An English Paper

Below I will place a copy of a paper I wrote during my time in Seville: I feel it is a good reflection of my time in Spain.

 

 

 

 

 

The Misadventures of Shane y Kane

By: Shannon Clay

 

Life as a Spanish girl… to be continued.

Allow me first to translate my name to Spanish for you. It’s Shane. My host mother, Carmen, as well as practically every Spaniard I have come into contact with has been unable to pronounce the names of both my roommate and me. What was once Shannon and Kati has now become Shane y Kane. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Like Abbott and Costello. Martin and Lewis. Cheech and Chong.

            What I miss most about home is the confidence I had in food. Preparing myself for a meal is exhausting, and I am literally nervous when I go to set the table. My roommate is anything but discrete in her complaints. I assure Kane that “Eww, gross” is probably the same in every language, but for her English is our “secret code.” She is also sometimes a little underhanded with her disposal of unwanted food, and she takes advantage of the fact that it’s hard for me to say, “no me gusta” more than once a day. “¡Oh! ¿Te gusta? Aquí, yo tengo más para Shane.” Pork meatballs covered in a brown sauce matching the texture, appearance, and probably the taste of cow saliva. I am forced to hide my disgust, fight back gags, and become an actress. Carmen was fooled. I have mastered a few underhanded tricks of my own. Based on my analysis of our many dishes from their appearance, smell, and my previous experience I will usually place an extra napkin or two near my plate at the table. If need be, they make an excellent hiding spot. It’s like a magic trick. First you see the food and then you don’t. The thing is Carmen has to leave the room for that disappearing part to come into play. Then the challenge is getting rid of the napkin(s). My preferred method of liberating myself from these loaded tissues is to stuff it in to my purse and the next time I leave home I find a city trash, and just like that I have disposed of the body. After the pork saliva meatballs we made an executive decision that we couldn’t both always be “full.” This is now a scheduled pre-meal event. Who gets to be “full?”  One day we were served an ice cold pasta mixed with crab meat, eggs, pineapple, and a mystery white sauce that is solely a mystery due to my lack of Spanish. I asked Mama. She told me. I asked that she repeat it. She told me. That was the end of that. After the second repetition Kane and I will typically just say “Si,” act out clarity as if we were silent film actresses from the 1920s, and continue on. It’s been working out rather fine for us with the exception of the day we were asked to keep an eye on the stove. Those that paid the price for our ignorance: a couple of potatoes, our noses, and our pride.

            Effective communication has been something I’ve missed while living in Spain. I can remember it clearly. It was the day that Carmen served raw fish on an oversized cracker, but I suppose any sized cracker is an oversized cracker if it’s being forced to house raw salmon. Kane, Shane, and Carmen. Out for a facial. Sounds splendid doesn’t it? Well, you’ve been had. Ideally yes, it would have been splendid, but the minute we walked in the door there was a transformation to anxiety. My perception of the room:

 

Pros	Cons
The waiting room was mostly full.	We made up half of the waiting room.
All of the employees were very amicable.	No one in the building spoke English.
The prices were extremely reasonable with a two hour facial running at around fourteen Euro.	This wasn’t a salon, it was a beauty school.

 

 As the facial began there was another con to add to my list. When getting a facial one must apparently have bare shoulders. Learning this was no easy task. She pointed to a small box and told me it was for my clothing. Alright, I removed my jacket and purse and placed them in the designated area. She giggled. “Yes, of course,” I thought. How could I have been so foolish? She probably wanted me to remove my scarf and sweater as well. She giggled again. At that moment I look over to see two women removing the dress of my companion leaving her very exposed and revealing her leopard spotted, neon pink over the shoulder boulder holder. So material. So American. She had been giggling because she wanted everything off. I reluctantly filled the box.

            Minutes later I was lying there. Uncomfortable. My white skin glowing in the unflattering rays of power saving artificial light listening to an American song playing from an unknown source in the streets below, Twist and Shout. I pictured myself joining the cast of Ferris Beuller´s Day Off for the big parade scene. Then suddenly my carefree mind snaps back to full attention as my facial-ista does her best to speak a little English. “I´m going to remove your eyebrows.” My hands race to my face, the protectors of my facial hair. What the lady had meant to say was, “I´m going to remove your eye-makeup.” It was not the most relaxing of facials to begin with, and from that point forward I sat at full attention like an Olympic runner waiting for the gun to sound. If I could not feel her two hands on my person I had at least one eye open. I would not be the victim of miscommunication.

