Jerez: Sherry and Horse Country

I forgot to mention, I went to Jerez two weekends ago.  It was raining so unfortunately my photos aren't the best, but I have a few from the stables we went to.  Jerez is known for their beautiful spanish horses and their famous sherry.  I got to experience both, but the horses were my favorite part.

We went to a stable where they have shows in which the horses dance.  That's right. Dance.
All of the horses are absolutely gorgeous, and in the stables we were allowed to pet them.  And I can now say that I got bit by a spanish horse.
Caught it on camera too.

"Nice horse... sweet horse....pretty horse..."

"Holy shit! He's biting me! I'm getting bit!" 

Not sure if you can tell in the second picture, but he was biting my right arm, the one that was petting him in the first picture.  I think he was trying to eat my pseudo-leather jacket, but he got a chunk of Chloé as well.  Must be cause I'm so sweet. 

We also saw the baby horses which was cool too.  They're so strange looking-- like they're going to fall over any second.  

Anyway, the rest of our trip in Jerez we got some tapas, sampled some wine, and climbed up a two story gazebo where we were harassed by homeless man for being Canadian.  We tried to tell him we were from America, but it didn't really phase him.  And then he told us he was waiting for his cute puppy to grow up so he could eat him.

Scary, right?    

I'm going to keep assuming he was kidding.

Hasta la próxima vez! 

Field Observation: Values

For my Seminar on Living and Learning in Seville I have three field observations, each on focusing in on a different aspect of my experience here. Values is the topic of today's report.

Above all, here I see a great value for families.  It's not like in the US where the majority of people leave home for college, come back the first couple of summers, get an apartment, only come back for shorter visits, graduate, and move away to wherever they might find a job. Here, you still go away to college, come back every summer, but the majority of people I've encountered have stayed close within the realms of their hometown. Many here graduate, find a job, and continue to live with their family until they find a future spouse and can afford the married life.  Even then, it's common that they still remain in the same city or close proximities.  

I was talking to my friend Pablo about family a few weeks back.  I told him that my grandparents and cousins live in New York, another aunt lives in Florida, and the rest are all scattered around the United States while my family stays in Illinois where my parents met. He was entirely shocked by this, and told me that all of his extended family still lives in Sanlúcar de Barrameda where he grew up.  Every holiday, every birthday, every possible family event, they still get together and celebrate life together.  I must say, I am entirely jealous.  I love the way Spaniards value their families.  Family here is number one, over everything.  That's showed even through businesses here.  Yesterday I was on my way to class when I passed a breakfast bar that I often go to for a quick coffee, but for some reason it was closed.  On the door said, "Closed for a new birth." The owner had closed down shop to celebrate the arrival of his new son, or grandson.  

Celebrating life as a family.

Not only that but everyday here, as I've said before, everything closes down between 2-5pm so that everyone can go home to their families, make lunch, take a nap, and enjoy the day.  

Not in a million years would that ever happen in the States. 

Also, a lot of times people in the States fall out of their families in a sense.  They decide it's not worth the pain of keeping in touch with their parents or their grandparents, or even their brothers and sisters as time goes on.  It's not all that uncommon to be in a family where there is some branch of relatives that is just not talked to or about.  In Spain that is unheard of.  The only reason a family stops talking is because someone has done something irreconcilably bad that is impossible to recover from.  Pablo said it doesn't happen very often.  I think it happens a lot in the States. 

Nursing homes here are pretty unheard of as well.  Grandparents live with their children when they've gotten too old to fend for themselves, or their children will come over everyday to take care of them.  The devotion here is incredible to me.  Family is everything to a person.  Sure, they fight and get angry and have disputes just like everyone else, but no matter what family always sticks together here. I love that.  That's definitely something I'm going to take back with me to the States.  Without a doubt, I know that when my brothers and sister grow up, we'll still be close.  We'll have the best family reunions, and there is no way I'd ever stop talking to any member of my family.  I want to have that devotion to my family that the spaniards here have shown me. 

