Bull Crap

Sunday, I had the pleasure/misfortune of watching the last corrida de toros of the season at La Plaza de Toros de la Maestranza in Sevilla. A bullfight is a must-see for tourists and it's still popular for natives, of course. I knew that watching the bull die would not be pretty, but it didn't hit me until I saw it. It didn't hit me until I saw a bull vomiting blood after having his back muscles stabbed over and over again. 'It' is the feeling of shame, watching a animal die for no apparent reason. But as I went on to watch five more bulls die, I thought about the enormous amount of skill it takes to be a torero and the fact that I love to eat meat of other animals when I could very well become a vegetarian. I'm torn. I don't know whether I had the pleasure or misfortune of watching the bullfight. What do you think? Watch the videos below and answer the poll to the right.

(A torero barely escapes the horns of an angry bull.)



(A banderillero sticks banderillas, or brightly colored sticks with harpoon points, in the bull's back to weaken its muscles. Afterward the torero continues to run the bull in circles with his cape and the bull continues to bleed. Finally, the torero stabs the bull's back with a sword and kills it.)

(A picture of Meghan, Jori, Kim and I before the bullfight. I was so happy and naive.)

Ain't no concert like a Spanish concert...

Ain't no concert like a Spanish concert because a Spanish concert don't stop. Seriously. My friends (Katie, Kim and Jori) and I had seven hours of fun at Alejandro Sanz' concert. The concert was the last of his "El tren de los momentos" tour and the celebration of the centennial of the Real Betis fútbol club, so we knew we were going to have a great time. The Estadio Olímpico de Sevilla was abuzz with nearly 30,000 people adorned in green and white, the colors of Real Betis. Upon arrival, everyone received a free green or white T-shirt (and an In Touch magazine) by showing his/her concert ticket. On the shirt and our tickets, we realized that there were 13 amigos joining Alejandro, a native of Madrid or madrileño. We listened to the opening acts sing traditional Sevillanas songs, rap, pop and rock. When the traditional songs played, people in the stands and on the stage floor grabbed their partners and begin to dance the Sevillanas. (See the video.)


Between each song, the musicians would start a Real Betis chant. My favorite was:

"Junto. (Together.)
Siempre junto. (Forever together.)
Real Betis.
Siempre tuyos. (Forever yours.)"

All the verdiblancos would jump around with their banners and proudly display their affection for the soccer team. (Sidebar: Verdiblancos is the nickname for the fans based on Real Betis' colors, verde, or green, and blanco, or white.) Being an ultimate dork, I joined in, knowing that I would stick out like a sore thumb. But noone minded. Everyone was content while drinking Cruzcampo beer or smoking a cigarette every 45 minutes. Between the dancing and the soccer chants, I have never seen such a display of patriotism or love for history as I did Saturday night. (Sidebar: The next concert I go to in the States, I'm determined to start a Tar Heels chant.)

When the opening acts finished and the lights turned off, Katie and I had just finished a bathroom and refreshment break. So we tried to weasel through the crowd to get closer to Alejandro and our friends. We lost Kim and Jori, who ended up merely 20 feet away, but all enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. Alejandro played his greatest hits like Mi amiga mía and Quisiera ser and his newer hits like Te lo agradezco, pero no. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the songs are about. That's okay, I'll figure that out later. But the music was simply awesome! He had multi-cultural, international band of folks from New York, Argentina and Spain, of course. And he had more guest artists joined him on stage. Again, I have no idea who they were. But if they're friends of Alejandro, they're good with me. For his encore, the crowd shouted "Aaaa-le-jan-dro (Clap. Clap. Clap, Clap, Clap)," and "Otra. Otra. (Another song)" Then he came out, sang two more songs and pranced around with the Real Betis banner on his shoulders. (Sigh.) In the words of Frankie Valli, "Oh, what a night!"

My next ventures: learn the meaning of Alejandro's songs, attend a soccer game and marry a Spaniard who can sing Alejandro's songs to me. (Sidebar: I'm just joking Mom, Dad, aunts and uncles.)

(Sorry. Taking a photo of the screen was the best I could do.)

(Katie and I amidst the post-concert debris.)

