Anecdotes

Having given a basic overview of the majority of the events and some basics about my life here I have decided this would be a good place to share a few anecdotes about moments lost in translation and various notes about life in a country where no one understands you.
Firstly, everyone is always making fun of you. At least I assume, who knows what they are really saying, certainly not me, but I feel like every time I go out and order a cafe con leche (coffee with milk) I see a slight twinkle in the eye of the patron as if to say, "nice try buster, you may know two words but you are about as spanish as japanimation or ice water" (don't ask for it here, they'll look at you funny and spit in your face. Alright not really, that was exaggeration for comic affect). I try to keep my chin up when possible (also because I'd rather look at the sky then the street, which is routinely covered with preprocessed dog digestables (feces) which disgusts me but also makes me smile to myself (America may not do everything right but if there is dog refuse on the street someone is going to pay, and pay dearly.)
I've been running a few time and realized that no one really works out here in spain, and really the spanish peoples health confuses me completely the more I learn about it. Half the population smokes, they never exercise, and they only thing they consume more than wine is olive oil, which they drink by the gallon and bath in daily. Alright that last bit was hyperbole too, but they do fry a lot of fish in it and they have a longer life expectancy than in the united states, higher standard of living, and lower obesity and coronary disease than almost anywhere. My theory is that the spanish are all secretly witches and have used their evil magical powers to grant themselves health and long life at the expense of Americans who have been cursed with the opposite. I have no basis for this theory except a hunch and the fact that I have seen my senora use a broom at least twice. For flying! Ok that wasn't true either, and the health stuff is probably by virtue of the fact that they eat very few saturated fats. Though i remain sceptical. I might begin Inquiries to whether witch craft is present here in spain, perhaps I will give it a clever name like the Inquisition of witchcraft in the lands controlled by the Spanish people. Yeah spain needs one of those. (There's a hidden message there that references spain's past if you look closely)
Anywho, there isn't too much more new to say about spain these days. As much as I joke I do feel like I am picking up a few things and actually using the past tense if I'm feeling adventurous. One strange thing is I sometimes feel like I am less able to speak in english after i've been trying to understand spanish for a while, as if my brain can only hold one language at a time, but I am certainly improving, though very absurdly, painfully slowly. I hope you are well as always grandma keep me posted on any fun family stuff and I'll try to keep these posts regular. Sorry for the silly jokes and references to refuse, I try to keep my posts informative and classy, but sometimes my youth and immaturity get the best of me. This is a picture I took from the bridge near my house. The buildings here really are quite lovely.

Cordoba

Our second excursion of my time in spain was to a city about an hour and a half away from sevilla named Cordoba. Cordoba was the Moorish, or islamic capital of spain beween about 750 a.c.e. and 950 a.c.e; the first 200 or so years that the islamic caliphate controlled the iberian peninsula. We got up at 7:30 in the morning when the sun was still just an idea and begin our bus ride, which was surprisingly scenic. The spanish country side is made up of endless rolling grassland of a very particular bright green that seems as if it was manufactured, painted on by an enthusiastic artist trying hyperbolize real country side.
We arrived in Cordoba and Made our first stop at the Meseta, a 10th century mosque that has since been converted into a catholic church. It is an interesting picture of spain, filled with Christian icons and artwork only just covering the geometric designs and arabic script that decorated the building for centuries before. The design of the building demonstrates in someways certain precepts of the islamic faith. Islam is based on the premise of a very personal connection with alah, therefor there were no pews or anything to separate one believer from the next or anyone from Alah. There weren't places for clergy, because clergy as we know them in the Christian church did not exist. Instead there was an imam, a holy teacher who read from the Koran and led the people in prayer. As it was transformed it became filled with pews and sections for the rich and devout, embracing the Model of the christian churches but never losing the initial grand design left by the muslim empire.
In the middle of the wide open mosque is a pulpit in the boroque style. Mosques were made for utility not to flaunt wealth or demonstrate the power of the church as was the case with many christian churches in the middle ages. Though beautiful in parts, the mosque was not heavily adorned accept in the christian pulpit which is decorated with hundreds of angels carved out of ivory surrounding and emphasizing the mahogany pulpit adorned with precious pretty things. This church, which both demonstrated the vastness of the muslim empire through its size and utility, and the artistry of the christian empires through the various paintings and sculptures, reminded me that everything, no matter how foreign has a beautiful quality to it and that faith in all forms can create things of beauty. It also reminded me that beauty is universal. Every person has the capacity to look at a flower and marvel that god was so generous as to provide a small reflection of his person on earth. Every person as well has the capacity to be heartbreakingly gorgeous. My mother when she sees one of us walk in after being away too long or my brother when I've said something that isn't funny and he laughs anyway. In each I see a reflection of a reflection of perfection. God in all his glory smiling at a knock knock joke.