 

            There are, however, times when I like my inability to converse effectively. For instance the time that Kane and I attended a Catholic Mass. By accident. I was continuously told prior to landing in Seville that the people here were very personal with their homes. It is not common practice for Spaniards to have friends over, but rather to go out instead. If this is true then perhaps I should tell my mama that she is breaking all the rules. She often has her good friend María José over to chat, watch tv, and eat with us. During one of these meals, the day we had fried cauliflower, lemon garlic fish that was also fried, and an egg over easy, María José invited us to a choir concert. Kane and I took turns patting each other on the back after collecting all the necessary information on the event, all in Spanish. Our gathered information: The dress, casual. The hour, early. The occasion, a choir concert. The day, well we hadn´t taken that into consideration. It was Sunday.

Sunday came and we went. Carmen walked us to the concert and it was only a few minutes from our apartment. She pulled open what looked like an iron door and lead us in. It was obvious; I was in a Catholic Church. The building had more than enough room overhead to make three additional stories, but instead it was spent to appeal more to the eye than to practicality. There was so much intricacy from the floor to the tip of the ceiling. Three very religious very elaborate statues. The Crucifixion, The Virgin Mary and baby Jesus, as well as a saint. A visual overload of blooming red carnations that appeared to be growing from all of the swirling designs carved into the wood that lined the room. Anywhere that was lacking red carnations was abundant in gold and silver vases and decorative religious pieces holding candles whose purpose is beyond my understanding. The room was filled with people. A beautiful place for a choir concert.

We found our seats and the choir filed in in their uniforms of floor length white skirts and blue ruffled sweaters. They positioned themselves on the far right side of the church not in the center. Before Kane and I were able to solve the mystery of why the choir was standing in such an awkward place, making it difficult for many of the people in attendance to see them, a procession of what appeared to be royalty began walking down the aisle at the pace of a bride on her wedding day. A few boys trailing in the back had ornaments swinging from their hands. Glistening silver lamps producing a smoke. Incense. The smell so overpowering to match the red, silver, and gold. The choir started up. Kane whispers in my ear, “I think we’re in church.”

It was Sunday, and we were in church. With the predominant religion here being Catholicism it was something I had planned and wanted to experience. This wasn’t planned. What I thought was a choir concert in a church turned out to be a Catholic Mass featuring a choir. María José’s choir. Kane and I spent the entire service trying, unsuccessfully to fit in. Watching every move of the pew in front of us so as to kneel, speak, sit, and listen at all the right times. Attend a Catholic Mass…check!

Allow me to translate.

Life as a Spanish girl. I’m still not sure I can affectively answer that question, not yet. Thus far on my journey I feel very much like the black spot on the white side of a yin yang. It’s true; I have successfully accomplished the first step to becoming a Spanish girl—I’m living in Spain. All I lack now is a white coat so that I can disguise my black color in the white that surrounds me. Perhaps I’ll be able to find one at Banana Republic?

A day in Spain

When asked what I miss most about Spain I find that even I am surprised by the answer I give. I miss Carmen. Carmen was my host mother. I  miss the way of life I had with her. She is a woman of 69 living alone in Spain. Her husband as well as one of her daughters passed away. Leaving her with only one daughter who is married with two kids. During my semester with Carmen I never met her daughter, but I did eat lunch practically every day with Carmen's two grandkids. I grew to be very comfortable there, which is something I didn't think possible. A typical day there for me would be to wake up and prepare for school and eat the breakfast Carmen would leave for me: A couple of pieces of bread to toast, as well as a coffee. Then my roommate and I would take a 15 minute walk to school down on Recaredo. I would remain there for about three to four hours for class where we would occasionally go on a field trip out and about Seville. Following class I'd return for lunch which was never earlier than about 2:30 or 3. Carmen was an absolutely amazing cook. We practically had something different for every meal during my time there. I learned so many different recipes from her. I have a book full. I loved watching Carmen cook. Following lunch it was customary to take a "siesta" which Carmen said was really more of a thirty minute rest time accompanied by family bonding time. You see during the hours of lunch and siesta the city closes down. There was really very little open, if anything, during the hours of two to five in the afternoon. So during this time I would watch tv with Carmen and get some homework done and then I would occasionally go and take a walk around the city so that I could get to know it better. I miss those long walks around the city, especially to the Plaza de Espana. I would usually go to a cafe pretty close to the school that I greatly miss visiting, they loved helping me improve my spanish. I typically would find somewhere to go and something to do until dinner time which fell at around ten to eleven every night. I'd watch/help Carmen prepare dinner and record her recipes then we'd all eat, talk, and watch tv together. Our program of choice... Pasapalabra. Some things that were very routine for us as well as all Spaniards were that for every meal the tv would remain on, we rarely ate outside of the home, and our meals were always comprised of several courses and always some sort of dessert. I can specifically recall Carmen, "Tu quieres yogur?" to which my roommate and I would reply, "Claaaaaaro!" My day always ended with skype dates and emails to/with family.

