Monday morning wake up knowing that you’ve got to go to school.

Now a month into the semester, I think it’s an appropriate time to discuss my classes at some length.  Phonetics is probably my favorite.  The professor, though he is rather young, has a very dry and sarcastic demeanor in the classroom, and is very entertaining because of it.  In fact, on the first day of class, he told us that he didn’t understand why anyone would take phonetics and that if everyone fell asleep at least once, he would consider the semester a success.  He then asked us to take turns around the room with introductions…name, university, major, and the reason we were taking a phonetics course.  Most people joked that they needed to improve their pronunciation in order to find Spanish girlfriends, others lied and said they enjoyed it, and a few admitted they were taking the course because it was required.  When it was my turn to speak, I, in inadequate Spanish, tried to explain that I had taken a phonetics course (taught in English) last semester and it was incredibly boring (which it was), and I was hoping that phonetics in Spanish would be just as intolerable.  Of course I was kidding, because I legitimately enjoy linguistics/phonetics…but that moment marked the beginning of the end in my realization that sarcasm wouldn’t function the same way here in Spain.  The class has actually been very helpful, though.  We’ve learned all of the organs of speech and articulation.  The professor has taken great care to note the differences between the English pronunciation and the Spanish pronunciation of certain sounds.  For example, in English, the <d> is articulated on the alveolar ridge (the roof of your mouth, just behind the front teeth)…in Spanish, the <d> is articulated by touching your tongue to the back of the front teeth.  The <v> in English is articulated between the top teeth and bottom lip.  The Spanish <v> is completely bilabial, like a <b>.  Understanding these differences not only helps in pronunciation, but also in language perception and listening comprehension.  He jokes that he speaks like a robot, but I know that the class appreciates that he speaks slowly and articulately so we can understand him.  He also enjoys poking a bit of fun at the way English-speaking students try to pronounce certain words in Spanish.  Most of the time his impressions are fairly accurate, but every now and then, he tries to pronounce something as if he were a native English speaker, and gets it wrong.  All of this adds to the charm and dynamism of the class.  I think that most people in the program would admit that phonetics is their preferred class, as well.  One of my favorite moments was when he told a joke about being in Nicaragua and having an American running toward him frantically yelling, “a gorilla is coming!”  Now, because we pronounce <guerilla> and <gorilla> the same, the punch line of his joke was that he wasn’t sure if he should expect a militant farmer wielding a rifle, or a large, angry monkey.  In Spanish, this confusion would never be an issue because they pronounce every vowel separately in both gue-ri-lla and go-ri-la.  The ‘l’ and ‘ll’ (pronounced as a ‘y’) also help to differentiate the words.  Needless to say, it was funny.  Gorila/Guerilla.  I would heed the warning, regardless, and run as quickly as possible from both!

My next class is History of the Spanish Language.  A few of the other students in the class have started referring to it as the History of Magic because the concepts are fairly difficult, and we’re covering a lot of material rather quickly.  But, I very much enjoy it.  The professor is a brilliant woman who tends to be very opinionated, but is so confident in what she says that when she asserts that Spanish is the greatest language in the world, I’m tempted to believe her.  In this class we are learning a comprehensive combination of classic Latin, the foundations of the romance languages, the early history of Spain, as well as a bit about the traditional culture that influences the Spanish language as it is spoken today—all very interesting stuff.  I think am one of the few students who actually enjoy her class.  Our first test is going to be rough. 

Advanced Grammar is okay.  The teacher is very sweet and seems as though she has dealt with exchange students before because she is extremely patient with us and with our mistakes.  I'm sure that this class is a necessary evil and will be the first to admit that I absolutely need a refresher on the subjunctive, perfect tenses, etc.  The thing I dislike is that we’re using the same vocabulary that has been drilled into my head in the Spanish classes I've taken for the past three years.  I’m convinced that I learn more from classes where I have to apply Spanish grammar to concepts outside of the specific lexicon that accompanies learning Spanish grammar. 

