Posts Tagged ‘Spain’
• Spain
First, an important development: I realized this week that I have unknowingly been eating flan since arriving at my home stay (gasp!). Every student who ever took a Spanish class in middle or high school understands why I am shocked. Language classes are known for having holiday parties, and at my school, we often got extra credit for providing a Spanish-themed snack. Flan was a dish that showed up every time, and no one ever ate it. Basically, it’s a type of custard, and there really is nothing wrong with flan. Maybe it was the way 13-15 year olds prepared it that made the texture a little questionable and the flavor unappetizing…I’m not sure. What I am sure of is that upon arriving in Madrid, I never expected to eat flan. I would find five months of alternative desserts. That is, until I saw the packaging and realized one of the custards my host mom has been packing in my lunches is flan.
Which brings me to the second important development of the week: Spanish amigos. It’s Wednesday and I’m sitting outside eating my lunch. I’ve never been one to worry about appearances, so yes, I’m sitting alone in the middle of the quad. I see two guys having a picnic, and turn back to my own lunch, zoning out. I hear people speaking Spanish, but since this is Spain, it doesn’t phase me. Then I hear, clearly, “¡Oye, tía!” (the equivalent of “Hey, dude!” referring to a girl), and realize that the two picnic guys had been talking to me in Spanish, and I hadn’t heard a single word they said. Good start. I’m flustered because they’re speaking quickly, using slang I have to think about to translate, and all of the sudden, they pause like I’m supposed to answer them.
Oh geez. What’s the last thing I heard? Something about “liar” (pronounced: lee-ar). Wait, doesn’t that mean to roll? Roll what? I think they’re smoking. I don’t smoke. I don’t like smoke. Wow, I need to answer them. What if that’s not what they said? Is my face turning red? They’re being nice to me, maybe I should go sit there to eat. Or maybe they’re being creepy. Why is there not a class on determining creepiness level in Spanish? I think I’ll just shake my head no. They look confused…I’ll just say “no, gracias” a few times. Okay, phew.
I finish my lunch and realize I still have two hours to kill before class. I can’t just continue to sit in the middle of the quad with nothing to do. I have two options: move to a less conspicuous location or go talk to them. Mental pep talk: You can do this. You have to move either way, so you might as well try and make friends. Go on. Really? You can’t stay here all day. Just move already! So, I went to go sit down with them, and we talked for an hour and a half. That, ladies and gentlemen, is how I made my first Spanish amigos. We even have plans for this week!
At this point, you might be wondering, has Kaitlyn lost her mind from speaking so much Spanish? What in the world do these stories have to do with each other? And why do I care what she eats? Here is the connection: frame of mind. I now have proof that with the right mentality, I can enjoy the most unexpected things (eating a previously unapproachable food or awkwardly making friends at school). So, my mantra while in Spain will be to put myself out there, and try everything once (within reason).
I’d like to dedicate this blog post to our seminar professor, Estela, whose refrain during this first week was “Cuando hablo con vosotros, hablo como Forrest Gump” (When I speak with you all, I speak like Forrest Gump). But life in Spain isn’t like a box of chocolates, it’s like a cup of flan.
For those of you who were unaware, I do not look like a Spaniard. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that all Spanish people look alike. There is definitely a fair amount of variation, but they also share a base of common characteristics that allow people to identify someone as “español” o “española”. With my blond hair and (super) pale skin, I stick out like, well, like a white girl in Spain. Even some of the Asian kids from my program have a better time blending in since there is a decent-size Asian community in Madrid. I don’t have a huge problem with being the “blanca” and the “rubia” in Spain, though. I have come to accept people’s curiosity about my nationality as normal. Like the two people on the Metro a few days ago who didn’t know I spoke Spanish and spent 5 minutes debating where I was from (the girl was vehement I was from England and the guy was more skeptical, betting Canada). Not even for a moment did they think I was Spanish, and they both agreed I must speak English, even if they couldn’t agree on my country of origin. Did I mention they hadn’t heard me say a word?
