What Really Became of me in 2019

In anticipation of my favorite holiday, I began to look over 2019 and what it meant to me: Attitudes, experiences, and disappointments.  New Year's Eve approached bringing with it the promise of a long-awaited social opportunity as well as the sense of a new beginning.  Keep in mind that I'm not one to wait for a new decade, year, month, or moment to pursue my dreams or to make a change.  I'm very much a "here-and-now" kind of girl, but something about the concept of a reset is enticing.

My attitude toward change was demonstrated this summer with the decision to move to Rome after a few weeks spent in India.  Walking ten to fifteen miles each day lends plenty of time for photos and reflection.  While living in Spain in 2016, a very important question formed in my mind.  I chose to leave that question, unanswered, in the streets of Sevilla, exactly where it found me.  Nearly three years later, across the sea, it returned to me, and I knew there was no running away this time.

Spending my last week in Rome with a beloved stranger named Lizzie, our conversation turned to deliberations between pursuing family or succumbing to the wandering life.  I rehearsed my philosophy on the paradox: "Do what you love and the right one will present himself there."  Lizzie and I both agreed that we can't be happy with men who are too firmly rooted in one place, though the very act of traveling is non-conducive to the formation of lasting relationships.  I thought, at that time, that I had reached an agreeable middle ground.  I concluded that travel and family are both necessary and there will be a way to have both.  Someday.  My dilemma with travel was neutralized: In time I could have both of my deepest desires.

This is probably the point where I should mention that I am in no way a travel expert.  I don't randomly go to Paris on a whim with friends.  In fact, before Italy, I've never really traveled very far from home with anyone.  When many people think of my life, I imagine they see it as free-and-easy and somewhat glamorous.  I assure you, it isn't.  I travel because I'm curious.  I need to know how much I can learn/absorb and how quickly.  Tourist traps generally don't appeal to me; I prefer wandering side-streets and talking with locals.  So if you ask me what the Taj Mahal is like, I'll tell you I haven't been (although I've been in the neighboring city twice), but I can tell you how to dress, eat, and cross the street like a local.  I can tell you about complexities and issues with India's social/family structures, but I've never seen the Ganges.  But I digress.

At the beginning of 2019, my biggest issue regarding travel was the question of whether or not it was a practical lifestyle for the pursuit of a family.  I wish that was the biggest problem travel ever presented me.  No, the real effects of Rome didn't hit me until I had returned home to Logan.  I became very depressed.  This may be due in part to the dramatic decline in vitamin D and exercise, but I think its main cause is something more long-term.

In 2017, when I returned from my first trip to India (which was about 4 weeks), I was very careful not to get reverse culture shock and become depressed, as I heard that was common.  I eased back into the solitude and silence that is life in the US.  I did not take such precautions when returning from Rome.  In Italy, I had many friends who were always willing to have an adventure.  In Logan, in Utah, there aren't many opportunities to meet new people, much less new people with similar interests to mine.  That being said, Utah does, in general, have the religion I prefer, but being 30-something and single in Logan is a severe hindrance to social growth.  It's totally normal to be my age and single in Rome, but not so much here.

Social/romantic opportunities aside, the real way travel ruined my life is that I'm itchy.  I feel...stuck when I sit still.  I've seen enough to know that I don't belong here.  I don't belong there either (wherever "there" is), but my clinging to a geographical region is diminished.  I met some amazing people in 2019 and had some amazing experiences, and the more I do this, the more I feel I belong.  These are MY people.  And while the romantic dream remains unfulfilled, I'm blessed with very different individuals from very different walks of life who share one common passion.  My passion.

2019 wrecked my life.  I will never be the same.  I can't go back, even if I wanted to.  I can't decide if my habits are purely self-destructive like a tornado, or growth-inducing like a muscle that is torn.  I know that I will never stop exploring.  I'll never stop questioning.  Traveling alone on my budget is a distinct degree of constant failure, which gives me access to constant growth.  In 2019, I spent many days staring in the face of defeat.  Much of my time was spent toeing the line between "can" and "can't", that is, until I determined the word "can't" is nothing more than a copout to me.  If I was strong before, now I'm unstoppable.  If I was brave, 2019 made me fearless.

And that's a scary thought.

Preparing for the Next Adventure

In nine days, I fly out again. 

Rome has been on the mind since the second I left India (an experience I have yet to blog about,) so when I was invited to return to India, I naturally booked a flight to Italy on the way back.

Remembering how bad India sucked in regard to finances, my first priority for Italy would be to prevent that mistake from happening again.  I'm flying cheap (which includes a layover in Moscow, for example) but remembering how expensive food and checked luggage can be, and factoring those costs into the flight purchase.  I did not book the very cheapest flights, because a 34-hour layover doesn't interest me, but I found a medium I was happy with.