How was it all possible...

There is absolutely no way I could have gone where I did and that I could have done what I did without the help of those back home. I had wanted to study abroad for quite some time, but what always stood in my way, apart from winning the approval of my parents, was the financial aspect. I was defeated when I got to thinking about how I could ever raise all that money, because the answer.... it is impossible.... is what always seemed to surface. Then I got to thinking about the possibility of student loans. Prior to my semester in Spain I always did my best to apply for every grant and scholarship possible, and along with the support of my family I was able to stay debt free. So when I started debating whether I wanted to rack up some debt, I cringed. That is not the route I wanted to take, but if need be I would do it. Then I started to explore some other scholarship and grant options for study abroad students. That's when I discovered, with the help of one of my advisors, the Benjamin A. Gilman Scholarship. It was a scholarship that could offer up to $5000 for students studying abroad. I was overwhelmingly happy at this discovery. I immediately started working on the application and essays instantly which gave me about a month and a half to complete everything before the due date. A couple of months later I received an email reporting to me that of thousands of applicants mine was one of those chosen to receive $4500. To cover the rest of the necessary funds (totaling around $17,000) I received from the Texas Tech Study Abroad Scholarship, Government grants, good ol' fashioned hard work, as well as a scholarship I received from my hometown church in Amarillo Texas. As for spending money.... well I received all of that as gifts from family and friends for Christmas as well as a birthday gift package in the form of money that I received from my parents while abroad. It was hard to make all of these numbers finally add up, but thanks to the generosity of many such as the Benjamin A. Gilman Scholarship I was able to accomplish my dreams and finally study abroad and go global with my education.

Some Photos of the Place I Used to Call Home

Walking the Streets/alleys of Seville on day one!

Cafe con leche- a latte in Spain. Had one almost everyday, and I greatly miss the cafe in which I was a regular.

The city of Seville from the top of the Giralda tower.

The Ceta in Seville

Laundry hanging on the line, as usual.

Never could get over the fact that the better the bar/restaurant/cafe the more napkins there were on the ground.

I miss always looking at a map.

A typical lunch that Carmen would pack me when going on excursions, trips, or even for long visits to the park. A bocadillo (sandwhich) and a pear.

Plaza de Espana. My favorite place. Visited it as much as possible.

It was so cheap to rent one of these boats for half an hour, only 5 Euros, and row around the mote at the Plaza de Espana.

Another beautiful picture at the Plaza de Espana.

Today I've just been very much missing that place I used to call home, Seville. I think my longing for Seville was particularly hightened today because I got up this morning and reluctantly suited up to head to the gym, but as I slipped on my t-shirt I smelled something so familiar. Something I hadn't smelled since I left Spain. You see while my host mother Carmen did have a washer to clean all of our clothes the drying was up to the Spanish sun and wind. So it's a scent I can't quite describe, but it always went hand and hand with my newly washed clothes. So when I smelled this unique aroma paired with my t-shirt I remembered that this shirt had accompanied me to Spain and hadn't been worn since my return. I was so happy to have made this discovery, and so happy to be smelling it again. It caused me to look back again on all my photos and I will post them here above as a bit of a reminiscence. More to come tomorrow.

Hard to Be Happy?

Culture Shock. Let me start off by saying that I absolutely loved, and I repeat, loved my time abroad. There are however instances when I remember saying things like, "I can't wait to be home where I can eat "normal" things again, and where I can communicate effectively, and never again feel uncomfortable." You see there is something that my Travel Writing professor put so perfectly, "You're all here paying to be put out of your comfort zone. Paying to be made uncomfortable. So you better enjoy it. Write about it." And uncomfortable I did feel. I was nervous no matter where I went: Eating out, shopping, touring, or even just walking the streets. I was a tourist who didn't know the place and didn't know the language. By the end of it I was tired of being nervous, but by no means was I ready to leave. Upon getting back home I was excited to see family and friends again, as well as the ease in which I could order food at the local McDonalds. For awhile I loved the ease of everyday tasks, but now... now I miss the adventure and nervousness I had abroad. Something different about here and there is that the people here, myself included, are not as patient and kind with foreigners as they are in Spain. The people there were so helpful with my many slip-ups. They were always excited to be a teacher and were nothing but kind when conversing with me in the Spanish language even though I had a vocabulary of a four year old. Everyone I encountered was excited to hear about my life back in the US, and they absolutely loved that I thought there culture and language was worth knowing. As a side note on language, Spain, and those that may be visiting Spain in the future is to let you know a little something I was not anticipating prior to my arrival in Spain: hardly anyone spoke much, if any, English at all.

