Wedding Crashers

May 17, 2009 by · 1 Comment

After an exhausting day in the teeny town of Helicheville, accompanied by my students and a few nativos, I spent Saturday afternoon, evening and early morning at a wedding, the first of three for the season.

On any given Saturday in Spain, you’ll run into at least one wedding, if not several. Sevillian weddings, in particular, are a bit like the circus. They stop traffic with their outrageous fashions, high-end catering and the millions of extras that truly go over the top.

Manolo, a friend of Kike’s from the academy, and Tamara got married in a beautiful chapel called Las Adoratrices here in Sevilla. And, seeing as most Spaniards are Catholic, we had a long mass to sit through. You could tell people got bored halfway through Manolo’s father’s speech before the mass even got started. People chatted on their cell phones and others left to go smoke. Kike made a mockery of the institution of marriage, and I was sitting so far back I couldn’t even get a good look at the couple actually getting married.

The mass continues much like the one you attend Sunday. A lot of talking and me starting to pay more attention to the people around me in their parade of colors and the crazy things they stick in their hair. Spanish women dress up like they’re going to the prom with fancy hair-dos, satin dresses of every color, gaudy jewelry and those ridiculous birds nests in their hair. I think the only woman who pulled it off successfully was the mother of the groom. Anyway, I felt that my jewelry and simple dress made me stick out even more than I already do, what with my pale skin and freckles and nose that isn’t constantly upturned like a Sevillana’s.

After the rice and flower petal throwing, the couple took their pictures and I felt kind of abandoned while Kike greeted everyone from the academy. It’s evident that Spanish people have weddings in place of high school reunions. The couple then got into a vintage car instead of a horse carriage, and only because we had to traveled 10 miles outside of town to the reception.

This was all different from Jose’s wedding last year on Gran Canaria. He and his wife are both Catalan, from Barcelona, and the wedding was much more simplistic – no mass, no classic car and no fancy hats. He also invited a small number of people, so I didn’t feel so lost in a sea of people.

When we arrived at Hacienda la Pintada, I was overwhelmed by how andalu everything was – a vast courtyard in the middle of olive groves, a woman in Jerez-style dress serving Manzanilla sherry from a oak cask, waiters coming around with trays full of pates and caviars and croquetas. And clearly everyone was drinking. As soon as the bride and groom showed up, fireworks were shot over the courtyard and everyone was ushered into the dining hall, accented in corals and celestes and tans.

We sat at a table with three other couples and a suelto – Kike’s friend Fran whose fiance couldn’t come. Once again, we were the only couple not engaged or already married. But I didn’t care about this, just the seafood in front of me – gambas blancas, tiger shrimp, crab, clams, and all kinds of other stuff I can name in Spanish but not English. Then there was more garlic shrimp, grilled shrimp, more stuff that I can’t name. In between courses we had a fantastic apple sorbet and then came the fancy hamburger with potatoes, vegetables and baby lima beans. I tried my best to save room for the desert buffet, but I just couldn’t.

By this time it was already 1:30 a.m. and the wedding started at 6pm. We went to the dance floor and the bride and groom did their normal first dance, the bride dressed in a charming, fancy wedding dress,  and the DJ totally goofed on English pronunciation while people were more entertained by their cubatas, but, being a Spanish wedding, it was no sooner that we’d taken our first sips that a man with a guitar and another with a cajón broke into Sevillanas. Kike wasn’t drunk enough to dance, so I grabbed a Madrileño who had about as much of a clue as I did about Sevillanas. He was a good sport and I marveled everyone (hardly) with my arte in dancing.

Despite sore feet and fighting off extreme exhaustion, I lasted longer than Kike. While I can’t say it was the most exciting wedding I’ve ever been to because I didn’t know anyone, I had a good time with my man and his friends, and I will finally know someone whose wedding I’m going to later this summer!

¡¡Que vivan los novios!!

Filed Under: holidays ·

La Feria en Crisis

May 3, 2009 by · Leave a Comment

I recently took one of those Facebook quizzes because it honestly called my attention (there goes my English getting more Spanish!) The result was feriante – someone who loves the April Fair, six straight days of dancing and drinking. I like drinking and dancing is something that happens when I drink too much, so this holiday was clearly invented for my own enjoyment.