The next step, of course, would be to get a second job to eliminate as much financial stress as possible.  My only regret in this, in hindsight, is scheduling myself 70 hours a week right up until the day I leave.  Next time around, I will take at least 7 days working only one job, just to lower my scheduling stress and allow me time for exercise and meal prep (two very crucial tasks for pre-vacation weight loss.)

I'm better off this time around in regard to the Indian wedding.  I ordered clothing online and it is now waiting for me in Indore.  That will save me a ton of money and also stress over shopping while there.  All that is needed is a trip to the tailor as soon as I land and I'll be good.

Last trip, I hated all the photos I was in.  I'm determined to look my best at all times while abroad, so I've taken great care to construct or purchase clothing that can survive India's heat while still being adorable.  If only I could find makeup that wouldn't melt...

In regard to budgeting, I'm much smarter this time.  You're gonna need an airport transfer and a hotel between flights.  And a storage unit.  I need wedding clothes.  The tailor will cost me money.  I'm going to get hungry at the airport.  I'm going to underestimate some journey on foot and be required to take an uber. Someone in India will charge more than they advertised.  You're gonna want to buy a ton of fabric while you're there.  And a suitcase.  So I budgeted a 10% cushion on my expenses to account for the weirdness.

Italy is another can of worms entirely.  As recommended by a friend, I will be taking the avenue of workaway.info.  What this means is that I will be "volunteering" at different places in exchange for room and board.  This is a fantastic idea, but it seems I began the process too close to my arrival date and am getting anxious about the delayed responses from potential hosts.  What cities will I end up in?  When will I need to shift from one spot to another?  LUGGAGE IS A PAIN!  Will I have enough money to comfortably fill the gaps in work with stays in hostels?  I will have enough money to stay in a hostel every night for my entire stay if need be, but I really really don't want it to get that tight.

Besides, I have a pilgrimage to perform.  I don't know the when or where, but it will happen for some amount of time at some point this summer.  Because everyone needs to just walk down the backbone of Italy for a few days or weeks.  I am very excited to work on my photography and explore a million ancient villages as well as serve in the temple and get to know some amazing Italian cooking!  India will be another wild ride, with another wedding as well as plans to watch the sunrise over the Taj Mahal, but Italy...oh Italy is very near to the heart!

The last 24 hours have been very hard on the nerves as my stay in Italy is less-than-solidified.  As I went to purchase my Indian visa today (which, I knew from the get-go this time around, costs a good chunk of money,) my passport proved missing.  I had also thrown away my old suitcase two weeks ago, so you can imagine the sheer panic as I was powerless at work for 7 hours.  But to my good fortune, I found the passport!  Now, after being physically ill from stress, the concern over Italian lodging is minimal.  I so have this!

Weekend in Cordoba

Originally written November 1

                I arrived home last night after a weekend in Cordoba, Malaga, and Seville.  It was my intention to stay two nights in Cordoba, and two in Seville, but bad planning caused me to travel otherwise.  I’m not a fan of “overplanning” trips because I believe there needs to be room to change plans a little (or a lot) based on my mood.  I also think that too much planning causes things to be rushed.  This weekend, I learned that under-planning can cause the same rushed feeling and can cost extra money.

                I arrived in Seville Friday at 3 pm but didn’t leave for Cordoba until 7.  Had I planned better, I could have spent those four hours enjoying Seville (as much as possible with all my luggage,) but instead I was frantically walking, searching, messaging, and waiting for a ride to Cordoba.  At last, I gave up and headed to the bus station, determined to take the bus if blablacar didn’t work out.  Only then did I begin to enjoy my trip. 

                That enjoyment was short-lived.  When I arrived in Cordoba and pulled up my map to walk from the bus station (where my ride dropped me off) to my hostel, I discovered it was a 25-minute walk and my phone was low on battery.  I at least had the sense not to attempt walking, so I did the only thing I could in tired, desperate frustration.  I took a cab and it cost me 10 euro.  The funky Cordoba was a decent hostel in a great location. 

I arrived at 10 pm and had to charge my phone first thing.  After I was confident in the battery level, I went out to explore the city with a fellow Couchsurfer named Jay.  He told me stories of his travels and I was so amazed that there are actually people out there who only work a few months out of the year and travel the rest of the time.  That concept boggles my mind.  On my adventure with UK Jay, I went to Burger King at 1:30 am because I was starving.  People may be inclined to pass judgement, but I eat Spanish food every day of my life; I needed a hamburger.  After arriving back at my hostel at 2 am and showering, I began looking for a place to stay for the next night in Malaga.  I had hoped to stay two nights in Cordoba, but Saturday was all sold out on account of it being the long weekend.  The prices for Seville hostels were high on Saturday night, so it was cheaper to travel to Malaga for a night than pay the higher price in Seville.  Plus, I didn’t want to spend the Sabbath in a city I already explored thoroughly.  I booked a cheap hostel in Malaga with a “perfect” location (according to the reviews,) sent a message or two looking for a ride to Malaga, and crashed at about 3:45.