Besides family, the cultural values I've noticed here are honesty, enjoying life, money, friendship, respect for tradition, open mindedness, and group acceptance.  It is interesting to me that group acceptance is valued so high here.  Spaniards are very interested in their appearance and how they come across to other people, and they don't like not being accepted by a group.  Because of this, spaniards sometimes seem judgmental or unwelcoming, but that disappears the second a connection is made.  This need to be accepted is a very interesting insecurity that seems abundant here in Spain, and it is the complete opposite of what I am used to back home.  I have a very unrestricted personality, and my lack of a filter sometimes gets me in trouble even in the United States where it is valued to be an individual.  Here, I have noticed my personality, if I don't shy back a little, tends to scare some Spaniards away at first. I'm really outgoing, kind of loud, extremely sarcastic, and not afraid to say exactly what I'm thinking.  To Spaniards, that's almost a foreign concept.  They are very interested in creating a persona that they want to display to the public as opposed to blatant, unpolished, raw character. One of my friends told me that Americans are more like peaches, and Europeans, including Spaniards, are more like coconuts.  Americans are soft on the outside, but usually harder on the inside-- meaning we seem really nice and friendly, but it takes a lot to really get to know someone.  Here, Spaniards seem like they are hard to get to know on the outside, but on the inside they are very open, honest people.  

I like coconuts and peaches. 

In order to adjust here, I've tried to rein back my personality around Spaniards a little bit, so as not to immediately scare them off.  When I first meet people here, instead of being normal Chloe and acting like myself and treating them like I treat everyone else, I hold back a little bit, and I listen more. It was difficult to remember at first, but I'm getting better at listening and letting people get to know me more as a coconut. 

NO8DO

This place is paradise.  I have never been in a place that makes me feel so happy just being.  Here, I exist in happiness and 90% of the time it is that simple. Of course, every once in a while I feel the slight tinge of loneliness that accompanies most extended travel experiences, but everyone misses the people they love.  Even with those moments of longing, it doesn't taint this pure euphoria I feel. Just walking home from school, on a rainy day, on a hot as hell day, or on a normal day, every time I get to the Triana bridge and take in my surroundings, my heart just seems to get fuller.  It's this feeling of lightness swelling up in my lungs and heart and tightening my chest.  I'm in love.  Officially in love with this place.

The Triana Bridge

This love must be relatively common because there is a famous symbol here in Seville that adorns every possible government funded item.  It's the NO8DO symbol.  And no, that is not a number eight between NO and DO.  It's the symbol of eternity, and what NO8DO means is << No me ha dejado >>. It means Sevilla will never leave my heart.  

Here's the symbol on a sewer cover. It's also on buildings, kiosks, bike racks, street signs-- pretty much anything.

My heart will never leave Sevilla, and Sevilla will never leave my heart.  

Córdoba

This weekend CIEE had a trip to Córdoba, a city in Andalusia that is famous for it's giant mosque in the center of the city.  Not just any mosque either, it's a mosque that was transformed into a cathedral once the catholics invaded the muslims.  Weird right? They kept all the elements of the mosque, but they basically dropped a cathedral right in the middle of it.  Check out the crazy pictures.

Torre de la Catedral

Outside the mezquita (mosque)

Inside. Notice the muslim arches mixed with the roman columns brought buy the catholics.  

Behind the muslim arches you can see part of the cathedral.

Cathedral with parts of the mosque in the background. 

Right, the arches of the mosque, left the cathedral, above the arches is more of the cathedral.  Weird right? Kind of sad too.  All the muslims were forced to convert to catholicism if they wanted to stay in Córdoba.  

Top is part of the cathedral, bottom is part of the mosque.

You can see the mix of influences.

Cathedral, arches on both sides.

The extreme contrast between the religious architecture was an interesting experience to say the least.  I couldn't help but feel bad for the muslims.  It is a beautiful mosque, completely intricate and took decades to build.  Then come along the big bad christians, kicked the muslims out and mutilated their beautiful architectural achievement. They took away their city, they took away their beautiful architecture, and then they forced them to convert or leave.  Made for a historically interesting piece of architecture though. 