(A picture of a lady's bum, which was taken while my friends and I were in line to get free T-shirts. Her jeans read "Don't touch," and she doesn't have to tell me twice.)

Bummed out no longer.

I went to my first doctor's visit Thursday. It wasn't bad. I was able to understand everything the doctor said about my bum foot. Due to walking nearly two hours a day, back and forth from home and school, my right foot became swollen. I have very flat feet, so it's not hard to figure out why my foot has died on me. The doctor told me wear a bandage, to not walk, of course, and to take an anti-inflammatory pill in the morning and at at night. He also said I have to bath my foot in warm water for three to four minutes, do the same in cool water, dry it and then massage it with anti-inflammatory cream three times a day. The visit was free and I only had to pay 8 Euros for the two prescriptions. Yay, universal Spanish health care system!

The treatment is really paying off. My foot used to look like Eddie Murphy's foot in The Nutty Professor when he suddenly changed from thin, handsome Buddy Love to bloated Sherman Klump. Now, it's nearly back to normal. I've been cooped up in the apartment for the past three days as to stay off my feet, but tonight I'm going to enjoy the sounds of Alejandro Sanz. Sevilla is the last stop of his 2007 tour entitled "El tren de los momentos." I fell in love with Sanz during his 2002 Grammy performance with Destiny's Child, and a bum foot will not keep me away from him tonight. Woo hoo!

When in Rome/Fighting the System

No, I haven't gone to Rome. But if the Romans have a more simple school system than the Sevillanos, I might give up paella for pizza. My classmates and I started school Monday at la Universidad de Sevilla. I walked in excited, with my schedule perfectly highlighted and marked. I just knew things were going to work out, (sigh)... but I was wrong.

Most U.S. students have a hard time adjusting in the fall. In the States, the fall semester begins in late August and ends in mid-December to enjoy the winter holidays. In Spain and other European countries, the semester begins in late September. Everyone takes a break for the winter holidays and resumes classes in January to finish the semester in late January of early February. It makes absolutely know sense to me.

The students in the UNC in Sevilla program have to leave in December, so we were forced to travel up and down the halls of La Universidad de Sevilla, sit in an hour-long class and then ask the professor if he/she will allow U.S. students to take the exam early. I got shot down three times by professors who weren't willing to budge. That meant I had to keep searching for classes for which I would receive transfer credit at UNC. I was about to spaz, but Ángeles, my program director, said, "Tranquila, Dioni. Tranquila."

Soon I started to having fun amidst the chaos. It was as if I were playing musical chairs with literature and philosophy classes. And, yes, I have finalized my schedule. I'm super-excited about one course, in which I'll study the Quran or el Corán. So I hope to graduate on time on
May 10, 2009. But if not, my excuse will be, "I got screwed by the system."


Here are some more key differences between the Spanish and U.S. university systems:

1. Tuition in Spanish public universities is very modest compared to those in the U.S. Tuition here can range from 500 to 800 Euros ($750 to $1200). But Spanish students don't have as many resources -- large gyms, campus health services or the many computer stations seen in the States.
2. Nearly all of the students live at home and commute. Dorms are few and far between on Spanish campuses.
3. The 'campus' of the Universidad de Sevilla is not centralized in the same sense as American universities. For example, UNC campus buildings are situated in one, very large area. Sevilla's campus is spread throughout town, so you have to catch a bus or walk for 30 minutes from the School of Geography and History to the School of Business. Sevilla has about five main, but separate locations.
4. Due to the decentralized campus and other factors, Sevillano students are only allowed to take classes in one school. So Rafael could not receive a degree in Law and Medicine like I could double major in Journalism and Spanish. On the other hand, having only one concentration allows Sevillanos to have a profound wealth of knowledge in that one area.
5. Each of the different disciplines or schools have its own system, including its own teachers, classrooms, exam schedules and beginning and ending dates of classes. It's not too different from schools in the States, but I showed up Monday to a history class to learn that the history department wouldn't start classes until Wednesday, but the Spanish Philology department began classes Monday. Each department has it's own copistería. A copistería is a Kinko's, of sorts, where students can buy photocopies, school supplies, textbooks and the 'syllabus' for each class. On UNC's campus, students visit a one-stop shop for class materials in several departments.
6. The 'syllabus' in the states is an ironclad schedule of day-to-day events that lists your required text and due dates for homework, papers and exams. In Sevilla, the professor gives students a general list of themes and an optional bibliography. So students might not have homework and might not have read one book an entire semester.
7. In the States, participation is usually a part of your grade. In Sevilla, the less participation the better.
8. In Sevilla, learning is individual. Professors don't host study groups or review sessions and they might not attend their hours of consultation. At Carolina, our professors beg us to come to office hours and receive help. What a difference!
9. The grading system here is based on a scale of one to 10. Below five is failing and a 10 is out-of-the-world amazing, because some teachers pride themselves on grading toughly.
10. Library books are mainly for consultation in Sevilla, so you can check them out for months at a time. (I hear that's what people do at UNC.)
    