                I got up at 8 and would have been at the Catedral Mezquita at 8:30 (which is when they start letting people in for free,) except I had to wait for 2 people to shower before it was my turn in the bathroom to change.  I arrived at 9 and got some good photos, though I was kicked out before I saw everything.  At 9:30, they kick everyone out so at 10 am they can start charging people.  I wandered the streets for a few hours then picked up my luggage and headed to the bus station.  I was too exhausted to potentially save 4 Euros by stressing over blablacar and walking with all my luggage to a meet point.  I waited 45 minutes or so for a bus, but that was just fine with me.  There I saw a popcorn machine for the first time and had to indulge.

                The bus ride was nice, and I was caught between needing to sleep and needing to take in views of the countryside.  I had walked for 6 or so hours on Friday (half of which with luggage,) gotten 4 hours of sleep, and walked about 4 hours so far Saturday.  I didn’t sleep on the bus, and I felt guilty for even resting my eyes.  As we made our way south, mountains started happening.  It was glorious.  All of a sudden there was the ocean and a city.  Malaga.

The Feel Soho Hostel is 15 minutes walking from the bus station.  It’s right on a perfect road…it really is the perfect location.  I put my things down and continued down that same road in search of the ocean.  I found it after a short walk down that same street and I looked around at all the shops at the port.  The hostel was giving free sangrias at 8:30, so I decided to check it out.  The desk clerk was super friendly when I checked in, and we talked about Malaga and other cities.  At the mixer, I chatted with a couple people around a table, but I had no sangria and was unwilling to spend 6 euro on paella.  I now regret that decision.  Afterward, I went out in search of the beach, but a Couchsurfer wanted to hang out.  As I passed KFC, even went inside, I decided I needed Spanish food.  I walked 30 minutes to meet the couchsurfer for food, but when I got there, he and another couchsurfer were going to a party.  I declined and headed for 1-euro tapas at Babi’s near the plaza de la Merced.  I had one mini chicken/veggie burger.  Then I went back to the hostel.  In my way, I was approached by a certain Bafa who insisted I go out with him the next day.  I said, “I don’t know,” got his number, and headed into the hostel for sleep.  I still hadn’t made it to the beach.  I had been to the port twice but not the beach.

                I slept well Saturday and woke up before my alarm Sunday.  I need to mention that this is the coolest hostel I’ve ever been to and I want to go back to Malaga just so I can stay there.  I told the friendly clerk that and he gave me his number.  I look forward to meeting up with him next time.  After church Sunday, I went to the beach.  It was warm and sunny and there were swimmers and sunbathers.  I was sad to leave.

                In Seville the Hostel Dona Pepa is a place I will never return to.  They aren’t friendly at all, there’s one full bath for 18 people to share, and they charge for luggage storage.  OK maybe it wasn’t that bad because it was very empty, but I wouldn’t want to be there when it’s crowded.  Sunday night I went to the international festival for Greek food, then I slept.  I shopped all day Monday then returned to Montellano all sorts of exhausted.

                I learned a lot about traveling this weekend.  First and foremost, bad planning wastes time and money and causes stress.  From now on, I want to at least have transportation and accommodation secured before leaving my house, the sooner the better because of prices and availability.  The second most important thing is to remember to keep my devices charged always.  When lost in the city, google maps is great, but the screen drains battery.  I will remember to keep the screen as dim as possible when energy conservation is a concern.  The third issue was budget.  I did not have much of a budget, just a total number and some ideas of what lodging would cost.  Food also costs money.  Don’t forget that.  And don’t expect to survive on that bag of fruit and bread you brought.  4 days of walking and no real meals?  Doubtful.  You’re going to eat; budget for it.  Another thing about travel: staying 2 nights in a row is infinitely better than moving around a lot.  It’s so chill.  So nice to have a place to go for siesta.  My trip would have been much better with more sleep.  And it goes without saying that traveling from city to city takes up time and money.  Also, restrooms are scarce, and toilet paper also.  Plan accordingly.  Always know where the closest McDonald’s is and be prepared to either buy something to get the access code to the restroom, or sneak in with other customers like I did.  Good luck with the toilet paper though.  Carry tissues.  Another thing: Pack light.  I packed my things, then I re-packed to save space and still I could have cut back.  I no longer feel shame for wearing the same outfit for two or three days (depending on circumstances) as long as my underthings are clean.  For a weekend I really need only two sets of clothes—one I’m wearing and one I pack—shower stuff, hair brush, toothbrush, toothpaste, make-up, garments, scriptures, journal, chargers, and my purse (cash, cards, passport, phone, and camera.)  I like to have 2 pairs of shoes (my flip flops are only good for 5-8 miles a day, then I need to switch to something more athletic.)  Other than that, medication and deodorant, I should keep my pack free.  The reason is that Spain has endless stairs and few elevators.  Suitcases are fine to wheel around, but not so fun to lug up 4 flights of stairs.  I take both a backpack and suitcase—I like having the backpack with me for shorter trips to and from the hostel.  I need to buy a smaller towel.  And finally, hostel selection is important.  I like being near bus stations; they are in popular parts of town and more accessible when it comes to long-distance transportation.  Also the bathroom situation is important.  Feel hostel in Malaga was perfect because the bathroom had an outside vanity with a sink and mirror, there was a toilet room on one side, and a shower room on the other side.  This was only shared between six people.  There was never a wait because things were separated out.  That hostel also had a blow-dryer which is somewhat important.  I didn’t use it, but the option is nice.  I won’t travel with my blow-dryer again; I’ll risk weird hair.