Yesterday I witnessed two opposite ends of the spectrum in terms of Spanish people’s views on foreigners. For the most part, people have been really nice to me (although they tend to be nicer when I’m with my host mom). However, there is a fair amount of, if not racism, then stereotyping, in Spain. When I was on my way to the Parque del Retiro (http://the195.com/northwestern/2012/01/22/madrid-trumps-new-york-city/), two women got on the bus. It seemed one of them knew a woman sitting near myself, so I moved to the window seat in case she wanted to sit near her friend. The first woman sat in the seat behind her friend and the second woman to get on the bus sat behind me. As soon as I moved over, the first woman began saying, loudly, a whirlwind of phrases about Spain and what is normal here. Her refrain was always, “¡Estamos en España! ¡Aquí, usamos la boca, no la fuerza!” (“We’re in Spain! Here, we use our mouths, not force!”). Her rant lasted about 5 minutes, until she got off the bus. I could understand her words, but I was still confused as to why she was saying it because I hadn’t seen anything that could provoke such a reaction. I couldn’t tell if the woman was addressing me, or the woman behind me, so after she got off, I asked. It turns out that the woman behind me was Latin American and that the rant was aimed at her for waving her arm to flag down the bus (something I have seen many Spaniards do). A friend later told me that there are many immigrants from Latin America in Spain, and they aren’t always treated with respect. In fact, they are more often confronted with discrimination. The public broadside of this woman stands in stark contrast to the genial grandpa who sat and talked to me for 40 minutes in a Starbucks later that day because I was sitting alone, waiting for a friend.
I am definitely treated differently in Spain. As a novelty, almost. Everywhere I go, the question lingers, “¿De dónde eres?” – “Where are you from?” Even if no one asks, I know people are thinking about it, from the cashier at a local café, to the two kids in the park, the security guard in the department store, and the people in my apartment building. The grandpa at Starbucks happily announced for everyone who was wondering,“¡Es americana!” (“She’s American!”). We’ll see how my first day of classes with Spanish students and professors goes tomorrow… hopefully they’ll remember my name and not just my country of origin.
I wake up Saturday morning after a relaxed Friday night of tortilla española and sangria with friends and realize I have exactly 0 things that need to be done for the day. I can’t even tell you what a wonderful feeling it is (rubbing it in just a little). I decided to meet a few friends at the Parque de Buen Retiro in the center of Madrid. It takes me just over 30 minutes on the bus to get there from my apartment near the north of Madrid, although most of the other students are much closer. We first went to the park during our three-day program orientation and Ray, the program director, compared the Retiro to Central Park in New York. Maybe I’m biased, but I think when you look at the photos, you’ll see that the Retiro is everything Central Park is missing. It is truly a huge, well-maintained green space with historical relevance in the middle of a bustling capital city. On weekends, it is populated with families walking, biking, or rollerblading (a very popular choice here). There are beautiful fountains and exquisite statues, but what will caught my attention the most was the variety of shows and activities spread throughout the park: a jazz saxophone soloist, children’s puppet show, drum circle, guy making large bubbles for children to pop, street vendors, artists, and more. My friends and I stayed in the park for hours, walking around and exploring all it had to offer. Did I mention I took my coat off because the weather was so nice? I’ll stop bragging about the sun and blue skies and let you see for yourselves. Read the captions to learn a little about the park!
Hello from the United States! I made it back home all in one piece in spite of a volcanic ash cloud threatening to delay my flight. After spending the last couple of weeks in sweltering Argentine summer heat, I am now sitting bundled up in my house, watching snow drifting down outside, and wondering if the last six months were real.
It is absolutely true what they say about study abroad: it is wonderful and challenging and will change your life unlike anything else. To date, studying abroad in two extremely different cultures has been one of the most jolting and eye-opening decisions I have ever made. And like what most other study abroad students might be facing now at the end of the term, I find myself caught in a state of transition between two worlds.