My Cervantes/Quijote class is great.  The professor is very engaging, and doesn’t have much trouble maintaining the attention of his students…and those of you in the class understand why.  He outlines and contextualizes things in a way that reveals Cervantes’ profound social commentary hidden* in the pages we clumsily read through to prepare for class each day.  I have yet to read Don Quijote in English, but the word on the street is that it’s very tedious.  Imagine reading it when you have to look up every third word on the page—outright grueling, I tell you.  It doesn’t help either that much of the text is footnoted with explanations of antiquated words or concepts that may not be readily understood by proficient Spanish-speakers.  I have to look up explanations of words that are explanations of still more complicated words.  Like I said, great.  The homework isn’t the best time of my life, but I do enjoy the class.  As much as I hate to admit this…I had realized, but had never put a lot of thought into the fact that there are entire worlds of literature thriving beyond the sphere that is produced and published in the English language.  Understanding and appreciating English Literature is respectable, to be sure, but it is only a portion of what the great minds of the world have contributed to the field of letters and to scholarship.  Granted, many foreign novels have been translated into English, but something incredibly important is stripped when writing is taken out of the author’s original and intended locution and converted into another language.  If nothing else, this consideration has further inspired me to master this blasted language so I can access the Spanish literature and poetry and scholarship that awaits. 

*I use the word hidden because I certainly couldn’t find it…but this is also probably due, in large part, to the fact that I am not fluent in Spanish.  Ask Bill Murray—sometimes things get lost in translation.

All in all, I’m not sure what would provoke a professor to want to teach foreign students.  Perhaps it’s a sort of challenge for them…or maybe they are being punished by their departments or lost a bet.  I can’t imagine that it’s for the money.  Whatever the reason, I am grateful that they decided to do so, if only for this semester. 

It's the time of the sea-son when love runs high

Here are a few photos I took during our day at the Oceanogràfic en la Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias.    ¡Disfrute!

When you're smiling the whole world smiles with you

Consider listening to this song while you read about some of my funnier moments:

1) In Valencia, you have a to hail a bus at a bus stop the same way you hail a cab anywhere.  When I was first figuring out the bus system, I had waited for ten minutes for a particular bus and as it was approaching, I stood, card in hand, preparing to board because the bus driver had acknowledged me from about ten yards away.  In the next instant, he breached the non-verbal contract we made with our eye contact and, after sort of easing over as if he would stop, decided to speed away.  What a prankster.  I had no idea how to react to the situation, so I laughed and waited another 15 minutes for the next bus. 

2) One of the first days in my phonetics class, our professor had a list of songs in English whose lyrics at certain points, sounded like something else in Spanish—mostly inappropriate things, curse words, etc.  The one that I found most amusing, though, was the theme song from the Lion King.  And after a minute or so, part of the sort of chant they sing sounds like a phrase that, in spanish, means doing an unmentionable something to or with one’s sister-in-law.  The class loved it. 

3) My favorite way to communicate with new acquaintances is with sarcasm.  I think it is one of the quickest ways to gauge another person’s sense of humor.  And sharing a sense of humor is one of the simplest ways to find and establish common ground.  It wouldn’t matter if I were actually fluent in Spanish, though…my sarcasm DOES NOT TRANSLATE.  So saying things in jest gets me nowhere.   It’s twofold funny because I think it’s amusing when people don’t get my attempted jokes and I also get a kick out of the expressions on their faces when they simply don’t understand.  I imagine that it’s the same expression I have on my face when someone speaks too quickly…or I just don’t understand what they’re trying to tell me—which is also quite humorous.  It makes for some very entertaining social scenarios.  

4) Another, more recent story from the bus:  it was a busy time of the day for public transportation and I was crammed to one side of the aisle.  Unfortunately, I had to stand very close to a girl sitting in a stroller who hated me a lot and kept kicking me.  At one point she pushed my legs with both of her grubby little hands.  She couldn’t have been more than two years old.  She was shooting some vicious glares at me, though, and again, I couldn’t help but laugh.  

