Granada, Tea, and Cockroaches

Last weekend was my long-awaited trip to Granada—my favorite city in the world (which is not saying much, but it’s true!). Just a few months ago, this trip felt so far away. Now it’s already come and gone! Although the weather was less than perfect, I certainly managed to take advantage of the time we spent in Granada. A few highlights:

1. La Capilla Real: This is the burial site of los reyes católicos Fernando and Isabel, the king and queen who conquered Granada to complete the Spanish Reconquista in 1492 (they also funded Christopher Columbus, who “discovered” America that same year). You can actually see their original caskets, but my favorite part of the chapel was the sculpture of Fernando and Isabel designed to honor their grave site (it depicts them sleeping). Fun fact: Isabel was considered to be the brains of the two of them, so her head weighs down the pillow more than her husband’s! Unfortunately, you can’t take pictures in the chapel...you'll just have to use your imagination.

2. The tapas bars in Granada still provide free tapas with every drink! Adriana and I were lucky enough to meet up with her friend and a few others, who took us to some of their favorite places. Thanks, guys!

3. TEA. Adriana and I discovered the wonderfulness that is the tetería. Technically, I think teterías are all hookah bars, but we opt for the tea. It comes in a cute little pot and is absolutely delicious. This is my new thing. Today we found a Sevillan tetería, and I’m determined to find an equivalent in Boston/Philly when I get back to the States!

4. La Alhambra: This is the fortress/palace that was the last Muslim stronghold in Spain. As I had already seen it with Katie a few years ago, there were no real surprises. Even so, the beauty of the palace, the gardens, and the view of the city is truly breath-taking. I also learned a lot from the tour--last time, I did not appreciate the history of the place.

5. Unfortunately, about 20 people from my program (including me) found themselves sick on Monday and Tuesday. This was not a highlight. But it is the truth. No one really knows what it came from—I’m still convinced it was food poisoning from the hotel buffet, but others think we all came down with a virus. Either way, it was not pleasant. Luckily everyone’s feeling better at this point!

Spanish word of the day: el cucurucho = cone (Yesterday, I ordered a cucaracha con helado de menta—a cockroach with mint ice cream—instead of a mint ice cream cone!)

Revelation of the day: Carmen, my host mom, DRANK A SIP OF WATER. This is literally the first time I’ve seen that happen since being here.

un abrazo a todos,
elizabeth

You Wish You Were Living with Carmen, Too.

Last Tuesday (November 1st) was a Spanish national holiday known as Día de Todos los Santos (All Saints’ Day). Traditionally, this is a day when Spaniards visit the graves of loved ones. It is now also used by the younger generations as an excuse to celebrate Halloween—yes, it sort of exists here—and to take an unofficial four-day weekend from the university.

I took advantage of the holiday to do what I do best: sample desserts. Adriana and I tried two types of traditional desserts made for Día de Todos los Santos—huesos de santos and buñuelos:

I also used Día de Todos los Santos as an excuse to talk to my Señora about burials and cemeteries here in Spain. I was actually quite surprised by what Carmen told me. First, she said that she has paid someone to clean the gravesite of her relatives once a week every week since the death of her aunt 30 years ago. She also told me she wants to be cremated—not because she prefers cremation to burial but because there is no one to tend to her grave once she dies. She has actually made payments every month for years now so that she will be cremated when she dies. To me, this indicates a major difference in the amount of respect given to the dead in Spain versus in the States (though, to be fair, my Spanish sample size is limited to one).

Spanish word of the day: flores amarillos = yellow flowers (This is a good one. Earlier this week, I was talking to Carmen when she launched off on the following story: Many years ago, she visited her nephew in Madrid. His patio had some plants with beautiful yellow flowers, and she asked him for seeds so that she could grow this type of plant on her balcony. Unfortunately, although her plant grew, it never grew flowers. Carmen threw it out. Later, in talking to another one of her nephews, she found out that this plant was in fact marijuana. Let me translate: my Señora was illegally growing pot on her balcony without realizing it. Gotta love her.)

un abrazo,
elizabeth

Sevilla's One and Only Cuáquero

Spanish word of the day: cuáquero = Quaker

A few weeks ago, I decided I wanted to attend Quaker meeting here in Sevilla. I quickly googled “cuáqueros sevilla,” but the only useful thing that came up was a blog on Quakers in Spain. I left a comment explaining that I was interested in attending a meeting in Sevilla and wanted to know where I could find one. The next day, I got an email from the blog writer explaining that he was, in fact, the entire Quaker community of Sevilla. He offered to meet up for coffee, and I accepted.