The fair origins go back centuries, but in Andalucía the first was in a town just east of Sevilla called Mairena del Alcor. La de Sevilla started in a park with a few marquees, known as casetas, and has since grown to include over 1000 of them in a new location south of my neighborhood. The casetas are owned by businesses or families, whom are known as socios, and every year they must pay hundreds, if not thousands, to maintain their caseta.
Feria begins every year with a pecaito frito, a dinner for the socios. At midnight, the main gate to the fairgrounds is lit up in a ceremony called the alumbrado. It’s wonderful to watch the different parts of the fairgrounds light up, with people botelloning underneath. Then the party starts – flamenco music begins to drift out from the casetas and people begin to dance in the street. Most of the casetas are private, but there are about 50 public ones for political parties, neighborhoods, etc. We spent most of the time in public casetas that night, drinking rebujito (a half liter of sherry mixed with 7up) and dancing sevillanas, a four part dance.

The following day was the celebration of Sevilla’s patron saint, San Fernando. The Real de la Feria was hasta las trancas with people, many of them dressed in typical flamenco gowns or riding suits. Horse carriages and horses march in and out of the portada and to the bull ring, where there’s a corrida daily. I went with Kelly to a friend of Kike’s from his village, where we danced Sevillanas and drank rebujito. I right away felt welcome by Fabian, Carlos and Julian. We did our normal caseta-hopping, going to see Melissa’s friend, Carlos, Susana and Alfonso, Jessica’s boyfriend. Dressed up and dripping Spanish from my tongue, I danced and drank and had a great time.


And it showed the next day in my face. Vaya cara de sueno! I spent the whole day craving a nap, but decided instead to follow some of my coworkers to the fairgrounds. After a quick beer at Serafin’s, we went to the portada by day – white with yellow accents and looking like the front of a Feria tent. Against the blue sky, it was beautiful, and it was fun going to the fair with first-timers like Raul and Lourdes. After a quick walk around, we went to one of the nicest casetas I’ve ever been in – it looked like a home with its mirrors and fancy dining room flanked with bull heads. We ate croquetas, tortillas, puntas de solomillo and other Andalusian foods for less than six euros a head. In this caseta, there was a raised dancefloor and there was a little girl not older than seven in a short pink traje who danced better than all of the women aorund her.

We went to Calle del Infierno, a huge amusement park where gypsies sell carnations and toys, kids play drop the crane for prizes and two gigantic ferris wheels spin on either end. We walked through the stalls and hamburger stands, marveling at girls in trajes riding on the rollercoasters without managing to mess up their hair (LACA’d up!).

Although I didn’t notice it so much until the weekend, it was clear that the financial meltdown affected the fair – there was a sign in most casetas called “A Feria Goer’s Manual Against the Crisis” with a guide to saving money (I didn’t bring my horse this year because they wouldn’t allow it on the metro, etc.) On Saturday especially, the fairgrounds were empty and the casetas half full. It’s odd to think about how the crisis has affected everything here, and I experience it every single day. I’m really happy to have a job because of it!

My companeros de trabajo – Serafin, Manuel, Lourdes, Raul and I at C/ del Infierno

I am sick of writing about this because I’m still so tired from Feria and this weekend, so I will just include some more pictures. I pretty much spent the week running in and out of casetas, drinking rebujito but being more careful this year to stay sober and alternate with beer or pop, dancing sevillanas (I even succeeded in getting Kike to dance, though I’m sure he did only because he was drunk) and hosting Jeremy and Isabel, two friends who teach in Madrid, for the weekend. I really enjoyed myself, and I think now I’m able to stand on my own two feet here. I impressed people with my musing of saying I was from Chicago de la Frontera (a take on a town called Chiclana de la Frontera), firing off Spanish puns and dancing with mucho arte. Even though Kike was only down for a few days,I had no problems entertaining my roommates and coworkers and friends.

Que viva la Feria!! I’m already thinking of the color complementos I want for next year!

Tocando el cajon y cantando sevillanas en la caseta de Alfonso
Kike’s brother, Alvaro, and I, along with Victor’s head. I love Victor. He’s from Vdoid.
Twilight (crepusculo, thanks to the book) on C/ Pasqual Marquez
My roommate, Melissa, and I como gitanas
In one of the more memorable episodes of Feria, I stepped on a toothpick and it started bleeding, so a nice waiter patched me up with a bandaid and some food. Buena gente.
Me, Kelly and Sara at Sara’s boyfriend’s work’s caseta (and this is an easy relation!)
HORSIES all over the place (followed by a street sweeper)
Kelly and me
vaya pareja mas guapa!

