the more meaningful when it means returning to home.
Not sure how much time I will have for updates the next few weeks, so right now I would like to thank all of you, my family and friends, for thinking of me and keeping up with me over this past semester. I greatly appreciate all the support I have received from home while far away. I hope to reunite with you soon!
Happy Holidays!
09 December 2011
18 November 2011
(insert title here)
Silence.
That is last weekend in a word. It was a welcome interruption. To understand where I am coming from, consider some parts of a “noisy” Spanish society.
Scene 1: The café.
Most often there are multiple TVs, which are always on and tuned to different channels. There is always music in the background. The coffee machine is constantly whirling at high pitches, interrupted by the banging of excess coffee grinds into the garbage for every cup ordered. Servers yell orders to each other across the room. A slot machine makes mechanical noises in the corner. Conversations and heated debates arise from every table. A quiet café is something that needs to be sought. Still, I might make a small disclaimer. Though many of the noise elements are present in my host family’s café, it is about as quiet as a Spanish café can be. For this, I am extremely thankful. I think it is possibly part of their Zen.
Scene 2: The piso.
Though I suspect my living situation might be a lot quieter than most, considering no pets and no siblings, the environment is still innately Spanish. Between the constantly bickering Spanish couple upstairs and the yippy dog that thinks he is a bloodhound downstairs, even my bedroom does not offer the wanted escape. I have never met any of these people, but every day I hear their lives play out through the paper-thin walls. Add in a bagpiper who practices every siesta into the courtyard. Then there are the noises of the street below: sirens from a nearby hospital and impatient drivers honking at an unreasonable frequency and duration. An added bonus lately has been the campaign cars driving around all day with megaphone speakers playing political ads.
Sometimes I just feel bombarded. Though I am sure my environment back in the States comes with its own noises, I never have felt so overwhelmed by sounds. Perhaps the noise in combination with nearly complete immersion in a language I only have learned over the past 3 months just wears me down. I am a person who needs complete silence every once in a while.
Then last weekend happened. It was a weekend spent in the beautiful mountains of Northern Spain. It was absolutely beautiful. I think I would have found it so even without sight. I didn’t find the silence until Saturday night. I was playing cards with 3 others in a dimly lit room around a crackling fire at the most perfect little hotel. There was a TV, but it wasn’t on. Voices were hushed. There were only a handful of other guests, all of which were not seen or heard. We were in a town so small it existed without a market. No cars, no sirens, not even lights.
We did two hikes over two days. The first day’s was up a small mountain (more like a rolling hill when compared to day 2) to a gorgeous pasture with a stream and cave. The second day we headed to the Picos de Europa, a national park in the heart of Asturias. We took a 7-hour hike that ascended about a mile up to the top of a mountain. I have done nothing of the sort in 3 years. It felt so good, but was so incredibly difficult. Most of the time we were not following a path, but two colored lines on the occasional rock. The challenge was all forgotten when we got to the summit, overlooking an amazing valley. What I wasn’t expecting was the wind at the top. It was so powerful that it took me off my feet a couple of times while I was unaware. My feelings were a mixture of incredible awe and extreme fear as we looked off the edge of a cliff with this wind against our faces. It was majestic. How amazing it was to be surrounded by the absence of man and man-made structures, to view nothing but natural purity. That is a silence in and of itself.
The weekend passed too quickly. This week it was back to the noise. Back to anticipating final exams that start in December, planning a trip to Italy next week, applying for scholarships and internships back home.
Tranquility has been lost.
That is last weekend in a word. It was a welcome interruption. To understand where I am coming from, consider some parts of a “noisy” Spanish society.
Scene 1: The café.
Most often there are multiple TVs, which are always on and tuned to different channels. There is always music in the background. The coffee machine is constantly whirling at high pitches, interrupted by the banging of excess coffee grinds into the garbage for every cup ordered. Servers yell orders to each other across the room. A slot machine makes mechanical noises in the corner. Conversations and heated debates arise from every table. A quiet café is something that needs to be sought. Still, I might make a small disclaimer. Though many of the noise elements are present in my host family’s café, it is about as quiet as a Spanish café can be. For this, I am extremely thankful. I think it is possibly part of their Zen.
Scene 2: The piso.
