Three Ways to Beat Holiday Blues Abroad

December 17, 2011 by · 10 Comments

Author’s Note: I was overwhelmed at the personal responses I got from my last post, from friends and other bloggers alike. I am by no means giving up on Spain or planning a move home, but I merely wanted to make people aware that leaving one’s home country and striking out elsewhere has its downfalls, too. Even moving to a different city in your state can bring on feelings of isolation and homesickness, so it’s only natural that doing it all in a different country does, too. I woke up with a better attitude after having spilled my guts, but your words of encouragement certainly helped. As they say, a mal tiempo, buena cara.

Ho, ho, ho, I’m a huge Scrooge. Despite my usually cheery personality (please excuse my last post), I am not listening for sleigh bells or roasting chestnuts over an open fire (though I do love snacking on them). In fact, I chose to come to Seville because there was no snow, no Santa Claus and no Black Friday.

But what to do when everyone thinks the days are merry and bright, and you’re hoping for lumps of coal in your stocking to match your mood? Beating the holiday blues, especially when abroad and missing your family (and maybe even a few corny Christmas specials), can be as easy as finding your American friends and clinging onto what American traditions you can. So, amigos, without further ado, your holiday sneer cheer.

Bake until your mini primer burns out!

Although I’ve loathed Christmas for as long as I can remember, I remember all of the afternoons spent baking with my mother and sister in our kitchen growing up. Sugar cookies, chocolate chip for my dad, anise-laced wafers, fudge fingers, Mexican wedding balls – Nancy laid down a schedule and we stuck to it, often hastily stuffing my father’s christmas cookies into a tin and not even bothering to wrap them on Christmas Eve before Mass.

Using Lauren’s recipe for sugar cookies, I gleefully pulled out my new purchase from IKEA (a flour sifter), the vanilla Lisa brought me from home and the last lone egg Kike left me for baking purposes. I made a mess, as usual, and might have broken my mini primer (Santa Baby, hurry down my non-chimney tonight with a hand mixer, please!), but the elation of uncovering the hardened dough and using cookie cutters bought at a hardware store hidden in Bellavista brought me all kinds of elation. And since I’m home alone till Christmas, they’re all mine!

Thankfully, my group of guiritas and I will be having our second-annual cookie exchange this afternoon, so I can expect mulled wine, Love Actually and plenty more cookies to bring more holiday cheer.  If not, there are always pig-lard delicacies to enjoy!

Watch American Football and not feel bad about it

I get homesick a lot in the Fall with important holidays like Halloween and Thanksgiving making us scrambling to find turkeys and a Halloween costume not resembling anything dead. And, duh, it’s football season. I love me a good conference rivalry and the taste of Natty Lite on my lips before the sun’s even up, so being away from the Hawkeye State during September, October and November is torturous.

But, when my holiday esteem has sunk so low, it seems impossible to fix, I repeat my affirmation: There’s no place like Monday Night Football. There’s no place like Monday Night Football… Given Spain’s six- to nine-hour time difference, I can’t always watch the Packers (first Super Bowl win in my lifetime I had the stomach flu, the second time I had to go to bed to get up for school). But even watching the Saints with my NOLA pal this weekend, drinking a Budwesier was enough to make me enjoy the Christmas Lights when we left halfway into the second quarter of the Packers game.

For American and British sports coverage in Spain, look no further than the Irish pubs: Tex Mex on C/ Placentines, O’Neill’s across from the San Bernardo train station and Merchant’s Malthouse on C/ Canalejas. Since they’re catered to study abroad students and tourists alike, many have game day specials or Anglo-friendly activities (Sunday brunch!? Sí!!)

See the Christmas Lights

I grew up in Rockford, Illinois, a mid-sized city near the Wisconsin border. Margaret and I looked forward to driving through the annual Festival of Lights, noses pressed to the windows. It was nothing special, but it was loads better than the lady down the street whose lawn barfed out Christmas lights and plastic Santas. And, really, Rudolph’s nose is much more delightful when it’s lit up.

In Spain, the holiday season officially begins with the alumbrado of the Christmas lights on the Inmaculate Concpetion Day, December 8 (Yes, in case you’re wondering, I was off school. ¡Viva la Virgen María!) All along main shopping streets and city avenues, brightly-colored lights are strung, causing the city to cough up half a million euracos and people to stop mid-tracks in front of the oncoming light rail.