Now for the update on Andalucia.  Driving to Cordoba, I learned that Spain was a dictatorship until 1985.  I already knew that the north and the south of the country are very different from one another.  Apparently, the people I rode with are of the opinion that Spaniards hate Spain and claim loyalty to their provinces first and foremost.  In Andalucia, you are not wearing enough bracelets, ever.  Or lipstick.  I have yet to see a Spaniard apply lip gloss, but lipstick, lipstick, lipstick!  Blotting is not a thing.  Also, a person can be judged as casual or dressy not by their clothes but by their shoes.  Jeans and hells trumps dress with pumps.  And yes it’s totally fine to wear Nikes with a sundress, as long as the colors match.  Heels are a big thing and are worn by all women at night, but during the day it’s a little more toned down.  Plus I walk a lot during the day; so do the others.

They wash the streets here.  I guess they’re streets.  Or sidewalks?  I have yet to discover the difference in some places.  Pedestrians have the right of way always.  Traffic laws only apply if there are other cars nearby to be affected by the lane change, turn wrong direction, park in the street, etc.  Even then, it’s subject to interpretation.  I’ve seen many people stop in the streets in Montellano to chat with friends at the bar.  Children get in and out of cars that are still moving a little and kiss aunties before returning to the bar with their parents.  The aunties drive away, the honking stops, and traffic resumes.  Totally normal.  I have strong nerves when it comes to crazy traffic, but Spain gets me sometimes.  I see roundabouts and think about my mom.  Her experience with roundabouts is that you never stop in them.  Haha, unless you’re in Europe, in which case a roundabout can easily have 5 lanes, 7 exits, 4 lights, and in heavy traffic a Spaniard will cut across three lanes of traffic at the same time without signaling.  If you come close to hitting someone, they’ll honk at you.  Otherwise you’re golden.  “No Parking?”  No problem!  There are already 10 cars parked in front of the “no parking” sign.  And parking stalls don’t really exist here, so if you plan to rent a car, your ability to park in the city may depend on the size of the car you choose.  Parking in the city center is impossible.  Take a bus or walk. 

After a Month in Spain

After having landed in Spain one month ago today, I found it appropriate to recap my findings and ambitions from a broader perspective.

                First, poverty is proving less stressful as I approach the light at the end of the tunnel  I spent 3.32 on groceries today and it about killed me, but I still have five euros left until who-knows-when.  I’ve exercised a lot of self-control and done a lot of cardio.  Hopefully I’ve lost some weight.  Alas, I’ve found ways to deal with loneliness and boredom, namely exploring the woods near my house.  I’m finding it more difficult than expected to join the community at a basic level—they talk too quickly for  me to understand, I don’t go to their church, and I feel my job has me under constant scrutiny.  Though I have considered attending mass with the idea that some church is better than no church, I’m currently of the view that it would cause more harm than good.  I am meanwhile content to focus on my writing, photography, and Spanish studies.

                During this time of grow and reflection, I’ve come to realize that my intent in Spain has been unarticulated (if it ever existed at all.)  Due to some inspiration from a dear friend, I’ve spent today, my month mark, re-evaluating a great many things, and I, like him, am ready to come forward with my bucket list for Spain.

                Before I do, it’s important to note that I have adopted the attitude that I only have until June before I leave Spain, willingly or no.  The plan has been to stay, but I don’t know how feasible that is.  And I’m certainly not going to miss out.  I need to live like I’m running out of time.  Because I am.  That being said, I also need to mention that, while marriage is a top priority, I chose not to add it to the list of “Things I absolutely must accomplish in the next nine months” for obvious reasons.  So, without further ado, here it is:

Continue preparing to be a good wife/mother

Become a good teacher

Become fluent in Spanish

Read the Book of Mormon in Spanish

Perform every ordinance at the Madrid temple

Pray in a cool forest

Sing in a castle

Have a fresh churro and chocolate

Have Paella

Eat Basque food

See a flamenco show

Running of the Bulls

Go to a futbol game

Go to a cool city for a procession during Semana Santa

Go salsa/bachata dancing

Do the Camino De Santiago

Surf

Go Skiing and to the beach in the same day

Take an award-winning photo

Go to a flea market

Ride a horse

Learn a cool Spanish guitar riff

Visit the following places:

                Cordoba-Mesquita Catedral

                Barcelona-Sagrada Famila, Gothic Quarter, Las Ramblas

                Madrid-Retiro Park, LDS temple

                Cadiz-Beach

                Ronda-Bridge

                Malaga-Ski, beach

                Granada-Alhambra

                Seville-*Plaza de Espana, Catedral, Real Alcazar

                               

                Now, with my bucket list official, it sure doesn’t feel like a lot to experience in a year, but it is such a loose outline for things to come!