Have a lot of homework, so sadly I need to head out. Promise the next entry will have more content :)

Hasta luego! 

Mistakes Were Made: Side Trek to Amsterdam and Brussels

Every traveler has to make a few mistakes along the way. Sometimes they are small like getting lost in a new city, or getting ripped off by street vendor, and sometimes the mistakes can cost you about $580. But we'll get to that. First, lets talk about this epic fail but all the same awesome trip that consisted of a few hours in Madrid on Thursday night, two days in amsterdam, and a day in Brussels.

Thursday.  Chris and I headed to the train station in Sevilla around eight in the evening.  We were expecting a relatively inexpensive ticket, after all we had googled average prices and they were about 50 euros or so.  Wrong.  Eighty euros each. My flight from Madrid to Brussels was less than 70 euros. That's what we get for being tourists. We figured taking a train to Madrid would be less expensive than flying out of Sevilla.  Mistake number one.  Due to lack of options, we bought the tickets anyway, brushed it off our shoulders and continued on our merry way.  The train ride was about three hours, and Chris had the ingenious idea of pouring to bottles of wine into his massive water bottle so he could take it on the train, and maybe we could get a little buzz going to make the trip more interesting.  He popped it open, took a swig, his face distorted into a grimace of pure disgust, and then he passed it to me.  I took one whiff of that bottle, and informed Chris he was going to have to drink alone.  Mistake number two.  Two bottles of wine later and five beers in, Chris was feeling pretty good, and I had assumed the role of babysitting my 23 year old 6'5'' inebriated baby (No offense, Chris).  We explored Madrid for a while; I had been there before and I knew I had to find the Palacio Real as well as the Catedral.  It's been a while, but I remembered where some things were and amazingly enough I was able to get us there! Here's a couple of shots of the Catedral in the middle of the night. I wasn't able to get a picture of the Palacio Real because it was too dark for my little fiji.

Catedral, looking pretty eerie.

Chris... Feeling pretty good right about now...

Around 3 am we headed toward the airport, my travel buddy giddy with excitement and cheap wine, but quite incapable of coherent speech.  Thirty euros later we made it to the airport, found our customs check in, and passed out on the concrete floor.  Around four thirty am we were able to check in and head to our gate, where we slept on benches.  We set our alarm for about a half hour before the plane was scheduled to leave.
Once we got on the plane at six am, Chris, smelling like cheap wine, beer and sweat, passed out in my lap like a giant smelly toddler.

Friday:  We arrived in Brussels around 9am and from there we headed to the train station to buy tickets to Amsterdam.  The people at the train station were extremely helpful, gave us a discount on the tickets for being young and traveling on the weekend.  Round trip for only 55 euros each.  As we left the ticket booth, and started looking for our platform in which the train was to arrive in five minutes.  Everything was in french and we were obviously lost and confused.  All of a sudden an older man came running at us and commanded that we follow him, grabbing me by the upper arm and patting Chris on the back.
"Huh? What? Where are we going?" I ask.
"Brussels?" he asked.
"Ya, ya, do you know the platform?"
"Yes, yes," he shook his head.  "I take you to platform."
I looked at Chris. Surely this man wouldn't kidnap us both.  Even I had a couple of inches on him.
So we followed him, and sure enough he brought the lost americans to where they should have been.  Dutch people.  So nice.
Three and a half hours later, we arrived in Amsterdam.

Really pretty city, super rainy though, and completely filled with tourists. We arrived dressed in Sevillano clothing which consisted of shorts and tanks... Mistake number 3. The first thing on our agenda was to go to a coffeeshop.  There were so many to choose from, and all so awesome. We picked on called the Freeworld Coffee shop. Here's a pic of their menu...