Filed Under: Feria, holidays ·

Were the Reyes Magos good to you?

January 6, 2009 by · Leave a Comment

Yesterday, January 6th, was Dia de los Reyes Magos. Spanish kids write letters to Balthazar, the Moorish one of the three kings, who brings them their presents. Santa occasionally visits houses, but not very often. Kiddies open their presents on this day, after watching parades in their neighborhoods with bands and floats carrying the Three Kings.

Of course, the students were quick to ask me, “Que te han traido los Reyes?” Or, What did the Three Kings bring you? When I asked them the same question, nearly all of them had gotten a new computer, a new mobile phone and an XBox or Wii.

I thought the whole world was in a financial crisis?

While the Reyes brought me things like Ugg boots (ugly but so calentitas!), plane tickets to Austria and to China, they also brought with them a flu and a cold. I got sick just a few days before New Years, and despite my best attempt to take it easy (which is very taxing on me!), I remained a little malita throughout the trip to Austria. Lots of sneezing and hacking and bundling up. Flying home only exacerbated the problem and I got off the plane with a really nasty sinus infection. My lovely suegra couldn’t understand what I was trying to tell her amidst all of my coughing, so she merely sent me home with half a bushel of oranges and some lemons. I’m feeling better today, just stuffy.

I had a really nice, looooong, 18-day break. It was nice to sleep in someone else’s bed and have heat and be cooked for! But really, for my first Christmas away from home, it was really enjoyable. I mostly stayed put in Andalucía, but I did go to the Sierra Nevadas, just outside Granada, to snowboard with Kike and his brother. I spent a little bit of pasta to buy some ski gear and then had to pay for rentals and lift tickets, but it was really fun. There aren’t any trees on the whole mountain! It was also windy, leading to the lift closure and tons of people on the lower slopes. For Kike’s first time snowboarding, I was really impressed at how well he picked it up. He did a lot less swearing at the mountain than me on my first day!

On New Years, I had dinner with some friends and a group of parents and rang in 2009 at Plaza Nueva. It’s Spanish tradition to eat twelve grapes on the twelve strokes of midnight for good luck – I only managed to pop 9 in my mouth because i kept swallowing seeds! It took me three hours to find a cab, resulting in me walking around Sevilla to every taxi stand I knew and calling every taxi number I have in my phone. Crying, I finally went to a hotel near my house and asked the receptionist for more numbers. She and the doorman were able to find a taxi for me and all ended well.

Lots of luck and love and happiness in the new year, especially for the new Mr. and Mrs. Pat McHugh! I’ll write about Austria as soon as I get the chance!

Filed Under: health, holidays ·

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

December 20, 2008 by · 1 Comment

Lucia’s car thermometer read 2º celcius by the time we arrived to Olivares. I said out loud to no one, “Shit, if it’s this cold, I want to see snow!” This, of course, was not really true. One of the best thing about Spain is it´s LACK of snow. The last time it snowed in Sevilla, Kike wasn´t yet born (he´s a ripe 29) and the majority of my kids haven´t seen it.

That´s the theme this Christmas – tons of cold gusts and sales on winter coats. I finally gave in to my repulsion of ugg boots and had my parents send me a pair. They saved my life the day my school turned off the heat to conserve costs. And María del Mar and Irene, two of my 12-year-olds, think they´re chulas. It´s often warmer in my house than on the street and our electricity bills are through the roof because we´ve all had our space heaters on. I even bought a rug in an attempt to conserve some heat in my teeny little cuarto.

I´m reveling in christmas time here. Walking down Avenida de la Costitución, the main tourist strip, people are selling chestnuts and the trees glitter with tiny blue lights. There´s a huge Christmas tree right next to the town hall and the escapartes at the shops on Sierpes and Velazquez are full of Christmas promotions and holiday-themed set-ups. The shops open on Sunday for a few hours and the streets are always full. Yesterday, in walking around Triana running errands, I saw little kids dressed as angels and shepherds after acting out the story of Jesus´s birth.

One of my favorite holiday traditions in Spain is the belén, or the nativity set. Every barrio has a nativity depicting Christ´s birth in a stable, complete with an ox and a mule. Many also have living nativities, acted by kids and with real animals. After the huge nativity in Plaza del Duque next to El Corte Inglés, there is a man representing Balthazar, one of the wise men, and the kids sit on his lap and ask for presents like they would from Santa Claus.