But, really, they’re lovely. Spots to hit in Seville include Avenida de la Constitución, Calle San Fernando, Calle San Eloy and Plaza Nueva. I have to settle with the pathetic display on the Alcampo supermarket nextdoor, but it’ll do, especially since the building next to mine blocks the light.

Now that our bellies are full of cookies and beer and our retinas burned from all those bulbs, who wants to scrooge it up with me?

Filed Under: America, expat, family, holidays, la vida loca, living abroad, misc, Navidades, Sweet Home Chicago · Tagged: ,

Disappointment.

December 10, 2011 by · 5 Comments

One of the words in Spanish for hope is ilusión. Simply adding the prefix des-, similar to the American dis-, makes it negative. Desilusión means disappointment.

In either language, it’s a word that conveys a let-down, the crestfallen feeling one gets when something doesn’t work out in the best possible way. My wise friend LA PAINE (famosa por tó Sevilla) once said that living abroad is like being on one of two sides of the spectrum of happiness – either you’re extremely elated, or you’re devastatingly disappointed.

I’m lucky that I tend to hover on on the positive side. I have daily belly laughs (um, hello, my kids discovered the entry in the dictionary on the human body, complete with pictures the same day I had a kid ask me if my boyfriend was Justin Bieber), breathe in an incredible and vibrant city on the daily and have more contacts than my phone can hold. I’ve done what I intended to do – build a life in a different country in a different language.

Now, I’m not one to put all my eggs in the proverbial basket or count them before they’ve hatched, but for the first time in a long, long time, I was genuinely looking forward to something. To a change, to a step in the right direction. And being the cautious one who looks both ways before crossing the street and taking the plunge and even getting out of bed, I was mum about it. I only told my parents after an offer came, spoke about it to Kike’s mother as strictly business.

If luck is all about being in the right place at the right time, I try and get there a few minutes early, simply because I’m prompt. But this Spanish suerte always arrives at the wrong time – in the middle of the school year, just before a big deal falls through, just a pelín off my ticking clock. It’s like I’m constantly running after the trabajo train, resumé in hand, only to be left at the platform.

Desilusión has taken on a new meaning as I’m in the holiday slump, the clouds hanging low over La Hispalense. The clouds in my head have been raining non-stop since Monday night when those flash-flood tears didn’t want to stop. I feel like I’m trapped in a small margin of what I’m capable of – rather than publish or die, it’s CLIL or die these days.

It’s Christmas time in the city, but I’m just wanting to wake up in Arizona on the 22nd already. Seville may boast sunny days atope, but the storm clouds in my head seem to be here for a while.

Filed Under: Andalucia, coming home, ESL, expat, family, kids, la vida loca, living abroad, misc, money, moving abroad, Spain, teach abroad, TEFL · Tagged: , ,

Y nace en Santa Cruz.

December 3, 2011 by · 4 Comments

Saturday, 9:53 am. Bike is parked next to Alfonso XIII, heavy with a layer of dust. No one is out, save the old men, hands clasped behind their backs in a slow, statuary salute.

Early Saturday mornings mean the city is entirely for me: no camera-toting tourists to dodge, no street performers belting out their tired anthems. The sting of smoke from the chestnut vendors blinds me from the soft, golden color of the sun, long before it drowsily roars with its midday strength.

La Esquina de Arfe becomes my fueling stop, just a brisk walk away from the nondescript churros stand. The woman twisting the long coils hands a doughy stick to a young boy, snatching it away at the last moment. Niño! she scolds, ¡Que te vas a quemar! I take my coffee templado and my toast a bit burnt with tomatoes.

Saturday mornings mean solitude – in the streets, in the Hospital de la Caridad, in my own head. I wander the streets of El Arenal watching vendors receive their fresh goods, feeling the sunlight on my face. After ducking into Plaza del Cabildo for a quick look at the antique shops, I burst out onto Avenida de la Constitución. In the City That Never Socializes Indoors,  the streets have filled with strollers and shoppers.

María Praderes Dolores once sang that Sevilla has a special color. I imagine that it’s the color of the sun that sets in Triana and is born in Santa Cruz, illuminating the Giralda spire on early Saturday mornings.