Though I suspect my living situation might be a lot quieter than most, considering no pets and no siblings, the environment is still innately Spanish. Between the constantly bickering Spanish couple upstairs and the yippy dog that thinks he is a bloodhound downstairs, even my bedroom does not offer the wanted escape. I have never met any of these people, but every day I hear their lives play out through the paper-thin walls. Add in a bagpiper who practices every siesta into the courtyard. Then there are the noises of the street below: sirens from a nearby hospital and impatient drivers honking at an unreasonable frequency and duration. An added bonus lately has been the campaign cars driving around all day with megaphone speakers playing political ads.
Sometimes I just feel bombarded. Though I am sure my environment back in the States comes with its own noises, I never have felt so overwhelmed by sounds. Perhaps the noise in combination with nearly complete immersion in a language I only have learned over the past 3 months just wears me down. I am a person who needs complete silence every once in a while.
Then last weekend happened. It was a weekend spent in the beautiful mountains of Northern Spain. It was absolutely beautiful. I think I would have found it so even without sight. I didn’t find the silence until Saturday night. I was playing cards with 3 others in a dimly lit room around a crackling fire at the most perfect little hotel. There was a TV, but it wasn’t on. Voices were hushed. There were only a handful of other guests, all of which were not seen or heard. We were in a town so small it existed without a market. No cars, no sirens, not even lights.
We did two hikes over two days. The first day’s was up a small mountain (more like a rolling hill when compared to day 2) to a gorgeous pasture with a stream and cave. The second day we headed to the Picos de Europa, a national park in the heart of Asturias. We took a 7-hour hike that ascended about a mile up to the top of a mountain. I have done nothing of the sort in 3 years. It felt so good, but was so incredibly difficult. Most of the time we were not following a path, but two colored lines on the occasional rock. The challenge was all forgotten when we got to the summit, overlooking an amazing valley. What I wasn’t expecting was the wind at the top. It was so powerful that it took me off my feet a couple of times while I was unaware. My feelings were a mixture of incredible awe and extreme fear as we looked off the edge of a cliff with this wind against our faces. It was majestic. How amazing it was to be surrounded by the absence of man and man-made structures, to view nothing but natural purity. That is a silence in and of itself.
The weekend passed too quickly. This week it was back to the noise. Back to anticipating final exams that start in December, planning a trip to Italy next week, applying for scholarships and internships back home.
Tranquility has been lost.
09 November 2011
Loophole Frustrations
No hay internet más.
That is not entirely true. My internet isn’t completely gone, it just has gone completely ornery. With the perfectly timed combination of switching on/off the airport and my browser, I can get 1-2 minutes tops. It is the perfect amount of time to check my email, and on a good day send an email or two. Cantankerous internet means I can’t do things like keep up with a favorite TV show, spend excessive time reading articles on random topics, test my knowledge of cheese and fonts. Oh wait, maybe this is a good thing. For those who mind and mouse wanders on the internet (cough…me), this is the optimal situation! I know it is for the best, its just a little frustrating. Una sola lágrima.
I have definitely found the loopholes. In the beginning it was necessary to use these mechanisms to survive. But I know now. If anything, France confirmed that for me (oh yeah, I should mention that I spent five days last week with the French). I can more than survive on Spanish.
Writing Spanish is easy for me. I can take all the time in the world to carefully craft what I want to say in ink. So I do. Now I carry it these pieces of paper around as a safety blanket. I will try to speak, but if they don’t understand what I am saying (my biggest struggle point is pronunciation), I can hand them the paper with my written Spanish. Voilá.
So today, I am at the bus station to buy a ticket for my next grand, trans-European adventure. I walk up to the window, say “Quería…” then proceed to hand the teller my paper. It happened before I knew what I was doing, an automatic reflex of sorts. I could kick myself. Seriously. I get so mad at myself for doing that. Subconsciously, I am trying to survive, when I really know I need the practice and to struggle through.
I had a Spanish birthday. It was marvelous. I had a ridiculously long lunch with some wonderful food and the company of my host family. My fellow classmates from Calvin threw me a birthday party in the afternoon. And to top off the night, we went to the Czech bar, just because here I can have a drink on my 20th birthday. A bit of a shift from the ordinary birthday is always nice. If you ever have the chance to have a Spanish cumple, I highly recommend it.
Classes continue to be, well, very strange.