                *I have already gone to the Plaza de Espana, when I first arrived in Spain, and it was there I took what may be the best photos thus far in my life.

                Also this month, my perspective has broadened on what is and isn’t Spain.  My job has helped me see that children are expected to show utter respect for authority/adults and are treated somewhat heavy-handedly.  Compared to my co-workers, I am delicate and a bit of a push-over.  This concept is so foreign to me I find myself dizzy from trying to wrap my head around it.  It’s never entered my cognition before that I might ever be “delicate,” but Spain has shown me otherwise.  Despite the sternness and frequently raised voices coming from the other teachers, the children seem to have a very strong sense of self.  I imagine this is how children might have been brought up in the US before the time of lawsuits and micromanagement.  It feels more like a one-room schoolhouse way: “Do as you’re told.  Go play outside,” etc. 

                My opinion of Spanish food has lessened since I first wrote about it.  Tortillas (omelets) are delicious, but I had some once that contained only the eggs and potatoes, leaving out the peppers and onions and whatever else goes into them.  That batch was NOT good.  Spain doesn’t use much salt, rendering other dishes relatively flavorless.  They do serve a ridiculously high amount of meat with lunch, from which dishes get their flavor.  This is also disappointing because I hoped for more spices, what with all the Moorish influence.  I am very impressed with brown lentil stew, and Spain’s version of Moussaka.  Christmas sweets are hitting the shelves and I am excited to buy some soon.

                I’m unimpressed with the constant noise, but I’m sure that will change when I have money to go out and be noisy as well.  One thing that won’t go away is my utter disgust for all the garbage everywhere.  It’s like the world is their dumpster.  I’m hiking to a castle for the first time tomorrow and I’m not looking forward to what I’ll see there. 

                The warmth of the people, though, that has exceeded my original opinion.  I’ve been asked out by men WAY out of my league age-wise (way out of my mom’s league too for that matter,) given hugs by strangers, and seen 12-year-old boys stop everything to randomly kiss younger siblings in passing.  I am approached almost daily by the school director, “Como fue la comida?  Que necesita?” (How was the food?  What do you need?)  I thought it was just a polite series of questions until the day I got sick.  Teachers came to the office offering medical advice and sent texts wishing me a happy, healthy weekend.  The sweetest teacher, Esperanza, is, not coincidentally, also the most regularly pissed off.  I am, without question, the mild-tempered one here, and that’s odd indeed.  Blood runs hot here, that’s for sure, though the carefree attitude of pretty much everyone masks that quite a bit.

And some of my students’ accents sound drawled, like Italian.

After Another Week

                After another week in Spain, a great many more adventures have ben had.  First, I only had school three days this week, which is happy, though another teacher suggested I be more strict with my 4-year-olds.  I couldn’t tell if she was being serious or sarcastic; this is Spain after all, land of the happy and free, and I, well, I’ve never before been accused of being “not strict enough.”  But, during my next class with them I was more strict and everyone was in disbelief, and there was some semblance of order in my classroom.  Although I found myself becoming more frustrated with them that day; I’m not sure if I’d rather admit that some of my children are Satan, or just have a polite, chaotic class.  The reality is that I can’t force these kids to learn and it is a huge energy drain to keep certain kiddos in their seats when I could be devoting that attention to actually trying to teach something.  This, of course, is all aside from the fact that I was hired to be an assistant teacher and somehow ended up teaching toddlers with no given curriculum in a classroom by myself.  But my principal and program director (if that’s what you call her) are very responsive, and I’m looking forward to our meeting Monday afternoon to add some structure to my classes with little kids.  I’m doing great with the 3^rd and 4^th graders.  They are picking up material at a measurable rate, and I’m able to at least communicate with them on some level.  I never babysat; I’m the youngest child.  I’ve changed exactly one diaper ever in my life.  Little ones are very foreign to me, and that, of course seems to be where all my time is spent.  But it’s great practice for life’s future endeavors, so I’m trying to learn all I can.