I've always laughed at myself a lot...but in Spain, I laugh for different reasons and there is always something new to find humor in.  

May you stay forever young

Our first week here, there were also two teenaged Italian girls staying in the apartment.  Isabella and Fabiola were great!  They reminded me very much of any teenaged girl at home.  They teased each other, were impatient with each other at times, and sang Lady Gaga, Tina Turner, and Queen at the top of their lungs.  They impressed me much more than the average teenager does, though.  The reason they were in Valencia in the first place was to study Spanish.  They are both in a program in their ‘high school’ through which they are learning French, English, and German.  At the dinner table, they related their frustrations with learning foreign languages and the differences between Italian and Romano—the languages they speak at home.  We talked about music and movies and the world.  They would confer with each other in Italian, Erin and I would confer with each other in English, and then we would meet in the middle with Spanish—such an interesting way to share a meal and a conversation.  Before they left, they made Pasta Carbonara, a “typical Italian dish,” they asserted.  Of course, it was spectacular, and they were so proud that we enjoyed it.  One particular moment that will forever be impressed in my mind happened while we were visiting one evening, and someone misheard what another had said and we found ourselves on the subject of homosexuality.  We started discussing the various words used in different languages and the legal issues in our respective countries.  Fabiola went on to explain that as far as she was concerned, the government had no control whatsoever over who a person loved.  “Ring or no ring,” she explained, “so long as two people are in love, the rest doesn’t matter.”  It was so beautifully put, and hearing it from a seventeen year old made it all the better.  Having an enlightened conversation in a foreign language was a new and exhilarating experience for me.  

It isn’t likely that I’ll see either of them again, but I appreciate that I was able to meet them and I wish them both the best in everything.

It's a nervous tic motion of the head to the left

There is a fine line between complaining and venting.  So, to make myself perfectly clear, I am not complaining, only venting.  I’m grateful for difficulties here.  I am learning from them.  And more things are difficult than not.  With that, I will explain a little about the things that cause me some anxiety day to day.  First of all, the concept of personal space is something that most Spaniards don’t understand.  This applies in practically every social setting, from the dance floor, to the elevator, to walking down the sidewalk.  It’s not considered awkward or uncomfortable for someone to stand so close you can hear his or her pulse—only a slight exaggeration there.  I typically require more personal space than your average American…so this has taken some getting used to.  This goes for the very Spanish two kisses as well.  I’m good at introductions.  I have a great handshake, do the eye-contact thing, and present myself confidently, with a smile, the whole bit.  It is a tough habit to break upon meeting someone for the first time…offering my right hand, my arm’s length the measure of personal space I prefer to maintain.  All of that is nonsense here.  They give kisses to each cheek whether you’re ready and willing or not.  They’re also much better at strolling.  I foot it at a professional mall-walker’s pace and am a very claustrophobic pedestrian.  So, when people are moving slowly in front of me, I get anxious.  I’m trying to get better at maintaining a leisurely pace.  I’m also working on my neurosis about personal space.  I’ll keep you posted on my progress.  Ha!  My second anxiety is salt—and the fact that they don’t use it.  They don’t cook with it and it isn’t normally set on the table with our meals.  Anyone who knows me well knows that I add salt, and, more specifically, garlic salt to almost everything I eat.  Until this week, the lack of salt in the food here was an issue.  Not to worry, my friends—the problem has been resolved.  It’s incredible how my day, week, semester has been improved by a 79-cent bottle of garlic salt from Mercadona.  (A bit of a spin on retail therapy, I should think!)  

All things in stride.

