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Before arriving, I heard that Spanish in Spain was different. I emailed our ISA advisor Allison and she assured me that “vosotros” is most definitely a thing in Andalusia, and that scared me. A girl I knew who had studied in Spain said she could not understand Mexican Spainsh because it was so different. What!?!? That realllly made me nervous.

But now that I’m here, I’ve calmed down. There are a few traits specific to this region that I’d like to point out.

1. The end/middle/beginning of the word being convienently left out. When MJ first told us that I was confused, but I can definitely hear it. The most common ones are gracia(s) and (de) nada.

2. People actually say “hola” and “adio(s).” In Ecuador, it’s more common to say “buenas” and “chio.” “Buenas” is still a common greeting here though. You can use it and “hola” interchangably.

3. The slag words are called “tacos.” My Spanish professor said that Sevilla in particular has tons of tacos. Young people call each other “tío” and “tía” even if they are not related.

4. Allison was right. Vosotros is common, but not as tough as I thought it would be. It’s actually kind of fun. I should have guessed – I’m a big “y’all” user in English.

As the trip continues, I hope to learn more Spanish. Even now, I am much more comfortable with the language than I was on day one.

(Did you get the musical reference in my title?)

The view from the end of our street

I was in class during the cathedral visit, so I stopped by La Giralda after class. Not everything was open, but I went through the one door that was. The interior was like the other churches and cathedrals we´ve been to in Spain – goregous. I got a few weird looks for genuflecting. I am unsure if that is because genuflecting isn´t done in Europe, or if the host was not present, or if the tourists were non-Catholic and didn´t know what I was doing, but either way, I´d rather be safe than sorry.

This morning I returned to the cathedral on my way to class, and this time a different door was open. I stepped up and over through the doorway, and was greeted by cool air and organ music. The set up allowed people to mill around the cathedral without distrubing the morning mass that was taking place. Among the intricate details of the architecture was a giant clock which took up the space of an entire wall, and went all the way up to the high ceiling. La Giralda has many arches, sculptures and paintings, and is the third biggest cathedral the world. There were a few hallways stemming off the sides of the big room. I hope to go back and explore those.

Our first week in Spain, throughout the day and into the evening, La Giralda had long lines of people that wrapped around the building. After the feast day, the traffic slowed down exponentially, and people have been able to come and go as they please.  I´ve seen evidence of one wedding there so far, with guests milling in front of the cathedral in formal evening gowns, and a few hours later, rose petals scattered across the steps. My host mom says that it is very hard to get married at La Giralda, because everyone wants to get married there. In fact, it´s hard to reserve a church for a wedding in Sevilla in general – she said that many people end up getting married on weekdays because there is no other time available.

La Giralda is very interesting and I would love to explore it some more. Maybe I´ll even see where Chistopher Columbus is rumored to be burried!

On Monday, I took field notes at the Universidad de Sevilla:

I´m sitting on a wooden bench in the Universidad de Sevilla. I can feel the comforting coolness of the AC in contrast to the heat outside. The halls are full of arches, the floor a tiled pattern. I´ve never been to an Ivy Leauge, but this is how I imagine it is like. People pass, mostly students, but some professors and toursists. Many people pass, and I heard the word ¨vosotros¨twice on my way to this particular bench. There is some sort of notice board in front of me, some fliers, but mostly the reminents of fliers that have been torn down in the past. The stairwell is wide and open, adorned with statues. There is a general hustle and bustle.

I know they have finals soon, but it looks like just another day at the university. Several people walk with headphones in their ears. I hear English in American accents coming from two girls in dresses. A lady, maybe a professor, walks by in her purple pants and purple high heels and drops something. The sound I hear is a constant hum of voices, coming from three sides of me, and the conversations blend together. I hear the thumping of a boy running to catch up to the girl ahead of him. The style of dress in the passersby vary. The light hangs from the ceiling, with identical ones hanging throughout the corridor.

A young man eating a sandwich sits down at my bench. He is wearing black shoes and glasses. I´m not sure what he´s doing over there, but I don´t want him to catch me staring. I think he´s just finishing his sandwich. He has headphones in, presumably listening to music. Although the hallway is not as crowded as before, a steady stream of people still head up and down the stairs. I can hear noise coming from the people in the plaza-type thing outside. In Universidad de Sevilla, you are outdoors, than indoors, than outdoors again, and back to indoors. A woman with the same pants as me leaves the building.

I am very happy that this study abroad trip uses a homestay. So far it´s been one of the best parts of Spain. The homestay lets you become part of Spanish culture, instead of observing from the sidelines. Since you will probably never have the opportunity to meet Mama Carmen, I thought I should tell you a little bit about my awesome host mother.