Every family sets up a nativity set in their home. I´m Catholic, so my family sets up a little wooden stable with plastic figurines every year under the tree. But Spanish families get elaborate. They start with “El Misterio” or the Holy Family and gradually add the shepherds, the three wise men (yikes, got flashbacks of freshman year and those nasty shots!) and the animals. They even add the caganer, a Catalonian export that depicts a man mid-squat who resides in the corner of the stable. But it doesn´t stop there – people add the entire town of Bethlehem. The nativity at my school, for example, is full of camels, shops, people. Many huge belenes that I´ve seen have rivers, thieves and things I would have never expected. It´s kind of like those winter villages we put up in the living room and put lights on.

I´m the first to admit I really don´t like Chritsmas, but in Spain it´s really different and more about family and remembering why we celebrate. That said, Christmas is simply Christ´s birth and nothing more. Families have a huge dinner on the 24th and go to mass on the 25th. Kids don’t receive presents until January 6th, El día de los Reyes Magos. Santa Claus exists in TV ads, but the kids ask the wise men to bring them gifts and go to a parade on the 6th. This is called a Cabalgata, and floats in the shape of everything from the president to animals pelt candy at the kids. It´s been really fun seeing my eight-year-old student Manuel get all excited and eat lots of polverones during class. He told me all the crazy stuff he wanted for Reyes and I told him they were going to bring him carbon because he was naughty and looked at my cards during “go fish” One interesting similarity is that kids receieve coal if their naughty!

It’s also tradition every year to have a Comida de Navidad with coworkers or social groups. Last year, Kike invited me to a comida with his Arabic class at a Moroccan restaurant. Everyone gathers once before the holidays to eat and drink and usually get drunk. My school has one, and I didn´t go last year. This year I went to school on thursday all dresses up to get my check and wish my coworkers happy holidays. We let the kids go an hour early and sat around in the teacher´s lounge drinking anise and bottles of Cruzcampo . I hitched a ride with some of the younger teachers to Valencina de la Concepción, a town halfway between Olivares and Sevilla, to a restaurant. As we sat down in our own private room, the 35 of us were treated to a spread of meats and shrimp and cheese. The wine was never-ending and neither was the food. It was hilarious to see my coworkers getting hammered and expressing their surprise that I was still with Kike. Many of them are so professional at work that it was completely unexpected! Towards the end of the meal, the one overworked waiter brought out a dozen bottles of champagne and the headmistress and various teachers made toasts. One of them stood up and said, “Que la guira diga algo!” and I thought for a minute, my head swimming a bit, and stood up and raised my glass. They told me to say it in English to test how well all of the English students could understand. I said, “This Christmas, I´m going to set fire to the school and I think Ignacio looks like a horse.” The response was, “CHIN CHIN! gulp, gulp, gulp” and very few people understood until I translated into Spanish. Everyone laughed except for the headmistress, the scariest lady on earth.

We continued on to a bar de copas where we not only took over the bar but the laptop full of music. As everyone got drunker and María José hung onto me for support, we busted out songs from Mama Mia! and a techno version of “I did it my way” in Spanish. Serafín thought it would be funny to grab a broomstick from the utility closet and start a limbo contest. I had to sit down before I split my tights and Nieves was crying so hard (I love her laugh because her whole body shakes and then she starts crying). I am seriously kicking myself for having a broken camera and a disposable without a flash.

I’ve since recovered my cell phone and bought a nice new camera for only 129€. Tomorrow Kike is taking me and his mama to the base to see their airplanes and his brothers come home on Monday. I’ve got lots of sightseeing in Seville and writing planned, along with studying French and getting some ideas together for the summer. Camino de Santiago? Perú? Backpacking over here? I love having possibilities!

Filed Under: holidays ·

Turkeys, Visitors and the Return to my Spanish Life

December 1, 2008 by · 1 Comment


I haven’t been spectacularly busy, but life is continuing as normal here. I really haven’t got news. No traveling, no more hit-and-runs (unless you count me falling off my bike last week), no detentions given at school. My life is wonderful – full of beers with friends, trying new food, discovering more about Sevilla and teaching – but it’s the same as always.

My dear, dear friend Cat’s best friend, Laila, came to visit Sevilla. I fell in love with her from the first moment I met her, and I feel like her two weeks in Spain was more like two months. It was really fun picnicking and gossiping and teaching her phrases in Spanish.