In so many ways I am overjoyed, relieved, and wonderfully excited to be home. As someone who is extremely close to her family, six months away from the people I love has felt like a lifetime. No matter how many orientations you go through or stories you hear about going abroad, there is nothing in the world that can prepare you for the challenge of taking off alone with a suitcase and trying to fit in with a new culture. It has not only tested my mind, but also my body, my emotions, my creativity, my courage, my self-awareness, my tolerance, my faith, and my understanding of the world.
There were definitely days when I nearly fell apart and felt like quitting. That is part of the process and I have learned to embrace those moments. Before coming, I heard other friends rave about their time abroad and talk only about all the incredible things they experienced. I will probably do the same when people ask me about Spain and Argentina during the coming months, but for right now I won’t sugar-coat it as much. It is not so simple living every single day surrounded by a foreign language, new customs, an unfamiliar setting, and none of the comforts of home to offset these new changes. It is really hard.
But at the same time, I wouldn’t trade a single day of my experience abroad for anything else. I know that it was both the ups and the downs that helped me grow and realize new things about my own limits that I would never have discovered without pushing the boundaries. I am definitely not the same person I was six months ago, but I am grateful to have a wider perspective now.
With that all said, I can’t emphasize enough how wonderful the past six months have been as well. It is hard to believe that my journey started on the beaches of Barcelona in June. I have to keep reminding myself of all the beautiful things I encountered in Spain, between the laid-back coastal lifestyle, to the late night tapas, to the trips to southern France, Costa Brava, Madrid and everywhere in-between, to being surrounded by fierce Catalan pride and summer festivities that took over the city every single night. Those days may be getting further away from me, but I will never forget them or the people who I shared them with.
It is also hard for me to believe that I managed to jump from that chapter of my life into the completely different experience of four months in Argentina. I have never felt so much anticipation, excitement, and straight-up fear as I did the first day when touching down, my face pressed up against the airplane window, telling myself over and over again, “I am in South America, I am in South America.” There was no one there to hold my hand as I got in the taxi at the airport and had to go introduce myself to an unknown host family that I would live with for the next several months.
I don’t think I have ever been so scared in my life, or had so many questions and doubts racing through my mind all at once. Luckily, just like the majority of study abroad students find, it all somehow miraculously works out in the end. And even though I have been pushed so far out of my comfort zone for so many consecutive days that I don’t even recognize what my “comfort zone” looks like, every single second of awe and amazement and frustration and anxiety was worth it.
Now I am back to my “normal” life, but I don’t quite feel the normalcy setting in yet. It is hard for me to wrap my mind around all of the changes I have undergone since June, and to be back in a setting where everything is business as usual, yet no one on the street knows where I just came from or what I have just gone through. It is hard for me to believe that just a couple days ago I was saying goodbye to the most incredible host mom and host dad, exchanging hugs and kisses and loving words on the street corner without knowing when or if I will see them again. They are what I will miss the most, and now I know how hard it is to leave one family behind, even when heading back to be with my other family.
It is strange to think that I was walking and talking and living the porteño lifestyle of Buenos Aires, and now I feel like I don’t quite fit in with the other Americans I pass on the street. In a way it even feels weird to talk with my friends and family here just like I did before leaving, because I have undergone so many personal changes that most people don’t know about or pick up on. I know it is just a matter of time before it will all feel comfortable again, but as for right now I am feeling a little unsettled. I can also tell it will be a challenge to tap back into the news and events happening in the US after half a year of being removed from all of that. But overall, the most startling thing to deal with is discovering aspects of myself that I didn’t know existed before, and seeing my own culture through the lens of another.
I guess now is the time to let it all marinate a little bit as I try to process everything that I have just been a part of. The traditions, politics, societies, cultures and passions of Spain and Argentina have now become a part of my own personal history that I will continue to carry with me. And I will say that after every single experience that I have blogged about, and the thousands that I have not blogged about, the months I spent abroad will undoubtedly continue to influence the rest of my life in ways I can’t even begin to describe.
Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read about my journeys and I hope you find your own journeys that will open your eyes the way mine have for me. Nos vemos pronto, we’ll be seeing each other soon.
Today I left Morocco. Kind of. So that our entire program didn’t get kicked out of Morocco (because we only had 90 day visas that would soon expire), we sneakily (but legally!) crossed the nearest international border––that of Ceuta, Spain. Located on the very northeastern part of Morocco, about an hour’s drive from Tangier, Ceuta is a small 23-square-kilometer Spanish enclave that includes a beautiful 21 kilometers of coastline.
This little adventure to re-legalize our existence in Morocco was the last part of our northern excursion that included stops in the cities of Ouezzane, Chefchaouen, and Fnideq. In Ceuta for less than six hours, I found myself relieved to get a breath of fresh air from Moroccan culture. Don’t get me wrong––I love Morocco. But to this day, my biggest struggle remains gender dynamics. I’m still tired of being harassed in the street because I’m a white female and I’m tired of always being conscious of that fact. When I’ve asked certain Moroccans why they do or don’t act in a certain way and they respond with, because that’s for a man or because that’s what women do I find myself frustrated. I want to say to them, but whyyyyyy? Why can’t you challenge that norm? But really, I know why. Societal pressure is enormous, especially when you’re in a country whose culture is in large part dictated by the state religion. And for that, I cannot blame any Moroccans. Regardless, going to Ceuta was a nice escape from the at-times-suffocating Moroccan culture.
In my recent post, “American dress is hshouma,” I mentioned how I have gained a somewhat Moroccan perspective on apparel choices. When I see any cleavage, shoulders, or knee, I think hshouma! However, when I found myself in Ceuta surrounded by fashionably dressed Spaniards and Moroccans, I sighed a deep breath of relief. It was like the pressure had been lifted off me to abide by certain cultural norms that, if I had my way, I would ignore (like covering my shoulders and knees). Walking around Ceuta’s main shopping area, I realized that I actually miss cute clothes––ones that would be considered scandalous by Moroccan standards. I miss my dirty American music and dancing to it, while completely oblivious of anyone paying attention to me (if anyone is even paying attention). I can’t tell you how refreshing it was for me to be able to walk and not to stare at the ground five feet in front of me and to dash––rather than walk––to my destination. I walked with my head up, allowing my eyes to freely explore what was ahead of me, including the faces of those passing by me. Ahh, a sigh of relief. In the U.S., I am seldom one to avoid eye contact. I am that person who makes eye contact with everyone she passes and gives a friendly smile to those to match her gaze. Upon arrival in Morocco, our program instructed us that it was best to avoid eye contact, especially with men. Unconvinced, I rolled my eyes and continued to allow my eyes to wander freely. But after a week of experiencing incessant street harassment, in part due to the fact that I met the gaze of men’s eyes, I adopted a new strategy: avoid all unnecessary eye contact. Visiting Ceuta allowed me to go back to my U.S. norms of making eye contact and appreciating the cuteness of Western clothes that I have more recently been socialized into thinking are hshouma!
Now to re-experience Moroccan culture shock…
I’ve recently returned from a whirlwind week of trips and I’m ready to catch up on all that’s been happening. Recently we had two straight weeks of midterms and then last week we launched straight into fall break. So I guess I’ll start there.
Last Friday afternoon three friends and I set off for Barcelona for the weekend. Upon arrival we settled into our rented apartment and proceeded to get ready to go out for the night. All of us were a little thrown off by Spanish mealtimes, so by the time we got to dinner at 10:30, we were all starving. However, we adjusted to the Spanish lifestyle as best we could and ended up at a club on the beach where an electric violin player accompanied the techno hits all night long. Strolling through the city that night, among the palm trees and small squares, was incredibly refreshing and contrasted sharply to the bleak solemness of Prague at this time of year. From the people crowding the streets to the fresh ocean breezes that flow through the city, Barcelona evokes a sense of liveliness that’s entirely infectious.