The View from the Top.

Friday night, I went to a two-hour bachata dance class. A few friends and I are falling in love with the Spanish dance. There's no easy way to describe the dance in words, so view the video below. (Sidebar: I didn't create the video, but it was structured similarly to the class I attended. A couple in the background gets lost amidst the intricate, arm-twisting turns and I totally understand the couple's plight.)



Most people go stag to the classes, so the women end up in one line facing the guys. Then they pass us around like spinning tops when the teacher says "cambio' or change. I had to check with a few mean guys, a few rhythm-less guys, a few old guys and, of course, a few guys whose heads barely make it to my chin. When my friends and I left, we were thinking that we're definitely going to take some dance classes. Classes here are cheaper than those in the states.

We tried to find a good discoteca at which we could practice are new moves. But we walked through the entire historic district of Sevilla to no avail. The entrance at the discoteca we really liked cost 10 Euros. To that we said, "Uh huh!" and began to march home. On the way, my friend Sean said, "I think I'm taking all this [history and architecture] for granted. I walk by the Cathedral everyday." He was correct. We had just toured La Catedral de Sevilla on Wednesday, and I walked by it as if it were nothing.

La Catedral de Sevilla is the largest Gothic church in the world and it's only 30 minutes away from my apartment. The cathedral, like many buildings in Spain, was built by Arabs and used to be a 12th-century mosque. La Giralda tower, the arches and the Patio de Naranjos, where the Muslims would wash their hands and feet before entering the main part of the cathedral. Three centuries later, when the cathedral was Christianized, Gothic architecture was added to the church. The large, stain glass windows, bell fry atop La Giralda, aisles separated by columns and high ceilings are Gothic elements. The height of the ceiling is nearly 138 feet. That's 20 Shaquille O'Neals standing on top of one another!

Of course, the most popular part of the cathedral is La Giralda. Everyone has to climb it -- all 32 ramps. There are no stairs because it was easier for the Arabs to ride their horses to the top. Believe me, the view from the top is worth the climb.

A view of La Giralda from El Patio de Naranjos (orange trees).

The view of El Patio de Naranjos (orange trees) from La Giralda.

Over dinner.

My host sister, Ana, is quite the little comedian. She's 11 and just started the school year Monday. While at dinner Wednesday night, she told us that one of her teachers is a ruja, a witch. I asked why and she showed me how the teacher walks with her neck extended forward like a turtle and her back hunched up. Then Ana said the elderly teacher, who will retire in October, carries Pokémon and Barbie folders. I said maybe they were gifts from her grandchildren, but Ana's convinced the woman is crazy.

It's mandatory for the Spanish students to learn English and either French or Spanish. While we're trying to become fluent in Spanish, she's testing out her English on us. I must say, she's not bad. I guess it's due to her constantly singing the entire soundtrack from High School Musical 2 (two or dos, whichever you prefer).

"What time is it?
It's summer time. It's urh (our) vacation.
What time is it?
That’s right. Say you (it) loud.”

Of course, I laughed and said, "Estás loca." Ana said, "Yo sé."

Translation: I said, "You're crazy." Ana said, "I know."