I got told off by the professor for not knowing my greater Spanish numbers (>20). Quite honestly, up until that class period, I hadn’t ever come across a situation in Spanish life where I needed to know a number greater than 20. Actually I could have told him that I did in fact know my shoe-size (treinta y siete). After all, that is the only number that really matters for a girl.
Another peculiar occurrence was having exams handed back last week. As the professor called off our names, he read off our score. This is totally taboo in the States and I expected nothing else in a Spanish classroom. But no. We sat there as he started reading off the numbers, our faces gaped like goldfish at feeding time. It was like a dream. I half expected the professor to stand in front of me and say, “Amanda Witte, 2%” (actually, I did get quite a low score on my first test—though thankfully not that low—because I gave every single 1st person plural verb a Latin –mus ending rather than a Castilian –mos ending, but that is another story for another day).
So, I continue to survive in this foreign culture. These test-handing back, culture-shock occurrences are less and less as I come to form my new standards by Spanish culture. I continue to learn so much everyday, and it does not stop at just the language.
That is not entirely true. My internet isn’t completely gone, it just has gone completely ornery. With the perfectly timed combination of switching on/off the airport and my browser, I can get 1-2 minutes tops. It is the perfect amount of time to check my email, and on a good day send an email or two. Cantankerous internet means I can’t do things like keep up with a favorite TV show, spend excessive time reading articles on random topics, test my knowledge of cheese and fonts. Oh wait, maybe this is a good thing. For those who mind and mouse wanders on the internet (cough…me), this is the optimal situation! I know it is for the best, its just a little frustrating. Una sola lágrima.
I have definitely found the loopholes. In the beginning it was necessary to use these mechanisms to survive. But I know now. If anything, France confirmed that for me (oh yeah, I should mention that I spent five days last week with the French). I can more than survive on Spanish.
Writing Spanish is easy for me. I can take all the time in the world to carefully craft what I want to say in ink. So I do. Now I carry it these pieces of paper around as a safety blanket. I will try to speak, but if they don’t understand what I am saying (my biggest struggle point is pronunciation), I can hand them the paper with my written Spanish. Voilá.
So today, I am at the bus station to buy a ticket for my next grand, trans-European adventure. I walk up to the window, say “Quería…” then proceed to hand the teller my paper. It happened before I knew what I was doing, an automatic reflex of sorts. I could kick myself. Seriously. I get so mad at myself for doing that. Subconsciously, I am trying to survive, when I really know I need the practice and to struggle through.
I had a Spanish birthday. It was marvelous. I had a ridiculously long lunch with some wonderful food and the company of my host family. My fellow classmates from Calvin threw me a birthday party in the afternoon. And to top off the night, we went to the Czech bar, just because here I can have a drink on my 20th birthday. A bit of a shift from the ordinary birthday is always nice. If you ever have the chance to have a Spanish cumple, I highly recommend it.
Classes continue to be, well, very strange.
I got told off by the professor for not knowing my greater Spanish numbers (>20). Quite honestly, up until that class period, I hadn’t ever come across a situation in Spanish life where I needed to know a number greater than 20. Actually I could have told him that I did in fact know my shoe-size (treinta y siete). After all, that is the only number that really matters for a girl.
Another peculiar occurrence was having exams handed back last week. As the professor called off our names, he read off our score. This is totally taboo in the States and I expected nothing else in a Spanish classroom. But no. We sat there as he started reading off the numbers, our faces gaped like goldfish at feeding time. It was like a dream. I half expected the professor to stand in front of me and say, “Amanda Witte, 2%” (actually, I did get quite a low score on my first test—though thankfully not that low—because I gave every single 1st person plural verb a Latin –mus ending rather than a Castilian –mos ending, but that is another story for another day).
So, I continue to survive in this foreign culture. These test-handing back, culture-shock occurrences are less and less as I come to form my new standards by Spanish culture. I continue to learn so much everyday, and it does not stop at just the language.
24 October 2011
And Speaking Of...
Whew! It has been a while. I apologize for that, but the pace of my life has quadrupled within the last 3 weeks. Complicating matters is that my blogspot account, along with the majority of my internet preferences, has been changed into Castellano, and for a shamefully long period of time I couldn’t figure out for the life of me how in the world to create a new post.