Saturday morning we set off to explore the city and visited the packed Mercat de La Boqueria, where rows upon rows of stands offered everything from freshly squeezed juices to rabbits ready for roasting. Later we wandered down to the beach and the small Barceloneta neighborhood. Thankfully, the weather was warm so everyone’s spirits were high as we serpentined our way through the narrow shaded streets. For dinner we enjoyed a variety of traditional Spanish tapas such as croquetas (similar to mozzarella sticks filled with ham and potatoes) and patatas bravas (potatoes with spicy sauce). The rest of our weekend was spent exploring the various Gaudi creations all over the city. We saw some of his famous apartment buildings, the Sagrada Familia church (which was entirely overwhelming in size), and the longest bench in the world at Park Guell. I didn’t realize that Park Guell was up on the top of a hill but our long hike up was rewarded with fantastic panoramic views of the city and ocean. The presence of cactii all over the hill was also thrilling for me personally because it reminded me nicely of the rugged Texas landscape I so often miss.
After running almost nonstop through the streets of Barcelona we hopped on a short flight over to Ibiza. The small Spanish island of Ibiza is one of the most famous clubbing destinations in the world. However, Ibiza’s high season is from June to the end of September so by the time we got there on October 25th, it was all but deserted. Fortunately, this is exactly what we were looking for because the weather was still amazing and the beaches almost empty. So to those of you looking for stories of long crazy nights in Ibiza, I apologize. My island tales consist almost entirely of many hours of tanning, exploring beaches, and consuming a large pizza from a wonderfully-placed Pizza Hut in the center of Ibiza town (sometimes you’ve just got to do it).
Overall my Spanish experience offered me exposure to a fantastic new culture in addition to a much-needed taste of home. The liveliness of the cities, upbeat attitude of the people, beautiful weather, Texas landscapes, and slice (or 6) of America made for an amazing start to fall break. Though as I will detail in my next post, that was really only the beginning.
Although Cochabambinos designate the 14th of September as the city’s day of independence from Spain, festivities begin a day before the actual holiday.
Students marched in parades instead of having classes on the 13th of September, and that evening my host family took me to a parade.
Colegios (schools), marching bands and military personnel swamped El Prado, the city’s main boulevard. Plastic yard chairs lined the north-bound side of El Prado and went for 10 Bolivianos per person in the area near my family’s spot.
Street venders sold balloons and cotton candy on poles that were often twice their height. Calls for papitas fritas (chips), pipoca (popcorn), chicle (gum) and refrescos (pop) competed with the voice of an announcer for the audience’s attention, which gave the parade the feel of a baseball game.
The night parade lasted four hours, during which time I probably watched every colegio in the city march by–and then some. A few colegios came from other cities like La Paz to get in on Cochabamba’s excitement. A bunch of the marching bands played “The Ants Go Marching On and On,” and the crowd got excited whenever one of the marchers flung their baton into the air and caught it. Two clowns in large sombreros tried enticing the crowd to buy bubble guns during the long stretches between marchers.
The army and navy cadets who brought up the rear of the parade carried toy helicopters, boats or submarines on top of their rifles. It may seem strange that a landlocked country like Bolivia would have a navy, but instead of voyaging on an ocean, the Bolivian navy patrols Lake Titicaca and large rivers leading into the Amazon.
My host family used the actual 14th of September as a day of rest rather than going to more parades, and I was right there with them. Even after a full night of sleep I couldn’t get “The Ants Go Marching On and On” out of my head.
Plaza 14 de septiembre is named in honor of the day that Cochabamba became the first Bolivian city to revolt against Spain 201 years ago.
My mother’s a Francophile and generally Eurocentric. My father is great and knows how to drive a stick shift. The combination of the two made for an incredibly spoiled kid. By the time I was in high school, I had euro-tripped a couple of times over.