Thus, after lunch today, I drank tea with Luís. While I will spare you all the details, the most exciting part was that when he originally became interested in Quakerism, he took an intro to Quakerism course at Pendle Hill! For those of you who don’t know, Pendle Hill is a Quaker retreat center very close to Haverford, and it’s relatively well-known among Haverfordians. It seems that Luís really does want to come back to Pendle Hill, so I hope he can make it sometime in the next few years. I told him to email me if he was going to be in the area! Conclusion: it really is a small world.

peace,
elizabeth

Morocco and the Boy

As many of you know, I spent last weekend in Tangier, a city on the northern coast of Morocco. (And yes, Matthew was there, though Tangier is not where he’s actually studying this semester.) Anyways, I was lucky enough to convince Adriana to come with me and lucky that Matthew convinced three friends to make the trek with him. A shout-out to all of you for putting up with Matthew and me!

Anyways, the original plan was for Adriana and I to take a night ferry across the Straight of Gibraltar after spending the day in Tarifa, Spain (Matthew and friends weren’t due to arrive in Tangiers until 10pm). However, these plans quickly changed when we got off the bus in Tarifa—there was literally nothing worth seeing. We couldn’t even find a supermarket with snacks worth buying or even an ice cream place! The good news is that the ferry company didn’t care about the time on our ticket, so we crossed over to spend the day in Tangiers. Upon landing, we were quickly greeted by a friendly old Moroccan man (Rashid) who clearly wanted to give us a tour. He found us as soon as we got off the boat and again after our backpacks were scanned. He offered a few suggestions as to where we should go, but we simply thanked him and headed to barter for a taxi. This was a success (as it turns out, almost everyone speaks Spanish in Tangiers), and we were soon in our hotel room. Yay!

We figured we might as well explore while it was still light out, so we went for a walk. What an experience. As two white females, we got a lot of stares. And I’m not talking subtle looks—I’m talking men who literally sat down a few feet away and stared. To add to this, I was harassed by a little boy who wanted my orange soda, Adriana was asked out by a “Spaniard” (definitely not Spanish), and we had to use our wits to ditch several prospective tour guides. After walking around a bit, we found our way to a bakery and café (these are our specialties no matter what city we’re in). Most notably, we were the only females in the entire establishment, and not a single person sat with their back facing the street—this is the place for you if you are male and like people-watching. Anyways, the desserts were great, the tea was divine, and then—out of nowhere—came Rashid! “You took my advice! This is a great café.” We had no idea that we’d taken his advice, nor did we invite him to join us (though that was precisely what he did). We managed to convince him that we didn’t need a guide but that we did need to meet up with friends. We headed to the hotel room for a nap complete with Spanish game shows on TV.

Adriana with her tea before our Rashid encounter:

When the rest of the group arrived, we headed out for our first Moroccan dinner. Surprisingly, at least for picky-eater me, the food in Tangiers was delicious! That first night, I had couscous, and for lunch on Saturday I had tajine. The tajine was so good that I managed to eat all of mine, part of William’s, and a few bites of Matthew’s—so much that I was incapable of eating dinner that night. I also succeeded in trying some traditional Moroccan baked goods, some churros, and lots and lots of tea (it had fresh mint).

My tajine:

On to Saturday: Spending the day with the group served to highlight how different we were treated when walking with only females versus when walking with males. We were hardly harassed at all that day—except by people wanting to give us tours. My favorite part was the mix of languages we were using: the group mostly spoke English, Adriana and I spoke Spanish, and everyone else spoke to street vendors and waiters in Arabic. All in all, we managed to get royally lost, visit a history museum, and shop in the souk. Most of the group also made it to McDonald’s, but I fell asleep around 10pm and only woke up to eat my McFlurry. Pretty good room service, no?

The souk:

Matthew and I in the souk:

The girls:

The group (everyone):

Matthew, Chris, Andrew, and William had to head out around 10am Sunday morning, so Adriana and I took the opportunity to enjoy one more cup of tea and some paninis. We took a chance and went back to the café Rashid recommended (it had the best tea) and—you guessed it—he found us! We told him we had to catch the ferry and thanked him again for talking to us. Unfortunately, this was not actually our last Rashid sighting. An hour later, he was greeting us at the ferry before Customs, and a bit after that he had us cornered in the waiting room! We were a bit afraid he was going to find us on the boat. Luckily, that was not to be. After an hour-ish ferry ride and three hours on a bus, we found ourselves safe and sound back in Sevilla. I have to admit that at this point, coming back to Sevilla really does feel like coming home. Even though I originally struggled a bit with the types of food most common here, I know look forward to my big bowl or lentils and have even acquired the recipe!