The language classes have finally started. Such craziness. It is quite difficult to adjust to how languages are taught here. It is not an organized teaching, but situational learning and figuring out verb tenses and vocabulary through context. The theory behind this is that children learn their first language in this manner, so that is how a second language should be learned as well. Not so sure about that yet...I learn much better in charts and vocab lists. I like organized, no scratch that, I love organized. It is how I learned Latin, it is how my brain seems to be wired to learn Spanish. If someone would just go through a verb chart, I could memorize it and be well on my way. We didn’t even start talking about verb conjugation until the second week. Still, my language professor is awesome. His name is Jesus. He has a wardrobe full of colored pants and colored sweaters. He is quite humorous and the king of digression. What follows is an example (real-life!) of the digression that occurs on a daily basis.
An sentence example comes up with the word “bajando”, meaning to download something. From there, we go over the uses of the root “baja”, of which various forms can be used to describe something as short, turning down the volume, going downstairs, downloading, and much more. Then is discussed the sea having a “low tide” and the phrase which describes the movement of the sea. We then learn the difference of using “el mar” vs. “la mar”, including the geographic location of the people using each respective form to refer to the sea. Then comes a history lesson about the Andalucian people discovering a group of islands in the North Atlantic, naming them “La Baja Mar,” but since Andalucian’s don’t have as guttural of a “j” noise as the rest of Spain and a tendency to have silent r’s, this group of islands became known as the Bahamas.
The key phrase is always “and speaking of…”, it is the segue into the next lesson. Previous digressions have included: “and speaking of pregnant women…”, “and speaking of turning pages…”, “and speaking of Juan”. When you hear this phrase, something good is about to happen. There is never a dull moment with Jesús.
In other news, my Spanglish has reached an all-time high. You would think that wouldn’t be a problem after 7 weeks, but it is. This involves mostly taking English words, but by pronouncing the vowels differently, turning them into “Spanish.” I have no clue if these words actually exist, but since there are a lot of words that act like this, subconsciously I just try. It’s really bad for the words that end in “-le”: recycle, possible, bicycle. Some of those connections just aren’t there yet.
Poco a poco.
The language classes have finally started. Such craziness. It is quite difficult to adjust to how languages are taught here. It is not an organized teaching, but situational learning and figuring out verb tenses and vocabulary through context. The theory behind this is that children learn their first language in this manner, so that is how a second language should be learned as well. Not so sure about that yet...I learn much better in charts and vocab lists. I like organized, no scratch that, I love organized. It is how I learned Latin, it is how my brain seems to be wired to learn Spanish. If someone would just go through a verb chart, I could memorize it and be well on my way. We didn’t even start talking about verb conjugation until the second week. Still, my language professor is awesome. His name is Jesus. He has a wardrobe full of colored pants and colored sweaters. He is quite humorous and the king of digression. What follows is an example (real-life!) of the digression that occurs on a daily basis.
An sentence example comes up with the word “bajando”, meaning to download something. From there, we go over the uses of the root “baja”, of which various forms can be used to describe something as short, turning down the volume, going downstairs, downloading, and much more. Then is discussed the sea having a “low tide” and the phrase which describes the movement of the sea. We then learn the difference of using “el mar” vs. “la mar”, including the geographic location of the people using each respective form to refer to the sea. Then comes a history lesson about the Andalucian people discovering a group of islands in the North Atlantic, naming them “La Baja Mar,” but since Andalucian’s don’t have as guttural of a “j” noise as the rest of Spain and a tendency to have silent r’s, this group of islands became known as the Bahamas.
The key phrase is always “and speaking of…”, it is the segue into the next lesson. Previous digressions have included: “and speaking of pregnant women…”, “and speaking of turning pages…”, “and speaking of Juan”. When you hear this phrase, something good is about to happen. There is never a dull moment with Jesús.
In other news, my Spanglish has reached an all-time high. You would think that wouldn’t be a problem after 7 weeks, but it is. This involves mostly taking English words, but by pronouncing the vowels differently, turning them into “Spanish.” I have no clue if these words actually exist, but since there are a lot of words that act like this, subconsciously I just try. It’s really bad for the words that end in “-le”: recycle, possible, bicycle. Some of those connections just aren’t there yet.
Poco a poco.