One of the three Matadors with his bull

Another snapshot from my bullfight

A slightly staged photo about the reactions some may have been feeling at watching a bullfight for the first time.

This bull was boo-ed by the crowd and these steers were sent in to get the bull out.

Once the bull is killed he's paraded out like this.

A shot with me and the fight in the background... you can even see the red cape.

After the bullfight. Standing in front of the ring.

Here it is as promised. Photos from the bullfight. A couple of other things I remember about this experience is that earlier in the week I was speaking to a local who was tutoring my classmates and I in Spanish. We were all talking about the bullfight and how excited we were to get to experience this complete difference in culture. You see for the most part we didn't really think about bullfights as animal cruelty we were too caught up in the fact that we were getting to watch the fights in person. But when I started talking to the tutor he said that he didn't really care for the fights because he didn't think that the bulls deserved to be treated with such violence. It was after this that I said something that offended him. I referred to bullfighting as "a sport." He immediately corrected me. Telling me that no matter if I thought it was animal cruelty or not there is no one in Spain that would refer to it as a sport. It was something different. Somthing more.

Yet another surprising thing about bullfights was how much goes into it. The bull is first released and then with the pink cape and at least three different men all first tire the bull out then following that a man comes out on a highly padded horse and he gets two chances to weaken the bull's neck. This part was always quite on the scary side. The bull even drew up some blood on the horse and literally lifted him off of his feet. It was then that the man on the horse used a rather extended pole and reaches for a specific area of the bull's neck. Following this part of the fight comes the men who I believe are called Picadores. During this part there are three younger men and each of them has two sticks of about arm length and they are very sharp on the end. Each of the men charges the bull with the sticks with the intention of further weakening the bulls neck. By the end of this stage the bull should have six sharp sticks flopping around still attached to the body. Then comes the Matador. He comes and does a varying series of moves with the bull and after a differing amount of time he switches the fake sword with a real one and makes his move towards the bull. Ideally the bull will fall over dead within fifteen steps of the entrance of the sword. If the bull does not fall it reflects poorly on the Matador and requires another attempt at the kill. During my specific fight there were almost all bad kills that were quite brutal towards the bull. Once the bull is finally dead he is hooked up to what appears to be a gladiator carrige from back in the day and he is dragged in a circle and paraded out of the ring. This part was also a little bothersome to whitness. After this come some sweepers and they quickly sweep out the ring so that it's not covered in blood for the next bull and Matador. The killing of each bull and the performance of each Matador is critically judged and can be expected to by very highly evaluated in the paper the following day. If a bullfighter and his team does well enough he is given an ear or two of the bull that was so perfectly executed and even taken out the big door or gate of the bull ring.

Shannon Clay (me) in my Feria dress at the Plaza de Espana in Seville, Spain.

Well it's been awhile, but it appears that I start all of my posts this way.... Dang it! :( It has been quite the delay since I last wrote and boy do I regret it. I don't regret a second of my time abroad with one exception.... I didn't write on here faithfully. I always told myself," I will do it later. I won't ever forget a second of all of this." Well it turns out I was probably wrong. Things already feel rusty. It already feels like a dream. I just can't believe I was living over-seas for four months. If I were to advice anyone going abroad I would have quite the load to say, but one of the most important is to keep a diary/journal.