She is the Spanish Betty White –   On Sunday, we were watching the Spanish version of The Proposal. Every time the grandma, Betty White´s character, would come on the screen, she would get super excited. She would clap her hands and say, ¨me encanta.¨She loves The Proposal. When Betty White came on the screen and would do something funny, she would tell Marissa, ¨¡La abuela como yo!¨ Which basically means that she is Betty White.

She is the Grandma figure – Coming to Spain, I knew not to be ignorant enough to think Spain would be like all of the other Spanish speaking countries. However, there is one cultural simiarity that really surprised me. There was a giant bouquet of flowers left over from a wedding at church, and she went to the bouquet after mass and picked herself some flowers. If you´ve ever been to a cross cultural wedding, you know the funny part at the end where half of the ladies grab the center pieces to take home, and the other half stare at them like they are stealing. This instance really reminded me of that.

She´s a true sister – She made her brother help me with my Spanish homework, and then grabbed it from him to prove that she knew it better.

She has so many nieces and nephews – From the stories, there´s got to be hundereds.

She loves babies – This is a very improtant fact about her. She stops to look at baby clothes in store windows, gets excited about babies on TV, and loves her neighbors babies. The other day, we got home and she was knitting baby sweaters with her friend, for a baby who is not even born yet. This is something we bond over as a house, because babies are adorable.

She explains current events to us – When the king abdicated the throne, she told us about the monarchy. It was nice to hear the precpective of a local, rather than just reading about it in the news.

She loves Barack Obama and Papa Fransisco – She is a big fan of both the Pope and the President of the U.S.

Nothing phases her – Because Carmencita is a rockstar.

This weekend was the first time in Spain I’ve had the opportunity to converse with locals (outside of waiters, the ISA staff, and my host mom). With it came the unfortunate, but expected, social blunders that come with any traveler to a new country. For example, while I was waiting at the wrong bus stop (another story for another day) a woman came up to me and started chatting with me. I was too proud to admit that I did not understand what she was saying, and ended up replying incorrectly to her question. We both left confused.

That night was the Bolivia vs. España futbol game. Due to yet another miscommunication, I ended up sitting by myself for the game. Strangely, it ended up making the expierience even better. I was surrounded by Sevillanos and an excited energy for the game. People stood and sang proudly during the national anthem, cheered wildly at every point, and did the wave. It smelt like smoke, sweat and summer. I was able to blend in a little bit (I think) because I wasn’t there speaking English with anyone. The enthusiasm seriously rivaled how San Antonians are feeling about the Spurs right now.

I wore a team shirt to the game, so on my walk home, many people asked how we did. At first, out of self preservation, I ignored them, and people were offended. Then I understood what was going on, and was able to reply in kind, and let them know “we” won! I felt like part of the community in that moment: we were all rooting for a common goal.

Sunday, Host Mama Caremencita took Marissa and I to mass with her. The neighbors came out and met us, and the father made the adorable little twin girls kiss us hello.  On the way to mass waiters popped out of the doorways to say hello. Marissa and I ignored them, but Mama Carmen chatted them up like only a true grandma can. Later, she told us that boys looking at girls like that is not a Spain thing – it’s a southern Spain thing. Interesting. Then we made it to the historic church.  Mass is the same everywhere – right? Sort of. The church itself was goregous and ancient: adorned with paintings and sculpters and a monstrance that would make my priest from back home drool. Oh – and the guy who started the home for poor elderly people attached to the church? He’s up for cannonization, no big deal. I thought I’d be prepared for the Padre Nuestro since I’ve been saying that prayer since I was a little girl. I was wrong. Instead of saying it in unison it was a free for all. People started and stopped as they pleased. So I didnt get to show off my awesome Spanish praying skills. “Paz” was the other part of mass I thought I’d be ready for. But when it was time, I didn’t know whether to kiss, hug, or shake hands. So I went with a combo deal.

Social interactions with people who are from a different culture and speak a different language are terrifying, humiliating, and downright confusing. But that’s what makes surviving them so gratifying.

Yesterday, as I was strolling through the city, trying to take in all the sites, and listening to all the passersby, I thought to myself, ¨Why don´t all Americans learn Spanish? So much of the language is composed of cognates anyway. It´s not that bad.¨ You´ll have to remind me of that as I struggle my way through Lengua Española Avanzado. I have a feeling I will be changing my tune as that class goes on. Since not everyone in the class speaks English, the professor only uses Spanish. I feel like this will be very beneficial, if not a little difficult.

In Sevilla, floor 1 is actually the second floor. If you want to get to the ground floor, you need to go to floor ¨B¨(I´m assumming the ¨B¨is for bajo). Also, you always have to wear house shoes in the house, because being barefoot is incredibly impolite. It does not get dark until about 10, so meal times are much much later than in the states.