                This weekend has been better than the previous ones.  I’m actually getting out, which is very important.  My basic life philosophy is that happiness is directly correlated to the amount of time a person spends outside.  But outside in the city streets is really only half outside in my opinion, what with building shade, canopies, and noise, noise, noise.  But it sure beats a lonely apartment.  I had a couple dates this week—the first was awesome until it took a violent nose-dive at the end.  The second was really much better than expected and we’ll be going out again I’m sure, even though he lives in Seville which is an hour away from me.  Today, I went into the woods. I started out with the intention to follow a few different grave roads in a loop, but that was very hot and very boring (again, I need to stop going out at 2 pm.)  On my way back home (I turned around before I came to the second road) I discovered a footpath that led the direction of town.  I climbed it.  And climbed.  I found myself in serene forests and rocky hills with amazing views.  My new favorite spot is quite close to town, just enough to hear donkeys and chickens.  My hike was about 3 hours total, though I wrote for part of it and rested as well; I got dizzy and nauseous towards the end from eating too little, working too hard, and drinking too much too fast. 

                I have school again before too long and I am dreading it.  I don’t like the idea of dreading going to work.  If I don’t like a job, I quit.  But I need to give this job more time to find my niche, and I’m probably just dreading having to waking up before noon or something.  I’m actually mostly sure that most of my distaste for tomorrow involves waking up and getting ready.  I only own four “school” outfits and my curling iron broke.  I feel very plain.

                It’s probably also worth mentioning that dirtbikes and horses can be found around the streets of Montellano, and in the hills.  As I was coming back to my house, I passed a few bikers and realized everyone I’ve seen has been a guy.  I suddenly realized that I can get away with not wearing heels everywhere (I know how ironic this is since I wore heels EVERYWHERE in the US.  I just need to buy some here,) but I’m not sure I can get away with wandering into the woods at leisure.  I feel more and more like Katniss as I now take a pack with me, and I’m feeling half-ashamed that I care somewhat about whether or not I’m considered ladylike.  I’m working on finding out what is socially appropriate here.  I like the dresses and heels all Spanish women seem to wear, and I wear dresses/skirts every day, but my knees will always be scraped or bruised, and I’ll pass on sitting for coffee; I’d rather be on a horse or dirtbike.  In heels.

A Few Things About Spain

As written in my journal last weekend:

After one week as a tourist and one week as a teacher, I find it requisite that I explain the main things I have observed in my short experience in this place.

1) The Food

     My school gives me (and only me) lunch while I'm here.  And that's not a mere ham sandwich.  As lunch is the biggest meal, the portions they give me are bigger than I can eat in a day.  I get a loaf of bread and some sort of soup (brown lentil stew is my favorite so far, gazpacho has a lot of vinegar, and my least favorite is creamed potatoes with chicken broth.)  Course 3 is typically a plate food such as potato salad, course 4 is meat, plain and simple, course 5 is fruit, an apple or a pear, and course 6 is dessert.

     The soup is about 3 cups worth and is packed with protein.  The next course has rice, potato salad, etc, about 1-1 1/2 cups.  Today I had 4 meatballs which each had to be managed by being cut into four pieces.

     Before school, my Spanish food was limited to gambas (shrimp.)  My school director approached me today and said if I want more food, they can send dinner home with me too.  It has previously been assumed that I don't like the food, but I really just strugle with the portions.  And the cream of carrot stew.  I've finished two pork chops in one sitting, but I don't know if I can handle a bowl of creamed carrot stew.  Meanwhile, my home diet consists of eggs, rice, and yogurt, but what I've found here is that all my food (with the exception of the occasional bag of chips or other dessert) serves the primary function of nourishing and to satisfy is a secondary function.  Yes it's social and delicious, but food here does not seem to be robbed of its basic goodness.

2)Modesty

     Being a preschool teacher has shocked me into a great many things.  Within my school, there is a bathroom where boys and girls all go pee-pee in the same big room together with the door open.  My 5-year-olds are in skirts, so panties can be seen basically always.  In the room with three toilets and three sinks and no doors, tiny boys and girls regularly expose themselves to one another.

     I can't say for sure, but I expect that preschools in the US don't function this way, that little girls are at least told to cover up more (that is to say, ever.)  I speculate that in American schools, children don't hold hands and kiss cheeks (without being romantic) throughout elementary school.

     I do know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that one male teacher herds toddlers along by grabbing little bums.  I also saw said male (PE) teacher somewhere between in and out of the older girls' bathroom while his students were presumably changing.  One eight-year-old-or-so was not presently wearing a shirt.  Even I was stunned by this scene (the teacher wasn't looking at her, but was still standing next to her.)  But I was clear across the courtyard--nobody was hiding anything; apparently this was normal.  And today one of my fourth graders used the no-door, three-toilet pee-pee room.  No big deal.

     Something happens to these shameless children over the years: they become shameless adults.  Specifically, their appearances reflect an attitude that sexuality should neither be flaunted nor stifled.  Women here typically cover shoulders and knees, much more so than in Utah.  Blousy shirts tend to be a touch see-through, but always in the most conservative way possible, not paired with ostentatious bras but neutral colors.

     While a lot of the clothing is just that little bit away from being garment friendly for whatever reason, the real impact is modesty of attitude.  There is just no appeal here for the word "sexy."  I hear "beautiful" a lot but never "sexy."  I even saw a lingerie store in Seville whose front window featured garment-friendly nightgowns.  I appreciate the attitude of "sex happens.  Get over it.  And let's not share it with the whole world, eh?"