My mother went so far as to dedicate my brother and my education around making those trips more enjoyable; she enrolled my brother in French classes and I studied Spanish. Together, we had a solid chunk of European languages covered. My parents would lounge around in some rural area while my brother and I asked locals where the nearest market was. It was a way to simultaneously invest in our ‘education’ and get fresh produce.
Born and raised in Miami, Spanish was infinitely more useful than French and English. After ten-ish years of re-learning the colors in Spanish every year, high school rolled around and I went to a boarding school in New Hampshire. My parents started going to fun places without me and traveling for me was limited to weekend trips into Maine with the occasional excursions to Boston and New York. And now, I’m in the Midwest.
At Northwestern, I’m doing all I can so that my career path mirrors Rahm Emanuel’s. Studying abroad doesn’t necessarily fit in to that plan but it’s Barcelona and I’m an emerging adult so it’s fine. If nothing else, the mild childhood trauma of talking to foreign strangers is what makes me so incredibly excited to bum around/study while abroad for the next four months. Thanks ma.
Before coming to Spain, I remember hearing friends who had studied or traveled abroad talk about the rivalry between Barcelona and Madrid. As the two most internationally known cities in Spain, they are often compared to one another for their different atmosphere, culture, and lifestyle. They are each such dynamic cities: cosmopolitan but quaint, traditional but vanguard, international but unified. It is possibly similar to comparing Chicago to New York or the East Coast to the West Coast. Based on what I heard from friends, it is typical to prefer one strongly over the other, and after taking a casual poll, it seemed that most showed a preference for Barcelona.
Once I arrived in Barcelona, it became so much more apparent how polarized these two cities are. In particular, most of the people who live here relate so strongly to their Catalan identity that they do not consider themselves Spanish. To help us understand this better, our teacher described how students last year went to Madrid to watch and celebrate Spain’s victory in the World Cup, but the next day when they had returned to Barcelona, hardly anyone expressed excitement.
We all have observed this too throughout our time here. It is a frequent topic of conversation, both in the classroom and in informal settings. One of our assignments for our conversation class was to interview some of the other students about their opinions and stereotypes of people from both Barcelona and Madrid. Across the board we heard people describe locals as proud, liberal and international. On the other hand, they called the “Madrileños” somewhat arrogant and disrespectful. Another activity involved debating the tourism ads for both Barcelona and Madrid and seeing how they chose to represent each city. It gave us an interesting perspective of how people view themselves, as well as how they hope other people see them.
This past weekend, our group took a trip to Madrid and we had the chance to decide for ourselves how these two places match up. First thing I noticed, Madrid seemed more regal and classy. It also reminded me a lot of Paris and had a European feel to it that was more like my expectations before coming to Spain. In general, people dress nicer in Madrid than in Barcelona where the dress is more casual, simple and beach-ready. On that note, Barcelona’s geography is more diverse with mountains on one side and the Mediterranean on the other. Madrid, however, is landlocked with a more homogenous landscape.
In spite of that, Madrid is home to some of the best museums, such as the Prado and the Reina Sofía and in my opinion trumps Barcelona in terms of cuisine. There are tons of restaurants all over that offer larger portions at more reasonable prices than what I have seen in Barcelona (although I have to say that I was not that impressed with the churros and chocolate, the dessert that gets all the hype in Madrid). However, Barcelona wins for its climate considering we have had day after day of perfect, sunny, warm weather with a gentle sea breeze whereas the heat in Madrid was stifling and made walking around outside uncomfortable for extended periods of time.
After spending two days in Madrid, I have to say I was surprised to hear many of the people on the program say they preferred it to Barcelona. I also thought the experience was super positive, but I have a feeling that it was mostly due to the spectacle of being in a new place that was outside our now familiar neighborhood in Barceloneta. For me, there is still not a clear distinction between which of the two cities I prefer. I would absolutely love to return to Madrid for a longer visit, but I will also say that coming back to our dorm Sunday night was like returning home after a long weekend away, and for that reason Barcelona remains first in my heart when it comes to Spain.
Great article!