Laila, Cat and I at Bestiario

All of the sudden, I realized I’d been back in Spain for two and a half months. I knew I had forgotten I lived in a foreign country when I realized I didn’t know any of the popular Spanish songs. Most of them I hear just by riding around in Kike’s car, which sat in AFB Moron de la Frontera for two whole months. The last eleven days have reverted me back to my Spanish self – lazy, always cold and a connoisseur of the strangest foods imaginable.

I entered the week of Kike’s return with plans to get everything done – lessons, articles, cleaning – so I could go to his house and clean a little and not worry about anything the first weekend. His place was still set up for summer, with sheets on the bed and no curtains. Now that it’s December, it’s become dangerously cold out. David called me just shortly after I arrived to Kike’s to go shopping for a surprise BBQ we were having, and I realized I’d locked myself out. His keys were sitting on top of the coffee table, next to my coat and my French homework. I win. I was resigned to wait at my house, alone and BORED.
When he finally called me, I hobbled as fast as I could in heels to the bus stop and took two buses. Not pulling any Britneys and flashing the world my braguitas! When I got to his apartment, he was still wearing his flight suit. We unpacked his suitcase and then he said, “I’m taking you out to eat (he earned 11,000 euros, which is about $14,000, in two months, so I was going to let him!). “Let’s go to Burger King.” ……………………………. uh. From that moment on, we continued our normal Sevillian lives, the one I grew accustomed to last year. We stayed out until 7am, drinking half-liquor, half-coke drinks, then headed out for beers the next afternoon in Alameda. Everyone was calling, surprised I picked up and eager to meet the dude I’d been talking about (some believing he didn’t even exist!). I was happy to have him back in Sevilla, but even happier that he was safe and happy.
Mi nene

On Sunday morning, I waited for a call from David to ask Kike to come and get him from a country club because his car wouldn’t start. Kike believed we were going to his mom’s to eat a typical dish called puchero, so as we could keep the BBQ a surprise. We arrived to Dona Carmen’s and Kike began looking for the garbanzo beans and the meat. Carmen kind of laughed and asked why we were there, and I finally had to tell him there was no puchero, but we had ribs and pork loins and all kinds of meat waiting for him at the country club. He was really disappointed he wasn’t going to eat puchero, causing me to cry out of frustration and exhaustion. The party was a success. Kike had no clue we had planned something for him, and about 20 people in total showed up. Plus all of us got fed for about 8 euros a person.

Kike’s mom taught us how to make puchero the following week. Back when Spain was poor, people used to eat the most filling food they could think of, and often dumped anything and everything and made a big stew. Puchero is made by making a brother from garbanzo beans, several pig parts, a chicken thigh, sausages, tocino (hell, I don’t even know what that is!) and a salty ham bone. The greasy, grey fat is taken out and the broth set aside for curing hangovers (I couldn’t make this stuff up!), then Carmen dumped some vegetables in the pot and let it all stew. The consistency was were, but it was delicious. Kike tells me I’ll be a house wife in no time.

Our other events have included going to a horse show, planning a trip to Austria from Jan 1-6 (including SKIING!), cooking a lot in his oven, and introducing him to turkey and Thanksgiving. This is such a uniquely American holiday that I had to be with other Americans (and Spaniards, Germans, Argentinians, Belgians and an Austrian) to celebrate it. We all gathered at Jenna’s house for the turkey, corn, potatoes, yams, green bean casserole, macaroni and cheese and wine. Kike and I took care of bringing a kilo (2.2 lbs.) worth of shrimp, which greatly grossed the vegetarian host out because she proclaimed they were staring at her. Spanish shrimp is shipped directly from the Huelva province, not even peeled! It’s easy to blog about blessings around Thanksgiving time, and I’ve got plenty. While my kids listed fast food and their playstations, I’m finding even my choices are more grown up – health, job security, being surrounded by a wonderful city and wonderful friends. You too, family members!

Tia takes the turkey carving honors!

Another thing I’m really thankful for is my passport. In my classes, we’re beginning a year-long dialogue program. The project was run last year by my coworker, Martin, and I’ve been given the reins to start it again. We have a language village at the end of the year, complete with sets and props, in which the students must demonstrate their fluidity and the ability to use survival English. We began this week with “Customs”. To start with, I had to explain what customs is, as only a fraction of my students have passports, and far less have actually used them.