(Sidebar: In Spain, eating meals as a family is very important. Most people return home for lunch and dinner, unless they all go to a restaurant. When everyone gets together, you watch the TV and comment on whatever was discussed on the news or what happened at school. It's very important to eat at the table too. Twice a day, my host mother has my roommate, Kareemah, Ana and I set the table. I'm talking about the Full Monty - changing table cloths, bringing out the bread basket and pitcher of water, setting the bowl on top of the plate and putting the fork to the left, the knife to the right and the cup at the 1 o'clock position above the plate. Then we sit down and she serves us. It's becoming more common in the States for Mom to cook dinner only to have the kids take their plates in the living room or in the bedroom. Think about it. Goldie Hawn and Roseanne Barr have to tell us the importance of sitting at the dining room table to dine and converse. If and when I have a family, I'll try to bring the Spanish tradition to my home.)

Picture: (From left to right.) My host sister, Ana, and her friend, Miriam, sit down to enjoy paella, a rice and seafood dish.

I miss you, U.S.A.

I watched Pau Gasol miss a last-second shot Sunday night against Russia in the televised European FIBA Games. Poor Pau and the rest of the Spanish national team had to settle for the silver medal in the one-point loss. The Spaniards cried as Russia's Andrei Kirilenko posed with his MVP trophy and my host sister, Ana, chanted "ROO-see-ah, ROO-see-ah!" just because everyone else was rooting for Spain. I was sad for Pau, but happy to see something familiar - basketball. This week I've desperately wanted to watch a football, not futbol, game, a movie in English or eat a burger, dripping in grease. You know? To do something American. Well, I did visit Burger King, where you can get things "como tú quieras." But I only bought ice cream. I thought that was a good compromise between getting a taste of home and experiencing Spain fully. Other than that, I've had a blast this week learning about Spain's most prized monuments.

Wednesday, the UNC in Sevilla program visited Reales Alcazares or the royal buildings in Sevilla. In other words, we visited where King Juan Carlos I sleeps when he stays in Sevilla. The 14th century palace is open to the public when he's not living there, of course. It was built by the Moors, who weren't allowed to live in the palace. The Moorish influence are present in the colorful tile, arcs and geometric patterns. I could tell you more about the architecture, but I don't want to sound like a brochure.

Me. Notice the colorful, geometric patterns in the tile.

A water fixture outside of the prince's bedroom.

Saturday, we visited La Mezquita in Córdoba. La Mezquita is another 8th-century Moorish wonder. In the 700s, the Moors began to occupy the central and southern parts of Spain and didn't leave until the 1400s, when Spain ventured to America. That's why Moorish architecture still stands in many Spanish cities. Both the Reales Alcazares and La Mezquita are older than the U.S.A.

The word 'mezquita' is arabic for 'mosque' and it was a mosque until it was converted into a Christian cathedral in the 1200s. It was kind of weird to go to this Christian cathedral that's dominated by Islamic features - arcs, colorful tile and a courtyard with a pool for cleansing prior to entering the cathedral and a a fountain. The legend goes that if you drink from the fountain, you'll get a girl- or boyfriend fairly soon. (I drank from it four times. But who's counting?) When you enter the cathedral, you look up to see the red and white double arches and the nearly 1,000 columns made of jasper, marble and granite. Then the sights just continue - golden statues, domes and colors galore. We saw a wedding inside one of the many chapels that the cathedral rents out on donation. I thought that was cool. I was a bit overwhelmed by what I saw and La Mezquita's so wonderful. No photo I could take or words I could say would do it justice.

Do You Know What Today Is?

Today, I celebrate the two-week anniversary of my arrival in Spain while remembering the tragic terrorist attacks that hurt my nation six years ago. I can't believe it. First of all, it's hard to fathom that a lifelong dream has been realized. I'm in a new country, learning (or struggling with) a second language and culture. I'm eating foods I wouldn't have touched in the States (because I'm a picky eater) and I find myself giggling at the slightest of things just because of its novelty. For example, I smiled when I saw a Spanish brand of toothpaste. It's toothpaste! But here it's "crema dental," and that's so much more new and exciting.