3) The Accent in Andalucia

     Five points for anyone who can correctly pronounce Andalucia!  In preparing for my move, I was very eager to learn Castilian Spanish.  The concept of Usted just seemed more formal and elagant to me than American Spanish.  But when I got my assignment to the South, warnings began trickling in about the accent.  "Watch out for the lithp!" they joked.  A friend and I even randomly shouted "Ethpana!" in excitement.

     However, this is far from what I found.  My agent and I had a road trip of sorts and his perfect English couldn’t compete with my then accent-deaf ears.  He explained that Thada is a cheap store and I need to go to the beach in Carith.  It took me a while to realize he was talking about Zara and Cadiz (D and R often sound similar.)  It took me four tries to hear an English teacher’s name correctly, and that’s because she translated it for me.  “Hope.”  Oh, yes.  Esperanza, or, in her case, Ethperantha, which is actually prettier in my opinion.  But I quickly looked up when to use the Spanish I was taught and when to use the “th.”  OK, replace Z and C with “th.”  Jereth.  Grathias.  Got it.

     Or so I thought.  One day, passing several people on the street, my “hola”s were met with people saying “Buena.”  BUENA???  Isn’t it buenas dias?  Crap.  Did they change to Buena dia?  One day, not many?  Hmm…so now I say “buena.”  It wasn’t until later in the week that I discovered what was causing my dilemma. I watched “Just like heaven” in Spanish (complete with the lisp.)  I couldn’t figure out why they were talking to other adults as if it were usted, but using “tu”.  I then recalled several adults asking children things like “que quiere” and other unholy phrases to be saying to ninos.  The use of tu mixed with usted? How?  Then I realized that around here, apparently we don’t say “s” at the end of a word.  We’ll say z and call it a “th,” but not s.

     This would fall under the category of “difficult accent” (such as teaching “bracelet” instead of “brathelette” or “Spain” instead of “espain”) except that it obliterates any hop of grammar one may have.  I can put two and two together when it comes to number (do minute is still two minutes; with you so far,) but when it comes to verb endings, I might as well run around shouting “Yo quiero Taco Bell” all day.  Seriously.  I can’t tell if people are talking to tu or usted, which causes some potentially large problems.  I hear no difference between the two for basic verbs.

4) The Hours

     School starts at 9 am, which is really quite early (that’s when bakeries and markets typically open—or later) and goes til 2.  2-4 is lunch-ish time.  I have classes from 4-8pm.  After 8 is shopping time, including groceries.  I do this because the shops are closed during my lunch break.  Dinner is around 10, and bedtime around 12.  Then school starts at 9.

     Weekends are different.  Many bars and restaurants are open on weekends only, and they open around 10 pm.  On Fridays, they stay open til 3 am, Saturdays til 4 am and I don’t recall them being open at all on Sundays.

5)Society

     Like the weather, the people here are warm.  They will stand dangerously close to me and talk faster than I ever imagined human beings could.  They all say hola and Buena in the streets in passing and are eager to help the foreigner who speaks slow and broken Spanish.

     Outside Montellano, in the city Sevilla, dogs and children alike wander at leisure.  Of course, they’re never far from their parents, but they are expected to play and socialize.  Parents, of course, set the example by frequenting bars and cafes.  Children also join in bar attendance; they just drink water (which, by the way, often costs about the price of a beer.)

     I’ve heard that the most important thing to remember in Spain is “No te preocupe.”  Don’t worry.  Here, we don’t worry.  We don’t stress.  We are happy.