In all coffeeshops you have to buy a drink with whatever you purchase.  It's kind of cool because they're looking out for their customers.  Such a strange concept, but it was working really well in Amsterdam.  There seemed to be a lot of places looking for help, and I noticed a lot of americans and foreigners in general worked at all the coffee shops or restaurant with the dutch.  It was such a mix of cultures all just chilling together. Universal chill city.
After our first coffee shop we searched in the pouring rain for a hotel, mistake four.  Not booking a hotel in advance was not the best idea because the prices were insane.  It was hard to find a place for under 200 euros a night.  Advice to all travelers, unless you're planning on staying in a hostel, book your hotel in advance for the best deals.
The rest of the trip in Amsterdam was extremely chill.  We bought some warmer clothes, including rain jackets, to survive the weekend. Lots of coffee shops.

Saturday: A great day.  We found several local places including this outdoor market where we bought lunch and looked at all the random things being sold there.  It was very cool.  I love how the "farmer's markets" here sell literally everything you could possibly think of.  From socks, to fruit, to fresh fish, to bikes, to high end fashion.

Sunday: We woke up early to head to Brussels for a little exploring.  And plus, I had to buy some chocolates.  We didn't get to spend a lot of time there, but it was very pretty. Rainy, but that's northern europe for you. Beautiful place. Gorgeous architecture.

Belgium chocolate? Yes, please.

Peeing cherubs. No big deal. They are also made out of candy. 

Belgium waffles... yum.

So anyway! Sunday went pretty well.  We headed back to Madrid and arrived there at eight thirty.  We then had to take a taxi all the way to the train station, another 50 euros down the drain.  When we arrived at the train station, the last train to Sevilla had already left.  We looked up at the information center, and there were no more buses headed to Sevilla either. Slight anxiety attack. We went to the tourist center where we encountered Nacho.  Nacho was a 23 year old business man who also needed to be in Sevilla in time for his job at 7am.  We rented a car with him, and we drove 6 hours south in the middle of the night.  

We got lucky.  Next time I travel, you can bet I'll have all my tickets prepared and have all my transportation figured out before hand. 

Lesson learned. 

Luego :)

Granada!

This weekend CIEE hosted a trip to Granada, a beautiful Andalusian city nestled at the foot of the Sierra Nevada mountains.  The giant moorish castle of the Alhambra boarders the city from up in the mountains, and down below the city is filled with moorish influences. On the second day of the trip, we visited the neighborhood district, El Albaicín.  El Albaicín is still filled with the winding narrow streets from Medieval Moorish times.  While walking through the tiny maze of streets where the buildings are nearly close enough to hear your neighbor’s television, I could help feeling like I had fallen back into a much simpler time. 

The district is set on a steep hill across from the Alhambra, and it is the perfect place to catch a few photos of the incredible castle.

While on our tour, we were bombarded by a group of vivacious elderly men dressed up in soccer uniforms carrying instruments, props, and anything else they could find to celebrate their team’s victory.  They followed a band marching through the streets, shouting, laughing, and trying their best to sing.  In a way, those little old men are the epitome of Granada. Carefree. Jubilant.  Down to earth. And Ancient. 

As we continued along in our tour of the picturesque neighborhood, our guide Alejandro brought us to a small corner of the village that seemed to be nothing but the mess of a construction sight.  He then told us we were at a small convent were the nuns were known for their delicious baked goods, but because they are not allowed to be seen, we had to go about buying their treats in a tricky way.  Behind Alejandro was a tiny latched door with an old fashion bell.  That door opened up to an empty turn table after the bell is wrung, and on the other side was the hidden nun waiting to hear the secret code, “Ave María purisima.” Once the nun heard that phrase, she immediately responded with “Sin pecado concebiba.”  After that, we were able to ask to see their baked goods. On this particular day,. they had two to choose from.  Alejandro chose a soft cookie that resembled gingerbread, and we were all able to try a piece.  He told the nuns which he wanted, they turned the turntable to an empty side for him to put his money on, and then they gave him change once they turned it again.  

The unassuming door on the left.

The turn table. 