02 October 2011
Conquering the Postal Office
Sometimes living in a foreign country is akin to a giant scavenger hunt. Perhaps the epitome of this analogy is my trip to the postal office this past week.
Since my arrival in Oviedo, I have kept my eyes open for a post office near my flat. After weeks of seeing nothing and then needing to send a piece of mail, I finally turned to Google. Searching for a Correos (post office) near my location put one at 2 km away. Not bad. Heading over to its supposed location, I soon discovered that Google had led me to a mall. Indoor malls in Spain contain some pretty funny things (butchers, grocery stores, car repair shops), so I was surprised, but not deterred. (Now would also be a good time to mention that in most circumstances I would trust Google with my life.) It took me about 20 minutes to walk around all 4 floors. By the time I got to the fourth, I was feeling quite sorry for Spaniards who have to go up 4 flights of escalators just to get to the post office. Of course, this was assuming it was on the fourth floor, which it wasn’t. A bit confused at this point, I went back down to the first floor, where I started walking around the grocery store in the mall, thinking there might be a store within the store (also quite frequent). There wasn’t. I looked around for a sign listing all stores in the mall. There wasn’t one. I asked a security guard where the post office was, but he didn’t understand what I was saying without the rolled r’s in correos. It is becoming more and more a frequent problem that I can’t roll my r’s (I can’t order churros, which is kind of a bummer). That was embarrassing. I finally found a sign on the wall that listed all the stores, but still didn’t see Correos. As I was turning away, something small jumped out at me under the 2nd floor. It was miniscule, a different font, and a different color, but it said Correos. Jubilant, I headed off for the 2nd floor, only to remember when I got there that the entire floor was the home section of one department store. I made 2.5 loops around the inside of the store before I finally found the post office hidden way in the back of the store, behind the bedding, miscellaneous bathroom hardware, and pet toys. From there it was another 30 minutes waiting in line. The part that I was dreading—asking for a stamp to send a letter to the USA—ended up being the least of my problems. All in all, it was a good 2-hour trip to mail a letter. But, what really matters is next time it will be 5 minutes. It’s all about the learning experience. It is not just the language that acts a barrier, but the entire culture. And I love it more and more every day.
In other news, I am thoroughly enjoying a four-day weekend at this point in time. The time off was a bit unexpected and after much debate about travel locations, I ended up taking a trip from Saturday to Sunday with the destination of León, Las Médulas, and Astorga. On Friday, most of our group went to the beach in Gijon as well seeing as we are still enjoying 80 degrees and sunny (be jealous). I am starting to wonder if the rainy weather will ever come…
Tomorrow my language classes begin. I can hardly contain my excitement.
Since my arrival in Oviedo, I have kept my eyes open for a post office near my flat. After weeks of seeing nothing and then needing to send a piece of mail, I finally turned to Google. Searching for a Correos (post office) near my location put one at 2 km away. Not bad. Heading over to its supposed location, I soon discovered that Google had led me to a mall. Indoor malls in Spain contain some pretty funny things (butchers, grocery stores, car repair shops), so I was surprised, but not deterred. (Now would also be a good time to mention that in most circumstances I would trust Google with my life.) It took me about 20 minutes to walk around all 4 floors. By the time I got to the fourth, I was feeling quite sorry for Spaniards who have to go up 4 flights of escalators just to get to the post office. Of course, this was assuming it was on the fourth floor, which it wasn’t. A bit confused at this point, I went back down to the first floor, where I started walking around the grocery store in the mall, thinking there might be a store within the store (also quite frequent). There wasn’t. I looked around for a sign listing all stores in the mall. There wasn’t one. I asked a security guard where the post office was, but he didn’t understand what I was saying without the rolled r’s in correos. It is becoming more and more a frequent problem that I can’t roll my r’s (I can’t order churros, which is kind of a bummer). That was embarrassing. I finally found a sign on the wall that listed all the stores, but still didn’t see Correos. As I was turning away, something small jumped out at me under the 2nd floor. It was miniscule, a different font, and a different color, but it said Correos. Jubilant, I headed off for the 2nd floor, only to remember when I got there that the entire floor was the home section of one department store. I made 2.5 loops around the inside of the store before I finally found the post office hidden way in the back of the store, behind the bedding, miscellaneous bathroom hardware, and pet toys. From there it was another 30 minutes waiting in line. The part that I was dreading—asking for a stamp to send a letter to the USA—ended up being the least of my problems. All in all, it was a good 2-hour trip to mail a letter. But, what really matters is next time it will be 5 minutes. It’s all about the learning experience. It is not just the language that acts a barrier, but the entire culture. And I love it more and more every day.