But I will never look forward to the future days marked September 11. While eating paella, a popular rice and seafood dish, my host family and I looked at the local news anchor talk about 9/11. Everyone remembers where they were when they found out about the planes flying into the World Trade Center. My senora, Ines, remembers being home and having her eyes glued to the television for the rest of the day. She asked where was I, and my mind went back to the second floor of Kinston High School. My classmates and I were completing a lab assignment with the help of our Biology teacher, Ms. Dorcas Green. Other teachers ran in the class to tell Ms. Green to turn on the news. I was an ignorant ninth-grader who neither know what the World Trade Center was nor the aftermath its destruction would bring. I definitely know now. But we didn't celebrate this anniversary in Spain. It was quiet day. My compatriots and I didn't get in an Indian circle and cry. I didn't wear red, white and blue, or chant "U-S-A." I probably won't express myself in such ways anymore, but I'll always remember 9/11.

An Historic Weekend

Wow, this weekend has been busy. Sunday through Wednesday's are chill days; only tourists hang out then. Thursday is usually the start of the weekend for Sevillanos. To celebrate it, my friends and I went to La Carbonería to watch a flamenco show. Flamenco is a style of song, dance and music that originated from Andalusian Gypsies, but now it is one of Spain's cultural icon. (Andalusia is the southernmost region in Spain and Sevilla is the province's capital). Flamenco is characterized by its vigorous and rhythmic clapping and stamping of feet, which I loved. Granted La Carbonería caters to tourists, and we wouldn't know the difference between good and bad flamenco if it hit us with a car. But I thoroughly enjoyed the 15 to 20 minutes that I watched. The singer, whose eyes popped out and hands made numerous gestures to the crowd, was so passionate. And the ladies could stomp their hearts out. La Carbonería was literally hot that night. Tourists with American, English and Australian accents watched the show in awe while chugging down pitchers of beer and sangria, punch made of red wine, fruit juice, and soda water.

But the next day, we were back to business. My professor, Rafael, or Rafa for short, gave a one-and-a-half hour tour of the Archaeological Museum of Sevilla in preparation for Saturday's trip to view the Roman ruins of Itálica. The museum was originally built as part of the 1929 exhibition. Its focus is on the Romans, but there is also a prehistorical section which includes the Stone Age, Bronze Age and Iron Age. Later, the Phoenicians, the Greeks and the Carthaginians all traded and settled in what is now the province of Sevilla. We examined everything from perfume to bracelets to Roman money called denario to mosaics that take up entire floors. We looked at skulls with holes in them as a result of trepanation, a surgery in which a part of one's brain is removed to relieve ailments. Yikes! I don't even want to visit the dentist sometimes. It's amazing what people did 2,000 years ago without the use of the technology we often take for granted today. Much of the material in the museum was discovered in Itálica, including third century mosaics and statues of the goddess Venus and the emperors Hadrian and Trajan, who were born there.

Me, outside of the Museum.

A statue of the Roman goddess "Diana." My friend, Mary Katherine, hides behind her leg.

The next day, in the wee hours of the morning (9 a.m.), we traveled to Itálica. I knew it was going to be an 'interesting' visit because my professor, Rafa, told us that we would have to imagine houses and the like because this is a city of ruins. Basically, we looked at rocks. But these rocks have been in place since 206 B.C. Of course, the Romans had every amenity (Well, the rich Romans did. Only the homes of rich Romans were conserved in Itálica.) - intricate, underground plumbing, temples, marketplaces, paved roads and elaborate baths. The baths included cold bath stations, warm bath stations and gyms in the back for people to practice war-like sports like horseback riding. A typical Roman home included several bedrooms for the family and their most important workers and a mosaic laid on the floor each bedroom. A patio with a well stood in the center of the home and the owners rented out street side stores connected to their homes. I still cannot understand how our homes last more than 100 years and theirs last 2,000. What an accomplishment! (Picture: A close-up of a mosaic in La casa de los Pájaros or The house of Birds. Archaeologists named the houses by the mosaics.)