I feel that I should have prepared myself a little better for my landing in the States. When I first encountered everyone they almost always as me, "How was Spain?" "What was your favorite thing you got to do?" Well... those are very hard questions to answer. Obviously Spain was absolutely wonderful. Best experience of my life, thus far. But even that answser does not do my time there justice. Spain was everything, and four monthes was not enough. My favorite thing... probably either going to a bull fight, or the week of Feria. There was so much about bull fights that I never knew and never understood. Such as the fact that in one bull fight there are actually six bulls die. It could actually end up being eight, which is the case for the bull fight that I had the privilage of seeing with my fellow classmates. When one bull appears to be a bad bull, for example if the bull is tripping and falling all over the place then the crowd will use wistles to boo the bull and indicate to the president that they want a new bull to be brought out. You see if the bull is clumsy there is less danger for the bull fighter, and if we are going to pay money to see this fight we want to see a good fight. For every bull fight there are always two substitute bulls that can be called out in the case of a couple of bull "flops." One thing that I thought was interesting and a bit humorous was that when they are getting rid of the clumsy bull they bring in a bunch of steers with bells attached to their necks. This can be a quick or slow process, because the bull is supposed to charge at these steer which leads them to run and the only place to run to is through the one exit that has been left open to get out with the old and eventually in with the new, bull that is. Sometimes the bull drags his feet at gaining interest in the steers, but eventually it always works. The bull chases all the steers out of the ring and the discarded bull is killed behind the scenes of the crowd, and a new bull is brought in. A typical bull fight however will consist of three bullfighters killing two bulls each (six bulls.) I don't want to risk rambling on and on about bull fights before I even get to Feria. So this is fair warning- there will be more on bull fights tomorrow, as well as pictures.

My friends walking down the street to get to Feria in Seville Spain.

My friends infront of the "Puerta" for Feria 2012 in Seville Spain. Notice how it was too big to even capture the whole thing in one picture.

A couple of the "casetas" and the beautiful street lamps for Feria 2012 in Seville Spain

Trying to sneak a peak into a private caseta or tent.

A photo of all the men dressed up for Feria and they are allowed to bring their horses. Sometimes you can find a pretty lady perched on the back, such as the one on the far left.



Me and a very large stick of cotton candy at the Feria de Sevilla 2012.

The Gate to Feria 2012 lit up at night.



Picture of the Feria de Sevilla 2012 from atop one of it's many rides. I know it doesn't look busy, but I showed up early for that purpose exactly this day. Just didn't want to have to wait in the long lines. Feria really comes alive at night rather than day.

A photo I snapped during dance class when we were all trying to learn the Sevillanas dance for Feria.

Another shot of everyone trying to learn Sevillanas for Feria.

Now for Feria. Feria was a week long fair in Seville where most businesses close down and the whole city goes out for the fair. For the first night of Feria on Monday night the city all goes out to the site of the fair to see the lighting of the "Puerta" to Feria or "Gate" to the Fair. I believe it's right at  midnight that the gate is set to glow and everyone takes the first look at the VERY large lighted entry way that is a new design every year. Every day for the following week the city nearly triples in population as people flood into the city to see the Feria. An area that consists of hundreds if not more "casetas" or tents, as well as typical fair rides that you might see in the United States at carnivals and such, but this time the glowing names are in Spanish such as "El Gigante" or "El Raton." Something I loved about Feria is that is felt as if I was being transported to another time. Spain was unlike the United States in that the population participated in this ancient tradition. There is nothing like that here in the United States, at least not that I have found. I'm sure you may be thinking of Halloween, but you are wrong. Adults, old ladies and men, infants, children of all ages, and entire families don't participate in Halloween like the Spaniards participate in Feria. These dresses can not be found cheaply. You'll be lucky to spend less than 150 Euros on a decent looking dress, and even though I know that Spain is going through a tough time with their economy and unemployment you would never have guessed it by the way they turned out to celebrate Feria. Everyone was dressed to the nines in their brightly colored and patterned Feria dresses that every woman wore from infant to rusty old woman, and the men were dressed in their best suits and hats. The place was also covered with vintage looking lamps strung above and the most prestigious of the crowd was escorted in on horse carriges. Once arriving at the Feria everyone has the option of going to the public tents which have places to sit, dance, and eat. Or if they are privilaged enough they will know someone with a private tent (which is over 98% of the tents) and they hop from one to the next dancing, drinking, talking, and eating. Though I use the word "tent" I mean so much more than that. Most of the tents were decorated on the inside like a formal dining area in any rich man's house. They were just beautiful and to top it off nearly all of the tents had a live band. Among the songs sung by the band were songs of Sevillanas. Which if you grew up in the area you grew up learning a particular dance. The dance of the Sevillanas. A dance of four parts that can be done to all songs with this particular beat and rhythm. I was fortunate enough to be a part of the Texas Tech campus in Seville that hires a dance teacher to come and teach we Tech students the Sevillanas dance so that we might participate in Feria like a local. Another memory I will always have of Feria is that of seeing all these women in long formal Spanish dresses riding all of the rides. A huge piece of machinary flying about twisting and turning taking the tail of a long dress with it. Quite the site to see. I danced and I rode. Boy do I miss Feria. To top off a great week there is a fireworks display put on for all of those at Feria on Sunday night at midnight.