I took some pictures and I will post them all at the same time because its easier. Thanks to both grandma and mom for your emails and copyediting. I will do my best to remember my english grammar while constantly forgetting spanish.

Italica

Our first excursion outside the walls (figurative walls, walls around cities went out of style some 200 years ago) of sevilla. It was not a excursion of grand length, it lasted only two hours and we could see the city from where we were exploring but still a new place and a somewhat interesting one at that.
Italica is the remains of a roman city that once occupied the land around modern day sevilla. Spain, like all of europe and some of africa and other places as well I'm sure was under roman control for some six hundred years or some other number whose vastness means nothing in the modern blur of time. Our professor told us that we would have to use our imaginations heavily as much of the ruins were, well ruins, and I must say it was hard to imagine a sprawling roman metropolis while tying not too look at the blinking red neon sign advertising local beer at the gas station across the street. Still my imagination is strong from years of being a weird loner of a child and it was interesting to picture walls growing in my minds eye around the foundations that were left and imagine the people (50,000 or so I think) going to bake bread or repair the sewer (oh yeah they had sewers) or just walking enjoying the day as we were almost 2000 years later.
















Here of course are a few pictures. This one is simply the road that went through the city. The long down the road shot was prettier in gladiator but I never claimed to be a photographer. Each of these blocks along the side would have been a pillar in roman times and would have connected with the houses to make a covered walkway to protect citizens from sun and rain and keep them out of the road so carts could move. Pretty clever eh? Yeah, I know.
















This is one of the many foundations of the houses in italica. All of them are these lovely murals and they all had themes that reflected what the person who owned the house liked or didn't like as it may be. Apparently this fellow liked neptune, god of the sea, but didn't like the back half of horses and decided to replace them with something more going with the sea theme.
















This was probably the neatest thing we saw. This is a hallway in the roman amphitheater where gladiators would wait, listening to the snarls of lions that they were about to face in battle (lions are notorious being awesome at eating gladiators). I imagine if I was about to face a lion I might try to quickly befriend it, but my lion is worse than my spanish and I haven't been able charm many spaniards just yet. So i'd probably be toast. Thats all. Thanks for the picture grandma, the guys are all quite handsome and really tall, a genetic quality my brothers and I are still a little short on (get it?) but I'm glad to see they are well and i will continue to be about to send you a better email soon. Cheers.

School

The perfunctory message about how school is going may not be my most interesting post, but it is at least necessary to understanding the way days go here. School is set up much like an elementary school, or at best a remedial high school. We have small classes every day and homework each day that we turn in for a check. We have a few big tests throughout the semester and quizzes whenever our professors are bored or couldn't finish a lesson plan for the day.
Of course everything is in Spanish so the teachers speak slowly and clearly, making sure to enunciate well accept for one teacher who more sounds more like she's auctioning horses than teaching literature but who is so attractive and thin for a 30 year old with two kids that no one can stay mad at her. Two kids, she must bowflex all the time.
I'm sure I would hate every minute of my classes if the teachers were not so darn talented as educators. Each one is so knowledgeable on the topics they teach and so capable at conveying them that even though I despise the workload and the endless reading in spanish, I find myself impressed and interested in the material and content to complain to my peers and learn much more than I care to.
Thats my short bit about school. My next entry will be about the roman ruins of italica that we visited recently. I'm glad you liked my last entry grandma, I will try to get pictures up soon and thanks again for the emails. Hasta luego.

Fountains

I'm not sure why it is that fountains are so mesmerizing. It could be the fact that that so many things are not as they should be. Water, a thing whose natural state is to be uncontrollable, is contained and mastered, defying gravity, and molded into unnatural forms simply because we tell it to.
There is a fountain in a plaza called the Plaza de Espana which may be my favorite place in the city so far. It is often obscured by various large tents set up to house this or that equipment for cleaning or broadcasting some presentation set to take place there, but even in the midst of these attempts to dampen its impact, the plaza is breathtaking. A semicircular wall of arabic inspired architecture with a fountain placed in the center and surrounded by pathways of white and black stone arranged into geometric designs. The fountain itself is unique as well. While most fountains try to maintain a perfect symmetry, this one is set up like a spiral staircase; each side grows in height until it winds its way into the center which is the pinnacle.
I was first struck by the fountain when i walked through the plaza on my way to class and saw a little boy staring up at the fountain. Speechless and still. I looked at the fountain myself, but my eyes kept returning to the boy. I tried to imagine what it would be like to see a fountain for the first time and have this massive stairway of water greet you. I like this image of myself as a boy, looking into the fountain, speechless and still, thinking about how many things I don´t understand. And not so much has changed, accept of course my ability to appreciate my own smallness. The my next entry will deal with silly school. Thanks for the email Grandma, I will reply more personally soon. Until then do take care.