I couldn't wait to see the amphitheater. But the batteries in my camera died, so I didn't take any photos. We entered through the gallery to see where the animals and gladiators entered the 'stage.' Lions and bears from Africa walked through a separate tunnel and were lifted in a wooden elevator to the stage to fight people in front of thousands upon thousands of spectators. Rafa told us the gladiators weren't the gladiators we see in films; they were fat, ordinary people who used their blubber to protect their internal organs from cuts. And the government used the spectacles, which were free and included food, to appease the citizens whenever they weren't happy with the leadership. I wish Bush would pay for me to see the L.A. Lakers play the Cleveland Cavaliers. Anyhoo, I was overwhelmed by the grandeur of the amphitheater when we climbed to the stage. The pit in the center is at least two or three stories deep. The tiers of seats are even higher, and that's after much of the stadium has deteriorated. I can only imagine the amphitheater in its full state. Pictures: (1) Me, making a mockery of a statue of Emperor Hadrian in what would have been a temple.

Soon after, we hopped on the bus to go to Matalascañas in Huelva, another city in the Andalusian province that lies west of Sevilla. Some of my friends laid on the beach, some of us jumped right into the cold waters and some of us swam to 'the rock.' The rock is one of the remaining parts of a second century watch tower/lighthouse that fell. Our program director, Ángeles, told us neither to go toward nor jump off the rock because it's dangerous. Well, about 15 of us didn't heed her advice and have the scrapes to prove it. As I walked down the beach, I noticed that the entire family loves the beach. Wrinkled, hefty women in their bikinis proudly walked along side their toddler grandchildren, who were naked or only wore bottoms. And restaurants reside next to tanning beach-goers. So it was nothing, to go buy ice cream or calamari. Overall, it was a great day. Getting beach sand-pedicures and being wiped out by a few waves was a great ending to an historic weekend.

Labor Day

While you all were eating red Frosty Morn hot dogs at a cook out to celebrate Labor Day or wondering why Bush made a surprise visit to Iraq, I was performing the nearly impossible task of talking with my host mother, Ines, and her daughter, Ana.

I love them and they have demonstrated the best hospitality, but trying to hold a long conversation with them only leaves me with a headache. After each rolling tongue-filled and rapid-paced conversation, I have to debrief in English with my roommate, Kareemah. And when Ines and Ana talk with each other, forget it! I find myself staring at each of their mouths -- back and forth, back and forth. It's as if I'm watching a tennis match. Granted my Spanish-speaking abilities aren't so poor that I can't understand anything or get around. I just have problems with new vocabulary and answering in a timely fashion. I tend to (1) listen to what Ines and Ana say, (2) translate it in English, (3) think of what I want to say in English, (4) translate my thoughts into Spanish and (5) , finally, say it. It's an arduous and ineffective process. But Ines is patient and says Kareemah and I are doing well, although we often ask her to repeat what she said or slow down, saying , "Repite, por favor." and "Despacio." Ines said in two months things will start to click. I sure hope so. Right now, I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Saturday - The Hunt is On

After partying Friday night, I had to get up early to meet my classmates at Hotel Alcazar at 10 a.m. For what, you ask? I had no idea. The directors just told us to wear comfortable shoes, which meant we were going to be on our feet for awhile. That was the correct instinct. The 47-man group was broken into groups of four or five and given instructions for a scavenger hunt. Woo-hoo! My group discovered the Historic District of Sevilla while other groups ventured elsewhere. We had to carry out tasks, such as retrieving the schedule or horario of a bus trip to Cadiz and taking photos of at least two monuments on La Avenida de Constitucion (i.e. Universidad de Sevilla, Hotel Alfonso XIII and La Puerta de Jerez). On our hunt, we stopped to take photos of La Catedral de Sevilla. Its grandeur and architecture are astounding. I'll have to go back to thoroughly inspect and appreciate it, though.

We all ended up at La Plaza Nueva in front of City Hall or El Ayuntamiento. (Sidebar: The prize for the first group to complete their tasks and arrive at City Hall: a pen bearing the emblem of EUSA.) Wedding parties and guests stood outside of the large and beautiful City Hall, which stands at the entrance of La Plaza Nueva. The plaza is a maze of shops and restaurants (i.e. the famous Campana. There were sells or rebajas galore. The sales associates were very accommodating to us Americans who sometimes have difficulty speaking Spanish. The plaza also is a place for random vendors to sell jewelry on the street and for musicians to pub their albums. The plaza was a meeting place for everyone - old couples, punk kids, gypsies and families. And understandably so, because their were shops from every type of consumer. Me encanta mucho. But I returned home to eat a lunch of empanadas, a pastry with tuna and tomato sauce filling, and fried chicken and, of course, to take a siesta.