After that experience I was sure I had stepped back into a time where secret passwords mean delicious cookies.  I’m not entirely certain why the phrase is “Ave María purísima...” but I do know that it is something to do with confession, and I’m also quite certain it is the phrase that is said to start one’s confession.  

The trip to Granada was an unforgettable one.  I love that city and the people and the food.  It’s by far on the top of my list of favorites cities in all of Spain.  

Real Alcazar, Toros, and Cádiz o my.

Such busy weeks! It's no wonder I'm starting to get a little enferma.  I need some vitamin C.

This weekend was another successful one! Friday night was certainly interesting.  After my exam I headed to Reales Alcazares, a palace in the centro de Sevilla.  The palace itself was beautiful of course.  It's one of the biggest castles in Spain behind the Alhambra in Granada and Palacio Real in Madrid. The president, when he comes to Spain, still lives in the castle whenever they come to town.  This castle was also constructed by the same people who constructed the famous Alhambra.  It's much smaller than the Alhambra, but just as beautiful with Moorish, and Christian influences. 

It's hard to tell by this picture, but there are several carvings of lions, castles, and shields-- common motifs of this castle as well as Spain. Also, all the carvings were once brightly painted but because of the sun over the years the colors have faded to nonexistence. 

In the middle of this photo is the face of a baby/cherub/doll.  Creepy right? The room it is in is called el salón de las muñecas, room of the dolls.  It's referred to this because within the intricate carvings is a handful of these doll faces.  I couldn't help but ask if that was because of the catholic influences in the architecture. 

My camera didn't take very good pictures inside, but I think you can get the feel for its intricacy. 

Those gorgeous gardens I was talking about..

Chris, Maggie and I.

More photos of the incredible gardens.

Unfortunately Chris and I had to leave the tour of the gardens early because we had a corrido de toros to go to.  Bullfight. The epitome of spanish traditional entertainment. We were extremely excited to finally get to see it.  We got there and the atmosphere was buzzing with the excitement of the corrido; people were selling beer, candy, cushions, and water outside while everyone hurried to find their seat.  Once we found our seats we were pretty amazed by the view and the massive amount of people attending.  

And then the games began.

And I couldn't keep my eyes open. 

I had no idea the amount of torture involved before actually killing the bull.  I couldn't stand it at all.  They stab the bull about 8 times before they actually kill it, and that is only if you have a talented matador. One matador stabbed the bull at least 12 times in the neck before actually killing it.  The amount of blood and cruelty in it made me sick to my stomach.  Huge disappointment, but I'm glad I got to see it, and at least now I can form my own opinion.  Bull fights here are extremely controversial, especially with the younger generations.  The younger generations are pointing out the cruelty to those who have grown up with bullfighting forever and see it as a staple to Spanish culture.  It is a HUGE tradition, but just today it was outlawed in Barcelona.  

Regardless, I got some pretty epic photos from the experience. 

I can't help but think the bulls are beautiful.

The horse was rammed by the bull because the man riding it stabbed the bull to make it angry enough to fight.  Notice there are several different bullfighters in the arena at once.  The ones with the pink and yellow capotes, capes, are actually called the torreros, the men who weaken the bull for the matador who has a red capote.  The men on horses are called picadores.  The two picadores are the first round of bullfights, the stab from above with the lance.  

The sticks on the bulls back are actually blades about four to six inches long that the torreros use to weaken it before going one on one with it.  They look like decorations but they keep a consistent stream of blood flowing from the bull while it fights for its life.  Usually three or four torreros stab the bull in the spine before the final matador finishes it.  The second round is the three torreros who use the banderillas (sharp barbed sticks) to stab the bull at least six times, and the third round is the matador with the red capote.  

Pretty brutal right? Not my cup of tea.  Anyway! The next day I went to Cádiz, a beautiful beach city on the Atlantic.  The city's symbol is a smile because the people in Cádiz are said to be the nicest people in all of Spain. I would love to share some photos but I'm currently exhausted! I'll post them eventually, but it's time for me to go to bed.  Class in the morning! 

Hasta la proxima vez!