Example:
me: “What is ‘customs'”
Student 1: “Where you get your suitcase!”
Student 2: “A money exchange!”
me: “You show your passport at the currency exchange?”
Student 3: “No! La aduana!”
me: “Excellent. Now, what kind of information do we have in our passports?”
Students 4, 5, 6, 7….30 all at the same time: “ruylwebfv 248yti42kujbweivw.b !!!!!” at least this is what 30-some Spanish teenagers all shouting at once sounds like.

This type of dialogue usually implodes and becomes a Q&A session. “Cat, is it true that you can go to America if you say you’re going to kill George Bush?” “Uhhh, what?” “Someone in Tercero told me that. He’s been there.” “Um, no. You would go to jail.”

The kids are funny, though. They had to choose a destination and a reason for travel. One kid said he was from France and came to drink Spanish wine. Another said, “Welcome to Spain. Where are you coming from?” And the traveler replied, “My nationality is Spanish.” They continued with the dialogue until I pointed out that you didn’t need a passport to travel in Spain if you were Spanish. The traveler said to the customs agent, “Killo! If this is Spain, talk to me in Spanish!”

They’ve all been fascinated with my travels. Me too, really. 20 countries in 23 years isn’t bad, and I’ve only got more to see and do. My passport has been quite inactive this year compared with last, but for now, I’m enjoying my Spanish life: my recovered siesta hour, making the kiddos laugh with my awful drawings, ripeeeee oranges, my daily caffeine jolt and snuggling at bed time in a warm bed (hooray for central heat!). Life isn’t so fast-paced or exciting anymore. But it’s wonderful.

Filed Under: holidays ·

From the sunny Costa del Sol to the frigid Highlands

January 8, 2008 by · Leave a Comment

After finally awakening from my deathbed (death rattle and all, just ask my parents), I was excited to escape Sevilla for a bit. More importantly, I realized how much I missed having my parents and sister around. It was kind of a relief to be away from my kids at school, away from planning lessons and living in a public bus. And not spending money.

I was finally feeling better on the Saturday before Christmas, so Jessi came from Huelva and we spent all day shopping and gossiping and marveling in how we had ended up in Spain at the same time twice. The next day, as I prepared to get myself ready for my parents to visit by going through my huge checklist of things to do – pack, shower, clean and lock the house, check the status of their flight. All checked off and completed, but I then discovered that, though my parents got to Europe with no problems despite the snow in Chicago, they had been grounded by fog in London. Poor Don Gaa. His first trip to Europe (and outside North America, really) would be tainted by grumbling flight personnel, a sleepless night and unfulfilled expectations. Though I had to spend the night alone in Granada, I enjoyed a nice hotel to myself, a delicious kebab and quite a few drunk dials.

My mom called quite early the next morning to tell me they’d been rerouted to Alicante, from which they would rent a car and drive to meet me in Benalmadena. That’s fine, I said, but be aware that the trip will take 8 hours,lest your frequent bathroom breaks, Dad’s inability to maneuver around roundabouts and Margaret’s susceptibility to motion sickness. I helped her get a few tickets booked rather quickly for Gibraltar, what we thought was an hour-long trip or so. However, my directions to get on a “directo” bus rather than a “ruta” bus were ignored. When they finally rolled into the Malaga bus station, I didn’t even get a hug. They were grumpy, jet lagged and hungry. Too bad nothing is open for food at 5p.m. Strike Two against Spain, I suppose.

Once we found our hotel (thanks to Don Gaa’s amazing navigation skills, which I am happy to say I have partially inherited) and ate some delicious (not) food from the hotel’s cafeteria, I realized how excited I was to have my family in Spain. I also realized that I would have to work hard to convince them that Europe is not useless after their plane troubles. Benalmadena is not really Spain- it’s overrun with Brits and British pubs, British soccer and English language papers. I was happy to go to Nerja, site of some fantastic caves discovered by kids about 50 years ago; Malaga, one of the busiest towns on the Costa del Sol; Gibraltar, an outing which was enhanced by the fact that the gondola to the top was out of order; Tangier Morocco, where I got to ride a camel FINALLY, thus achieving my goal of getting to Africa and Ronda, a gorgeous town perched between two cliffs where bullfighting originated. Though traveling and seeing new places and getting lost is among one of my favorite things to do, I was so happy to be in Sevilla. Here, I could introduce my parents to my favorite place to get tapas, navigate the bus system like a pro and prove to them that I was happy here. I also got to see friends! Yaay.