Society, you're a crazy breed

Now I’m going to take a moment to describe my living arrangements as well as what I’m learning about the sociability here.  I live in an apartment building that is one of four in a complex surrounding a gated courtyard, complete with fountain.  The apartment is on the tenth floor and is very small, but tidy.  I should also add that the elevators are possessed.  There are four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a living/dining room, and a closet-sized laundry/storage room.  Putting the explanation into words seems to give it too much credit.  It really is a very small living space.  This rings especially true for me because we are only allowed in three of the nine rooms.  Erin and I share a space that is big enough for two twin-sized beds and a desk with no chair.  It’s very cozy, and we’ve both had to adjust a bit to sharing a room as well as sharing a closet.  The floor is entirely linoleum, and without much insulation, the apartment gets very chilly—even with 60 degree weather outside.  The walls are also very thin, so we hear the neighbors when they are cooking dinner, jamming out to MIA’s “Paper Planes,” and remodeling their bathroom (or building an arc or whatever they’re doing over there).  All I know is that they are loud.  We also live close to a school, so we hear the announcements and the orchestra music they play during what I assume is recess time.  I really enjoy their recess time.

One cultural difference that is very much the opposite of that in the United States is the perception or function of the home as a space.  In the US, people are not only allowed, but they are welcomed into each other’s homes.  A house or apartment or “home” is a social place where people gather.  Here, that is not the case.  Here, home is a very private and intimate space where only family and maybe, maaayyyybeee closest friends are welcome.  And it is certainly not a place to be social.  People go out to be social, which is a little frustrating when being out typically costs money.  They are social in cafes, restaurants, and parks—anywhere outside of the home.  It is strange being unable to invite a friend or friends over for dinner or to do homework or to watch a movie.  I’m sure the situation would change a bit if it had my own place and I wasn’t a guest in someone else’s home.  Still, it is a very different and very interesting type of sociability...  

Sing for your supper, and you'll get breakfast

Breakfast—desayuno.  I’m realizing that through this blog, for the sake of explanation, I am sharing much more information than I would otherwise divulge—information that only those closest to me actually know.  ¡Que escandaloso!  One of these unimportant details is that I don’t particularly care for sweet foods.  I don’t mind the occasional piece of cheesecake or pumpkin-spice cookie, and I do like fruit, but I definitely prefer the savory to the sweet.  That being said, I don’t like breakfast foods like toast, cereal, pastries, jelly, etc.  Here, breakfast every morning consists of a pastry, four or five cardboard-flavored digestive cookies, two pieces of toast, my choice of strawberry or peach jam, instant coffee, and a carafe of boiled milk.  Mmmmmm.  Mmm.  The first two weeks were tolerable, but I can’t tell you what I would do for some scrambled eggs and a cup of brewed coffee for breakfast.  Unspeakable things.  Otherwise the meals are good.  Some are better than others, of course.

Lunch—comida.  Dinner—cena.  As I mentioned before, we eat lunch around two o’clock.  It usually consists of a salad, the main dish, which varies, and a piece of fruit.  Again, comida is the biggest meal of the day, so the main dish is usually a hearty soup, some combination of vegetables and meat (chicken, turkey, or fish), or Spanish tortilla (which is sort of a potato egg omelet, and is delicious).  A few days ago, she prepared a meal that made me smile a bit, because it was Moscow, Idaho in an entrée.  Moscow, the lentil capital of the universe, and Idaho, esteemed for its potatoes—the dish was a lentil and potato soup and I loved it.  Cena is basically the same, with slightly smaller portions.  Instead of salad, we have a small cup of noodle soup and we get chocolate pudding for dessert. 

I expected rice to be a staple of every meal, but have found that potatoes are the preferred side dish.  She makes French fries every other day, I think.  I haven’t figured out if this is a typical menu, or if she makes them because she thinks Americans really like fries.  Maybe, probably, it's both.  Everything is prepared in olive oil, which I appreciate.  One of the stranger dishes she makes consists of one fried egg, sunny side up, two pieces of bacon, a scoop of white rice, and a portion of very bland marinara sauce.  The first time we had it, I ate each item separately and wasn’t impressed.  I figured out, though, that all mixed together, it is actually quite tasty!  She makes paella on Sundays.  My roommate went to some fancy restaurant to try the “best paella in Valencia” and she said it tasted just like Isabel’s.  I guess we’re lucky in that regard.  [Maybe I'll remember to take some photos of the food and post them.]