Fun note: A few posts ago, I wrote about the frustration of changing classrooms for my one regular university class. Well, today I showed up to class and not even the professor knew what classroom we were supposed to be in. Gotta love Spain.

Spanish words of the day: cuáquero = Quaker (because in searching for a Quaker meeting in Sevilla, I found the one and only Quaker here—we’re grabbing coffee tomorrow!)

peace,
elizabeth

Travel Updates (Prepare for Jealousy!)

To be discussed: Ronda, Córdoba, and Lagos (Portugal). It’s not that many words—just lots of pictures!

Ronda: Ronda is one of the so-called “pueblos blancos” (“white villages”) in Andalucía. The name originates from the white paint used to coat houses in an effort to preserve moderate indoor temperatures during the summer months. Ronda is specifically famous for its Plaza de Toros, Arab bathhouse, and gorgeous valley that separates the old city from the modern one. Note: “modern” should be taken rather lightly—it’s most likely older than the United States! Ronda's Plaza de Toros is one of the oldest and most important ones in the world, though it now hosts only two bullfights a year. While this building was impressive, the most defining feature of my day was probably the wind. Wearing a dress was possibly the worst decision of all time!

Haley and I at the Plaza de Toros:

Adriana and I posing in front of the "old" bridge:

Brittany and me--this is why it is called a "pueblo blanco":

Having coffee with Celeste (our director), Megan (a Haverford grad teaching English in Sevilla), Adriana, and Haley:

Córdoba: This city is a huge tourist attraction in Spain, mostly because it houses an incredible Mezquita-Catedral (Mosque-Cathedral) but also because of its Jewish neighborhood. We spent only a short time in Córdoba and, to be honest, we didn’t get to see as much of the Mezquita-Catedral as I would have liked—our tour guide quickly ushered us out in an attempt to take us through the famed Jewish neighborhood. At this point, you’re likely wondering what I mean by a Mosque-Cathedral. Like many religious buildings in Spain, this one started out as an incredibly large and important Mosque but was quickly dubbed a “Cathedral” when Christians retook the city during the Reconquista. As such, it is now mostly a Cathedral within a Mosque, though a Christian tower covers what used to be the Mosque’s minaret. The coolest part of the Mezquita-Catedral is the number of columns there are--they go on for forever.

The top of the Christian tower overlooking the central patio filled with orange trees:

Me inside the Mezquita-Catedral:

Adriana and me at the entrance to the city (photo cred: Alexander Jennes):

(Yes, I have saved the best for last.)
Lagos, Portugal: I got up bright and early to head to Portugal Friday morning—oh the benefits of long weekends every weekend! To be honest, I almost chose not to go, but I am SO HAPPY I caved and went. Here’s why:
1. The Lagos coastline is what you think of when you dream of gorgeous beaches with cliffs, perfect water, and beautiful sunsets.
2. I got up early both mornings we were there—the first to walk along the cliffs and the second to see the sunrise over said cliffs.
3. I had a delicious tapa on Saturday night (Mediterranean bruschetta with goat cheese!) and my first burger in 7 weeks at least!
4. The hostel we stayed at (Gold Coast) was more than incredible. I met so many people with so much to share—it really changed my perspective on traveling and made me think hard about what I want both now and in the future.
5. The waves were ridiculous--I got 100% pummeled trying to get past the breaking point and then back in!

Some of the cliffs:

The sunset:

Post-Getting-Pummeled-by-Waves:

My bruschetta:

One final scenic picture:

A final story and your Spanish Word of the Day: We are now a full three weeks into classes, so you’d assume everything is pretty set, right? Wrong. I heard through the grapevine at the end of week 2 that my normal university class would be changing rooms. The professor did not make an announcement, I did not receive an email, but I heard we’d be meeting in room VII starting the following Thursday. I thought, “Great! I actually know where that is!” So I showed up at room VII on Thursday. The door was closed and no one was waiting outside. I figured that meant the class didn’t move after all, so I went up to the normal room. About half the class (and the professor) was missing. Hmmm…enter Adriana via telephone: “We’re in room VII—the door’s open, just walk in!” I informed the rest of the similarly confused students in our former classroom that we’d be meeting in room VII and proceeded to return to the place I had just come from. The door wasn’t open, but at this point we were late, so I opened it anyways. It was not my class. As it turns out, there are TWO ROOM VII’s! They are, conveniently, a few doors apart and on opposite sides of the hall. My class, which is offered through the School of History and Geography, now meets in room VII of the School of Law, which is not even supposed to be housed in the same building! Thus, your Spanish word of the day: aula = classroom.