Celebrating Christmas here in Spain was much more enjoyable that it is back in Chicago. No snow, no carols blaring on the radio, no presents to buy. People here aren’t crazed in the same way Americans are about Christmas. They also don’t believe in Santa Claus, but the Three Kings, and get their presents on January 6. That made for quite a nice Christmas – sleeping in late, climbing a mountain with fantastic vistas of the mountains that border the Mediterranean, eating chicken (glorrrrrious!!) on the ocean and watching TV for hours. Quite enjoyable. New Years, on the other hand, is a big deal. A lot of the attractions were closed for un descanso personal – or a personal rest,. I had nothing to eat in my house, so we hiked for a long time before finding a place to have our New Years Eve dinner. It’s a big family holiday, so most people eat with their families at home, toasting at midnight, before going out. It was suggested to me that Plaza Nueva is a big place to ring in the New Year in Sevilla, so we enjoyed the loads of people around the City Center. The whole of Plaza Nueva was lit up, full of people with grapes and cava in hand, shooting off fireworks. I loved it – it felt really magical. As the new year appraoched, I handed everyone their 12 grapes and Don Gaa poured the cava, a delicious sparkling wine from the northeast part of Spain. You eat one grape on each chime for good luck in each month. I was happy to have my parents partake in a little bit of Spanish culture. Following that, Kike picked me up and we went to the place we get coffee all the time for a few drinks before heading to Manolo’s new place to realllllly drink. I ended up staying out until about 8 am, which didn’t make my parents too happy the next day when I was an hour late meeting them. That’s Spanish nightlife, though. Regardless, I think 2008 is gonna be a good year.

On the 2nd, we took the bus out to Granada to visit the Alhambra. Sadly, it was rainy and cold, so I don’t think my family enjoyed it as much as they should have. I hightailed it back to Sevilla the same day because Kike and I took off the 3rd for Scotland. Not a bad Christmas present, eh? And considering I’m a quarter Scotch, I was overly excited. We took the AVE to Madrid (I passed out), then a plane to Edinburgh (also dead to the world the whole time). When we got to Edinburgh at about 5 pm, it was dark and snowing. Kike complained, saying he was a man form the desert, while I felt quite ok. For maybe the first time in my life, I actually liked that it was snowing. And I like being a giri in Europe because it means I don’t have to wait in much of a line for customs. Not bad.

Edinburgh is a really wonderful city. It’s not too big, not too European. The end of the Christmas carnival meant the streets were still busy, restaurants and coffee shops were full and the cold wasn’t as biting. And everything was lit up. Christmas lights – the not obnoxious ones that aren’t on your house – make me smile. But while I was in love with city, Kike was calling my “people” – aka the Anglosaxons – stupid. We had a very good idea where our hotel was, but no one could tell us which bus to take to get there. So, between flagging down buses, asking people on the street and walking between bus stops on just one stretch of street, we were frustrated. And super cold. The problem is the multitude of bus companies running in Edinburgh, but we found our way to Ben Craig house and were happy for heat. We had some dinner and walk down the Royal Mile, the town center that begins at the base of a mountain at Holyrood Palace and follows all the way to Edinburgh Palace, a military base. It’s really wonderful, full of pubs and parliament buildings, churches (called Kirks) and souvenir stores. But the souvenir stands sell Scottish flags (blue with a big white X), kilts and clan regalia and stuffed animals of the wonderfully adorable Highland cows. Kike was really excited to see the snow, which made me laugh since I’m so accustomed to it. I then got a phone call from none other than Mr. Brian Wolken himself, asking us to come for a few drinks at a great bar called the Tron, at the other end of the Royal Mile. Brian and Matt, former coworkers of mine from Telefund, recently set up camp in Edinburgh after being in Ireland for four months, so we had a few pints and caught up. They’re on their way here rather soon. So nice to see friends when you’re away (Abby Fauser and her sister Missy, another former Telefunder, were also in Sevilla just before New Years).

The next day, we were up early to head to Glasgow, Scotland’s largest town (which is the size of Sevilla, Spain’s fifth largest). The town is not nearly as splendid as Edinburgh…more industrial and gritty with not much to see. I did make Kike go to the Necropolis with me, a cemetery perched on a hill overlooking the only Catholic cathedral in Scotland saved during the reformation. He got really creeped out, which, I have to admit, was rather amusing. The bus ride was quick and we had a chance to take a bus to Stirling and see Stirling castle. Once a royal residence, the castle is being excavated for artifacts, but its size and location overlooking the town of about 20,000 is really wonderful. We headed back to Glasgow, where everything was again closed at 1630, so we could have a quick nappy before heading to dinner (McDonalds)and having a beer and singing karaoke at a bar. What’s something strange I noticed was that many bars have a curfew – meaning you have to stay in a bar after 12pm. I suppose this is to curb juvenile violence? This would definitely be NO VALE in Spain.