After dinner...



My friends and I headed out in search of a discoteca. What can I say? The Latin rhythm-laced music was calling us. Eight of us danced to the techno, pop and salsa music. I must say that some people looked at us like we were crazy. Apparently, Americans or maybe just us do things differently than Sevillanos at a discoteca, such as sing along with the songs loudly, clap to the songs and, let's say, dance in a more sexual manner. Most of the locals at the discoteca neither dance as to call excessive attention to themselves or sweat. They were just cool, calm and collected.

Other observation(s):
1. There is a heavy American influence in Spain. From food to entertainment, there are visible imprints everywhere. The sayings about Starbucks rings true; they are at every corner is some sections of Sevilla. McDonald's, Burger King and Pizza Hunt have planted their flags here. Also, most of the movies and sitcoms shown on TV are American (i.e. E.R. and Friends) Even the music of Rihanna and the good-natured High School Musical series reign supreme.

Friday - A Day of Sleeping and Partying

I'm still adjusting to the six-hour time difference, so I'm taking full advantage of the siesta. From 2 to 5 p.m. in Spain, everything except some restaurants close and people take a nap or rest. No one shops or goes to the park. It's as if Sevilla becomes a ghost town. After my senora Ines serves lunch and we watch a movie on channel cuatro, I go to bed. I sleep until night falls. Then I'm ready to take part in the Sevillian nightlife.

Thursday, some friends and I visited a stand-and-talk bar, or at least that's what I'll call it. The entrance to Chile terraza was free and the drinks costs around 5.50 Euros or roughly $7.65. (Sidebar: The official drinking age in Spain in 18, three years younger than in the U.S. But people usually start drinking at a younger age.) The locals looked like they were out of a movie or, for the lack of a better comparison, a sophisticated music video. The men had perfectly gelled hair, wore ties and had freshly-pressed button-down shirts tucked into their slim-fitting dark jeans. The women wore the latest fashion - dressy flats or stilettos, baby doll dresses, and skinny jeans.) My friends and I looked a tad under dressed in our T-shirts, tank tops, jean skirts and Bermuda shorts. We wanted to fit in, so we opted not to take pictures (which is expected of tourists), but to buy drinks and converse with the locals. We finally got up enough nerve to talk with a few 30-something guys, who said we spoke Spanish well for being in the country only two days. They told us that Sevillanos party hard from Thursday to Saturday from midnight to 5 a.m. When we decided to leave Chile at 3:30, our new friends thought we were leaving too early. We were a little surprised to see that the bar's parking lot was full of people standing near their diminutive cars, talking and drinking. The scene didn't vary much from that outside of a U.S. club.

Other observation(s):
1. It's hot. The climate here isn't too different than that of North Carolina, but the temperature hovers around 100 degrees Fahrenheit in high afternoon. I think Spaniards take siestas later in the afternoon because the heat has drained them of their energy. I'll research that theory later.
2. My roommate, Kareemah, and I have received a few strange looks from locals. I don't know if it's because we are Americans or African Americans. When we were walking to the bar, a man asked Kareemah if she was a prostitute. In our required reading, The New Spaniards, John Hooper writes that there are few people of African descent in Spain. Most are poor so some women resort to selling their bodies to earn a living. Perhaps, that man thought we were apart of that group.
3. Every lunch and dinner consists of salad, bread and cheese, an entree and a dessert. Dessert can be anything from a fruit to a a cup of coffee and a cake- or cookie-like pastry.
4. I have yet to see a house. There are many apartment complexes and skyscrapers. Homes are apartments that rest atop of stores. It seems that everything is built vertically to maximize the space.
5. I knew that futbol or soccer is taken very seriously, but I didn't realize how much soccer players or futbolistas are heralded here. A few soccer players recently collapsed on the field and died shortly after. Antonio Puerta, a Sevilla Futbol Club player, died last week and Sevillanos attended his funeral Wednesday in droves. I had no idea why certain streets were packed until I saw the evening news. Futbolistas in Spain are national idols similar to basketball players in the U.S.