I did not realize it was possible, but ice cream in Spain tastes better than ice cream in the states. It is rich, sweet, and looks practically glamorous in the cone. Just to be sure, I plan to try un cucurucho de helado in as many ice cream stores in town as possible. You know, just to be safe. I don´t have to worry about gaining a million pounds worth of ice cream either – in Sevilla you walk everywhere. And in the heat.

I´d say that one cultural difference I had no idea to expect was my appreciation of my mom´s SAS shoes that I brought with me. In San Antonio, SAS shoes started out as comfortable shoes for nurses, but have turned into the ¨old people¨shoe company. In Spain, I prefer wearing these shoes to tennis shoes, because it helps me assimilate more into the culture. They also have been super comfortable for walking all around town. I´d say it´s a win-win situation.

Last night, after I finished writing an email to my family, my host mother came into my room and told me to get up, we were going to go upstairs. I followed her obediently. When we reached the top floor by elevator, we got out, and continued going up one more flight of stairs. At the top the was a door she unlocked with a seperate set of keys. We walked out onto the rooftop of her apartment.  The orange sun was setting in the Spanish sky, and we had a breathtaking view of the city. As I´ve mentioned before, we are centrally located, so we could see all of Sevilla, including the chapel. Empty clotheslines for the residents of the apartment building were strung across the rooftop. I had to duck under the clotheslines in order to not get decapitated – she did not. She pointed out different sites to me and told me a little about them – the new tall building nobody likes, the plaza I had been to that afternoon, the theater that sometimes shows operas, the church around the corner where her friend is getting her wedding vows renewed tomorrow.

We went back inside and I helped her prepare dinner. At first it was intimidating not to have Marissa there to help me out with Spanish, but it really forced me to just go for it and talk, and not worry if it was right or wrong. We ended up having a big talk about life, family and Spanish. I showed her pictures of my cousins and brother, and she instructed me to call her ¨tu¨instead of ¨usted.¨

So I now have an answer to my first blog post. My host mom wants me to call her ¨Carmen.¨

Since classes have started, I have had to walk around Sevilla by myself for the first time. Actually, the whole time we´ve been in Spain, I´ve always had someone to walk with. However, now that Marissa and I have different class schedules, I make the walk to class by myself.  This have given me time to observe the traffic patterns of walkers in Sevilla.

Sevillanos aren´t shy about walking on the bikelane, in the middle of the street or on the metro tracks, but they have some sort of sixth sense about when a bike, bus or car is coming and seemlessly move out of the way. I don´t have that power yet, so I try to stay out of the bike lane whenever possible.

We live right in the middle of downtown, so I cross many tourists during the commute to school.  It´s not hard to pick them apart from the locals – not just in their style of dress, but in their mannerisms and the way they walk.

For the most part, jaywalking in Sevilla is a specific art.  I´m not sure if this is a Spain thing, a Sevilla thing or just a general major city thing, but for whatever reason, jaywalkers in Sevilla jaywalk on the cross walk. In Austin and in San Antonio, Jaywalkers cross the street parallel to the crosswalk, but just in the middle of the street. In Sevilla, everyone walks on the crosswalk, but not necessarily when the little green light is on.

When we were talking in class today about the first questions we ask about people, I think there is one more: what is your name? We want to know what to call each other. However, our host mother has not told us what to call her. So far it hasn´t been an issue, but I am curious.

She is a wonderful, sweet woman who reminds me of a grandmother figure. She has invited us into her home and taken great care of us. On the first day, she showed us pictures of everyone in her big family. Everyone but two of her nieces still live in Sevilla. She is the only one who still lives in El Centro, the downtown neighborhood where she has lived her whole life, and where we are living now.

One thing that has stood out to me as far as cultral differences has been proximiety. The first day when I was sitting on my bed, she sat down on it as well to talk to us.   In the U.S. I think people would either ask first, or do that when they are comfortable with each other.

She has told some wonderful stories. The firt day, I gave her some pecan and peanut brittle from San Antonio. She was so excited about the pecan brittle. The cathedral is across the street from our apartment, and she told us that as a child she would go there with her cousins and siblings and eat pecans from the one pecan tree that was there. As far as I understood, that tree is no longer there. She was really excited about the pecan brittle because she had never had pecan candy before, and I guess now it is harder to get pecans in Sevilla.

She watches telanovellas and the news (the Spanish news is entirely made up of female broadcasters, from what I´ve observed so far) with enthusiasim, and cooks us delicous meals. Before we left today she made sure to tell us to be safe with drinking. She better than anything we could have asked for — however I still don´t know her name.