A Sunday in Sevilla

     After arriving at my hostel at 1-something in the morning, I imagined the following day would be needed to recover from any jet lag and all-around tiredness I had earned spending 24 hours on planes and in airports.  This was not the case, as I was out in the town around 11:30 am.  I walked a lot, half my time being lost.  I walked across from a university which seems to be the closest thing to a city block in the whole of Sevilla.  Along my path (please note that the city is filled with cigarette smoke and often smells like sewage,) I encountered shops and restaurants catering to tourists and students alike.  I greatly appreciated that every restaurant hands you a menu and permits you to consider before taking a seat.  I had the garlic and shrimp.  It arrived in a bowl of popping hot olive oil.  It was beautiful and delicious, though notably small for 9 euro, and not served with rice or anything else I was expecting.  The garlic cloves had to be eaten in order to produce proper flavor, and it was heaven for me.  The waiter even bought me a sangria, which I sadly declined.  If only it didn't have alcohol!
     From there, I journeyed west and north again to avenida de la constitucion, where I walked north for miles through shops and churches and even unknowingly passed near the real alcazar.  I unknowingly did a lot of things that day, including excepting rosemary from a stranger outside a pretty church, after which she read my palms, and demanded money.  Keep your rosemary lady.  I got severely lost and, though I had a map, I found that even the locals don't know cardinal directions because that knowledge can't save them.  The streets change name without warning, and direction too, and the only way to get by is to ask where the city center is.  In my wanderings I did manage to find a halal store that sold sharia, which livened my spirits.
     Spain is very hot.  It's September 25 and up until now, temperatures have hit about 90 with 50% humidity.  I quickly came to understand why there is siesta and practiced it on my first day--"it's too hot to function anymore, so I will sleep."  Fortunately, there are a great many trees and parks here, endless mazes of gardens with citrus and palm, fountains and monuments, oh, and the lindens still smell amazing.  It's the end of September.  Because things die down in the day after lunch, dinner usually happens around 10 pm, and everyone is outside very late.  I have observed many dogs and children playing freely well past dark, but that's not saying much as the parks and streets are very well-lit.  It's more like a different, less hot, version of day. I just read an article on Sevilla that says the thousands of orange and lemon trees come ripe in December/January (what??!) and the March/April blossoms are very fragrant and are basically antidepressants.
     Day 2, Friday, I went south to La Plaza De Espana around sunrise.  This was after failed attempts to find a bakery that opened before 9 am.  I came home for a meeting at noon, which took me back to the plaza.  There are no words to describe the enormity of it, so I won't bother.  It's big.  My agent Fernando, an attractive fellow native to Sevilla, then walked me to the closest, cheapest phone store where I got a new SIM card and prepaid for some time on my phone.  Unfortunately, my phone is locked, but I will be taking care of that tomorrow, even if it means getting a new phone; I need a Spanish number so I can start offering private lessons.  After my very long meeting (we walked about 5 miles and he wasn't even feeling it,) I did what any girl would do--I took a nap.  When I woke up, a girl in my hostel was going to the Plaza, so I offered to go with her.  It's much different there at night; the trees smell amazing, the heat has gone down, the tourists have abated, and the locals have surfaced.  My journey this time led me to discover that the Universidad de Sevilla has a moat.  Not sure why.  Horses draw carriages all over this city, but the grandest stop is by far at the Plaza de Espana.  After 3 trips to there (it's a mile each way) and back, plus the trip to the phone store and random wanderings, I was done for the day.  8-9 miles is enough for one day.
     The hostel, Backpacker's Utopia, is good.  It's much cleaner and more secure than I expected.  I always figured bars on doors was for the ghetto, but in Sevilla, it's for everywhere.  It's basically a 4-bedroom apartment with 2 bathrooms (1 for each gender) and staff here all the time.  In fact, I learned that a couple of the girls work here in exchange for free rent.  Useful to know, should the worst happen in the future.  People come and go of course, and some of them smoke a LOT.  they have to go outside to smoke, but it doesn't help much since all the windows are always open.  I think that's what's making me sick.
     Day 3 was lots of walking, to the aquarium and back, down to constitution avenue and back, then to the aquarium again for real.  I touched some weird sea creatures and didn't die.  Yet.  I came through some as-yet-undiscovered parks on my way home, using La Plaza de Espana as an orientation point for the last mile to home.  By that point in the day, all I wanted was a good shower.  8-9 miles again on a day when I was sick.  I was done.
     You may notice that I keep repeating the term "La Plaza de Espana" instead of shortening it to "The Plaza."  That's because there are plazas everywhere.  There is a plaza (kinda like a drab courtyard) just outside my hostel.  And a block from here.  There are, in fact, almost as many plazas as there are streets, places where children and dogs play off leash.  I really appreciate that about this culture.  There is lots of unhindered play time, and still the children are very well-behaved (from what I've seen.)  Dogs don't bark at each other or harass anyone.  Just last night, I saw a group of kids, maybe aged 5 or 6, running around the Plaza de Espana at about 10 pm playing tag.  There were easily 5 thousand people in the area at the time.  My instinct reaction was, "Where are those kids' parents???" but then I caught myself; I was forcing my culture on theirs.  Kids aren't, from what I've seen, expected to sit still and be by their parents' sides all the time.  In the plaza behind my hostel, I saw parents eating at the outdoor restaurant while all the children collectively played and climbed in and out of the empty fountain.
     Today is a day I will not be walking 8-9 miles.  I am still sick, and have what might be the beginning of a blister on my foot.  I am staying in today.  I'm blogging, editing photos, and napping.  I find it almost impossible to keep enough water in my system, so I'm also going to work on that.  I am very sad that I slept through church; it's an hour walk and around here there is no option to go to a later ward.  I was really looking forward to that.  Tomorrow, I am scheduled to check out of my hostel.  I am really excited to head to Montellano, simply because I would like to get my rent paid and stop stressing about money.  Always stressing about money.  I haven't hit another restaurant since my first day here, since I realized I will be in Montellano perhaps with no roommates to help with rent.  But all that will come in time.
     In short, I could really do without the heat, the sewage, and the smoking, but I really really like this place so far!