In other news, I am thoroughly enjoying a four-day weekend at this point in time. The time off was a bit unexpected and after much debate about travel locations, I ended up taking a trip from Saturday to Sunday with the destination of León, Las Médulas, and Astorga. On Friday, most of our group went to the beach in Gijon as well seeing as we are still enjoying 80 degrees and sunny (be jealous). I am starting to wonder if the rainy weather will ever come…
Tomorrow my language classes begin. I can hardly contain my excitement.
26 September 2011
And the party of the year goes to Saint Matthew
It has been 3 weeks since we arrived, but everything is settling down so fast that it seems like I have already been here for months.
As the week winds down, so does the San Mateo festival. What is San Mateo, you ask? San Mateo (Saint Matthew) is the patron saint of Oviedo. And of course, every patron saint deserves a rockin’ party, so there is a festival during the third week of September. Oviedo must know how to put on a fiesta too, because this one is all the rage. People come from all over Spain (well, at least Northern Spain, but it kind of is hard to tell). It has been going on since we arrived in Oviedo—the festival itself spans 2 weekends and a week, but then there is the pre-festival as well. Think Tulip Time, except everything happens at night. And instead of cotton candy and elephant ears, there are rock concerts 50 meters away from an old Gothic cathedral, temporary bars lining the streets in addition to the overabundant regular bars, and people dancing everywhere. And yes, this is a celebration for a Saint. I think San Mateo would be honored.
I can still not get over how things can be so much alike and feel so different. On Monday we went to the parade in celebration of the Day of America (a fiesta within a festival, of sorts). Tuesday night brought Spanish fireworks.
Wednesday was the actual day of San Mateo, so we had no class. However, all the shops were closed and, of course, none of the activities start before evening, so some of us took a hike in the mountains instead. Monte Naranco is one of the large peaks surrounding Oviedo and there is a large replica of Jesus with arms outstretched on top of this mountain. You can see it from virtually anywhere, and it is illuminated in such a way that it looks like it is floating over Oviedo at night. Naturally, we had to investigate. After meandering sketchy paths with giant spiders through the yards of random pueblos, we decided the best bet would be to follow the actual road up the mountain. With many scenic views and a couple of moments of desperation, until we met the friendly German who spoke English and reassured us we were headed in the right direction, we made it to the top. It was awesome. We found the actual walking/mountain bike trail on the hike back and made it back to Oviedo with only a few scrapes and scratches.
We went to a Russian Red concert on Wednesday night. It was awesome. And then we met Russian Red. That was even more awesome. Really though, she was so sweet and genuine. When we told her we were fans from the States and that she should perform there, she seemed sincerely honored that her music had reached that far. Now I can’t stop listening to her music.
So now that I have experienced a true Spanish festival, I will get to experience the true (and much quieter) Oviedo this week. Must say, I am not too disappointed. Every good party must end.
As the week winds down, so does the San Mateo festival. What is San Mateo, you ask? San Mateo (Saint Matthew) is the patron saint of Oviedo. And of course, every patron saint deserves a rockin’ party, so there is a festival during the third week of September. Oviedo must know how to put on a fiesta too, because this one is all the rage. People come from all over Spain (well, at least Northern Spain, but it kind of is hard to tell). It has been going on since we arrived in Oviedo—the festival itself spans 2 weekends and a week, but then there is the pre-festival as well. Think Tulip Time, except everything happens at night. And instead of cotton candy and elephant ears, there are rock concerts 50 meters away from an old Gothic cathedral, temporary bars lining the streets in addition to the overabundant regular bars, and people dancing everywhere. And yes, this is a celebration for a Saint. I think San Mateo would be honored.
I can still not get over how things can be so much alike and feel so different. On Monday we went to the parade in celebration of the Day of America (a fiesta within a festival, of sorts). Tuesday night brought Spanish fireworks.