The next morning, after enjoying a really, really delicious breakfast at the hotel, we took a train up to the Highlands. This is the part of the country my family is from, both the Ritchie and McCrae clans. I took a nap, and when I woke up, all I saw were mountains full of snow. It was like being on the Polar Express. That soon changed back into rolling hills interspersed with teeny cobblestone towns, vast farms with highland cows and sheep, tiny creeks and stone fences. Scotland. Our destination was Inverness, the largest town in the area. Like Andalucia, the Highlands has got it all – from crumbling castles to Loch Ness, tartan-clad pipers in military garb, hills and rivers and livestock. The center part of town was quite charming, and we found a bed and breakfast right down the hill from the castle. The proprietor was one of the most genuinely nice people I’ve ever met and overly hospitable. He went and found me papers with articles about the Caucuses and primaries. Just about everything was closed by the time we got there, so we found a place to have Cruzcampo (the beer from Sevilla) in a Spanish tapas bar, then ate the national dish of haggis and neeps, then took a walk. We had another beer in a pub before deciding it was in our best interest to stick to our schedule and have a little nap. We found a bar playing Cledieh, pronounced kay-lee, a traditional Scottish music accompanied by a dance and had a bit more to drink. Like most places in Scotland, Kike couldn’t smoke indoors, so we went to the smoker’s haven just outside in the garden. Normally I would have stayed inside with my drink, but luckily we were speaking to each other in Spanish because an Argentinian by the name of Farunco heard us. He invited us to another bar with his buddy, John, and wife, Nicola. After grabbing some food quickly from an all-night take-away (ahhh, perhaps the greatest thing about the UK), we met them at a bar across the street from our hotel called Johnnie Foxes. We had the standard UK beers and delightful Scotch whisky and enjoyed watching Farunco, code name LA RATA!!!!!, continue to get drunk. I noticed the people in Scotland, namely the women, were not so good-looking, and I was told I was too pretty to be from Scotland by a drunk wanker from Liverpool. This followed the phrase, “You’re kind of fat. But I like your jumper.” Uhhh, ok. Rata invited us to his home following bar close, and we drank two bottles of red wine and tried not to wake up Rata’s wife and adorable daughter. Buena gente.

Early the next morning, we took a 2.5 hour long tour to Loch Ness to hunt down the famous monster. Amazingly, Scotland’s largest loch (lake) is so long and deep, you could fit 18 billion people, about 3 times the total population of the world, in it comfortably! It was stingily cold and misty, which I suppose added to the mystique, but the hills cut long ago by glaciers were dramatic. On the edge of one sits Urquardt Castle, a ruined Jacobite stronghold in the Highlands with a long history. Set against the greenery, it was suppppppper cool to climb the ruins and look out over Loch Ness. The guide, with his cute little accent, was really wonderful. We hopped back on a bus back to Edinburgh to enjoy one last night of whisky and of course stop at the Tron. During the day, we finally made it to the castle and to all of its (surprisingly) interesting military museums. What’s especially interesting about Edinburgh is that it sits between two volcanoes (both extinct), but it provides a very stunning panoramic. We made it a priority to buy some fabulous butter cookies, too, before getting back to the airport to return to Spain.

Really, I liked Scotland quite a bit. The people were, for the most part, warm and friendly, the landscapes were gorgeous, and the amount of history there is mind-blowing. America is young, and in my opinion, fairly devoid of culture. I’m Scottish, and I felt a strong connection with the country. From its tumultuous past and its fiercely lit patriotism, ruins to sparkling cities. The food is lacking, but the components of the country are truly far-reaching. Sometimes, when I go to a new place, I can’t believe that people actually live in the place they’re living (and I’m visiting). But Brian and Matt’s couch surfing buddy said it well: “I’ve lived in a few places but I always come back to where I came from. I missed it.” and I missed my adoptive country. Even after four days away, I think Kike and I were both pretty excited for things staying open later, days being longer, beer being more tart. Mmm Cruzcampo. Mmm jamón. Mmm unreliable bus service.

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Filed Under: holidays, international travel, Navidades, Scotland ·
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