Host Family

A word about host families. The idea of a host family is a bit peculiar; the thought that someone who does not speak your language and has never met you before will welcome you into their home, cook you meals, and provide the love we all so desperately need from a mother figure seems absurd in some ways. Its sort of like taking in a stray dog who can talk and has opposable thumbs to more easily steal things, but as strange as it seems in concept this is exactly what we are receiving.
Maria Jose, our lady of the house was born to be a mother. I can only imagine her as a child, jealous of her own mother for having a child to care for. We try to help with things and she refuses to let us. We have problems with a shop owner she threatens him with a spanking. She is the most maternal of mothers I have encountered and she is incredibly sweet. She lives alone, but is visited often by her son, the most cynical little man I've met in my short time on this planet. He's 16 and loves paris hilton, but is a most wonderful guy and has little problem mocking us for any number of our small idiocies (the words for "to do" and "to be" are surprisingly similar and it is very strange to speak of doing thirsty). I of course can't speak at all and Maria tries to sit with rapt attention while I stutter for 15 minutes trying to say one sentence in the wrong tense but I will hopefully improve and it is at least a comfort that I can understand most of what's going on even if I can't speak as well. Thats all for now, the next entry will deal with the city itself. For now hasta luego. As always I hope you are well grandma.

Cell Phones

In spain, as in the united states, there are a number of options for purchasing a cell phone. If you live in a place, you can buy a contract and get a phone for free, but if you are visiting for, say, four months and some change then what you want is a pre paid phone. In this case, you by a phone for about forty or fifty euros and they give you a sim card with a phone number that you can put money on and which they remove money from when you talk on your phone. Its complicated and a bit expensive but as foreigners we have few options and its better than being tortured or killed as they did in the roman times, did you know spain was one of rome's most most important colonies. A spanish man told me and why would would he lie? Anyway While buying a phone I realized three things.

1. If use my old phone I brought I can save money by only having to by a new sim card, a card with a number and which connects me to a service provider

2. My phone is locked and only works with my american provider so #1 is impossible

3. If I buy a new phone I can use it in the states with a cingular sim card and I can justify the cost of a few euro for a phone

These were the realizations but the order of the realizations was, unfortunately #3, #1, and lastly #2. So the events were as follows. David buys phone to use in spain, david realizes he can save money by using his old phone and sells his phone to a friend for less than he paid for it, david realizes his plan is flawed because his phone is locked and he just lost money instead of saving it. David finally hurls himself into the river because that is what desperate and stupid people do.

One of those did not actually occur and I leave it to your discretion to decide which. My next post will discuss my host family, which is really wonderful, but this is too long already so we will save it for another day. Hey grandma, I hope you are well, they feed me a lot and pity me for my stupidity. Hasta luego

A Quick Recap

January 8^th

In the last 24 hours I have spent 10 hours in a plane, 6 hours waiting for a plane, 5 hours in a bus station with a Romanian construction worker, 3 hours on a bus I wasn’t sure would bring me to Sevilla until I got off the and saw the name of the station, been propositioned by a gypsy,which took very little time to decline, and realized that the only Spanish I know is the names of various items in a living room and how to use them one at a time in the present tense. I am at least encouraged by the fact that when I address someone in Spanish they reply in Spanish unlike in France where my attempts were always met with a scoff and a broken English variation of “what you want?”. Whether that has to do with my illusion of a grasp of the language or the fact that the Spanish know less English than the French, I can’t say. Perhaps no one can. All I know is that I definitely can’t speak Romanian and I’m sorry to Georsh (maybe?) who really wanted me to. More to come as time forces things to happen.

~David Greenslade

First Things First

It should be noted that this blog is, for the most part at least, for my mother, grandma, and the rest of my family who are absurdly sweet and love to hear about what I am doing when I am not around, no matter how banal or incomprehensible it might be. Therefor this blog is dedicated to my grandma who supports me emotionally and financially regardless of how infrequently we see each other. I hope you enjoy reading about Spain as much as I enjoy not being able to order coffee (its cafe' apparently, and don´t pay up front they´ll bring it to the table). Bienvenidos.