Wednesday was the actual day of San Mateo, so we had no class. However, all the shops were closed and, of course, none of the activities start before evening, so some of us took a hike in the mountains instead. Monte Naranco is one of the large peaks surrounding Oviedo and there is a large replica of Jesus with arms outstretched on top of this mountain. You can see it from virtually anywhere, and it is illuminated in such a way that it looks like it is floating over Oviedo at night. Naturally, we had to investigate. After meandering sketchy paths with giant spiders through the yards of random pueblos, we decided the best bet would be to follow the actual road up the mountain. With many scenic views and a couple of moments of desperation, until we met the friendly German who spoke English and reassured us we were headed in the right direction, we made it to the top. It was awesome. We found the actual walking/mountain bike trail on the hike back and made it back to Oviedo with only a few scrapes and scratches.
We went to a Russian Red concert on Wednesday night. It was awesome. And then we met Russian Red. That was even more awesome. Really though, she was so sweet and genuine. When we told her we were fans from the States and that she should perform there, she seemed sincerely honored that her music had reached that far. Now I can’t stop listening to her music.
So now that I have experienced a true Spanish festival, I will get to experience the true (and much quieter) Oviedo this week. Must say, I am not too disappointed. Every good party must end.
20 September 2011
You wanna go where everybody knows your name
I am living an idyllic life. My host mama owns a cafeteria right around the corner from the apartment where we live. I eat breakfast and lunch there every day during the week. Her son Juanchi works behind the counter, as does his girlfriend Marijo sometimes. For breakfast I sit at the bar while I consume my tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, and pastry or croissant before heading to the university, one block over. At lunch I sit at a small table by the kitchen and Mila brings out food to me, so much food. Traditionally, people have a bottle of beer with their lunch at the cafés, but I opt for a bottle of Coca-Cola. The Coke here is sooo good. Made with real cane sugar and not as carbonated as in the States. There is always so much of it though, in the café, in the refrigerator at home. My teeth just might rot out of my head by December. Maybe that part isn’t so picturesque…
To add to the ideality, I use my time at the café during lunch to complete my Shakespeare reading. This week’s selection is the Merchant of Venice. It is the required reading for my class on Shakespeare literature at the university, taught in English. I already love this class and think I am going to come to appreciate it as a much-needed intellectual break from the Spanish language.
Cafeterias are a big deal in Spain. Spaniards don’t really bring people to their houses, so the café is where people hang out. In Oviedo alone there are hundreds. They are everywhere! In the half-mile radius from my home, there are at least 25. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise to me that my host family happens to own one of the cafeterias (and also a restaurant downtown). It’s just wonderful, though.
By night, I watch reruns of the 80’s show Cheers with Mila. I just can’t help but be charmed at the concept of a Spanish café-owner watching a show about the happenings of American bar. Spanish shows are quite humorous because most of them are old American shows, dubbed with Spanish. In addition to not being convincing in the least, they also use about the same 10 Spanish voice-actors, so the characters sound the same no matter what show you are watching. Cheers is especially wonderful though, because the plot so easy to follow that I can pick up some Spanish from it, all while being entertained.
Shakespeare. Spanish Café. Cheers.
Have to say, it is rather poetic.
To add to the ideality, I use my time at the café during lunch to complete my Shakespeare reading. This week’s selection is the Merchant of Venice. It is the required reading for my class on Shakespeare literature at the university, taught in English. I already love this class and think I am going to come to appreciate it as a much-needed intellectual break from the Spanish language.
Cafeterias are a big deal in Spain. Spaniards don’t really bring people to their houses, so the café is where people hang out. In Oviedo alone there are hundreds. They are everywhere! In the half-mile radius from my home, there are at least 25. So, it shouldn’t be a surprise to me that my host family happens to own one of the cafeterias (and also a restaurant downtown). It’s just wonderful, though.
By night, I watch reruns of the 80’s show Cheers with Mila. I just can’t help but be charmed at the concept of a Spanish café-owner watching a show about the happenings of American bar. Spanish shows are quite humorous because most of them are old American shows, dubbed with Spanish. In addition to not being convincing in the least, they also use about the same 10 Spanish voice-actors, so the characters sound the same no matter what show you are watching. Cheers is especially wonderful though, because the plot so easy to follow that I can pick up some Spanish from it, all while being entertained.
Shakespeare. Spanish Café. Cheers.
Have to say, it is rather poetic.
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