un abrazo,
elizabeth

Milk, Eggs, and Churros

If you saw my Señora’s kitchen, chances are pretty good that you’d be impressed. Everything is orderly and surfaces are wiped clean—always. My Señora even cleans the stove twice a day. In fact, the entire first floor is swept or mopped on a daily basis, and the table is arranged with flowers and picture frames in between meals. As far as I can tell, this is both normal and expected in Spain. Coming from the States, however, the house almost seems fake or not lived in. Yet despite the extreme cleanliness of the physical surroundings, the lack of cleanliness involved in actually cooking a meal is somewhat disturbing from an American perspective. Let’s just say that hand soap is nonexistent in the kitchen, and a quick rinse with cold water functions as “washing” hands after touching raw meat. I’m not even convinced any of the knives get more than a quick cold-water rinse. Additionally, my Señora thinks nothing of coughing into her hands and immediately returning to preparing my food, even when she is sick. Likewise, expectations for refrigeration are relatively relaxed. The apple juice and strawberry jelly I consume at breakfast is typically left out all night in the case that my Señora doesn’t wake up before me. Additionally, if you were to walk into a supermarket to buy milk, eggs, or even heavy cream, you wouldn’t find them in the refrigerated section. Crazy, right? As it turns out, none of this has actually been problematic. I haven’t been particularly ill—at least not yet—and I’m starting to realize that maybe America really just is obsessed with sanitation and refrigeration.

The dining room table as arranged between meals:

On a different note, I would like to explain a more recent cultural clash (of sorts). On Thursday morning, during a short walk around Sevilla with one of my classes, the professor showed us where to buy some quality churros (basically sticks of fried dough). Anyone who knows me or my sweet tooth knows I was eager to go back and get myself a pile of them. So that night before my 6:30 class, I stopped by the churrería with a friend. Closed. WHAT? Who operates a fried-dough-type-stand at 9am but not 6pm? As it turns out, few churro stands are open in the afternoon. Why? They cater to the people who are just coming home from a night out. The kind Spanish person who explained this fact to me added, “Welcome to Europe!”

Churros:

Spanish word of the day: chirimoya = a type of fruit with lots of “huesos” = literally “bones” but in this context “seeds” (because I tried one, and it was delicious.)

Chirimoya:

un abrazo,
elizabeth

Mail and Birthday Cards

For those of you who don't know, my little brother is turning 18 next week. (Happy birthday, Nate!) A few days ago, I set out to find him a birthday card. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. First, I had to FIND a card--much more difficult than it sounds, as birthday cards are apparently largely an American thing. I spent several days walking around to various "copisterías" and "paperlerías" (copy centers and paper stores), following the directions provided by employees at each store: "Go to the papelería on Calle Asunción." "Go to the tourist shop two doors down." Usually, I was told to go to the place I had just left. Additionally, I was thwarted by the fact that nothing useful opens on Sundays, not even "El Corte Inglés," a store similar to Wal-Mart except that it is more expensive, way bigger, and much classier. Usually this store will have anything you're looking for (including peanut butter!!!).

El Corte Inglés in Sevilla's center:

As it turns out, even El Corte Inglés has a limited selection of birthday cards. However, it was the best selection I could find. Card in hand, I set off to buy a stamp and get it in the mail. Seeing as I have quite a bit of experience mailing postcards, I thought nothing of this endeavor. Normally, you can find stamps in any tobacco stand on the street (and there are many tobacco stands, as there are lots of smokers here). One of the stands close to where I live is owned by a lady who has never let me down. Unfortunately, her stand was closed! I went to the stand a few hundred meters away from hers, and he was out of stamps! He told me to go to the central post office, only a few blocks away. Normally, this wouldn't be tragic. However, I had been walking around the city for 3 hours (I bought bus tickets to Portugal!), I had already passed by this post office (without knowing it), and I wanted nothing more than to make it home ASAP. Still, I found the post office and got in line. As it turns out, this was a bit of a cultural experience. First, the inside of the building itself is gorgeous. Second, "getting in line" involves taking a ticket, like a deli ticket at an American grocery store. As customers are helped, numbers are called. Unfortunately, the organization involved in all of this does not reflect the speed at which transactions were completed. I waited a full 15 minutes just to buy one measly stamp. So brother Nate, know that while your card might not be the most exciting, lots of love went into it!

Spanish word of the day: llegar tarde = to arrive late (because my professor, who left us with a guest lecturer for the previous two classes, showed up 15 minutes late to a one hour class today)

saludos,
elizabeth