Filed Under: andalú, Andalucia, expat, la vida loca, misc, Seville, Spain, travel photography · Tagged: , , ,

The Charca: Coming to Grips with a Life Abroad

November 26, 2011 by · 6 Comments

Lisa is perched on the white mortar bench, manipulating her camera to get the best shot of the Alhambra. Al-i-Al-i-haaaambra, the Gaga fan sings to herself before turning the camera around to ask me to snap the cobalt blue clouds that hang low over her head and the majestic sight behind her. I smile at the friend I sometimes liken to a bobblehead – always cheery and pleasant – and shake my head in disbelief that she’s sitting two feet in front of me and across the valley from the most-visited site in Spain.

She, my dear high school friend and college drinking buddy (more times than we’d like to admit), was my fifth visitor to Seville this year. Between Beth, Jason and Christine, and Jackie, I’ve seen Cádiz, Córdoba, Jeréz, Granada and my own Sevilla through the eyes of long-time friends. There’s something odd about sharing your life in one country with someone you’ve lived the better part of your life with in another, a pressing need to cling to something familiar while demonstrate just how foreign you’ve become.

It goes back and forth with me, though.

Driving to the airport Thursday morning, Lisa recounts her busy 10 days ahead – plans for Bears games, her fiancé’s 30th birthday, family events and back-to-back Thanksgiving dinners upon landing.

“Oh, right!” I say, “Happy Día de Acción de Gracias!” and pull into the ramp marked Salidas, silently giving thanks that she could make the trip in the end, what with her eminent wedding and lack of wanderlust.

I go to work exhausted from two full weeks without so much as a respiro. Kat and I meet at the door to cart in six pies she’d ordered, two of which were pumpkin. I give the box to María, not wanting to be tempted to make off with it and call my parents from my cellphone to ask how their annual Christmas Tree shopping is going. Luckily, my picky niños saved me enough breakfast for the following day: tarta de calabaza, save a few small nibbles taking out by curious but cautious students.

More than ever, as my Spanish raíces grow firmer and deeper, it’s harder for me to completely uproot from America. I almost feel like I have a foot in each country, spanning the vast Atlantic Charca. Love my tortilla and jamón, but won’t turn down a hamburger. Can dance flamenco (lite, desde luego) and line dance. Miss my mommy, though I can’t complain at all about my suegra, either.

Last night I met Lindsay and Kelly for one last beer and nachos at Flaherty’s, a Sevilla institution I often choose not to go to for its overpriced Guinness and abundance of drunk guiris. But, come on, this place was MADE for us, and it closes its doors indefinitely today. We reflected on the times we’d drank more than la cuenta there, or watched a World Cup game, or met friends. A little piece of Angloism is dying here in Seville, I thought.

Then I hopped in a cab and directed the driver to my house. He was listening to a conservative radio program that was discussing American consumerism and Black Friday. Knowing full well I was foreign, he guffawed upon hearing that President Obama’s website had a deal on products available from the online store. Under his breath, he said, “You Americans are crazy.” I smiled to myself, happy to know we’re still as important to the rest of the world in the wake of economic crises, elections and FC Barcelona’s record.

Today we’re celebrating Thanksgiving at Jenna’s house. She promises no turkey, apart from the ones we’ll make with our hands and hang on the wall. We did this two years ago in what will go down as the greatest Thanksgiving of all time – one full of non-Americans, spilling turkey gravy on made-from-scratch apple pies and more laughs than one should handle on all of that turkey. I remember writing the names of all of the special people in my life, with more Spanish Marías and Josés (and, clearly, José María) than American names. I feel thankful for the company of all of these amazing people who make handling the holidays a bit easier and are sure to bring Cruzcampo.

I can’t say I’m anything more than 100% American, despite having lived a good part of my life away from its borders and military bases. My native tongue, blue eyes and freckles define me as the opposite of mu’daquí , yet they don’t marginalize me. I even told the tribunal and examiner at the DELE speaking exam that famous story about Chicago de la Frontera.

Sometimes Hayley and I talk about how boring our lives have gotten, now that we’ve settled into our Spanish lives with a sprinkle of American holidays and outings. Over beers in la Encarnación last week, she confessed that she no longer feels interesting.

But we’ve chosen this life, I suppose, to not be entirely in one country or another, but rather straddling two cultures. I don’t know, it could be worse. I kind of like it.

Filed Under: America, Andalucia, coming home, culture shock, expat, family, holidays, la vida loca, living abroad, moving abroad, Spain, Sweet Home Chicago · Tagged: , , , ,

The Smartest Way to See Seville: Part II

November 24, 2011 by · 2 Comments

It’s an enormous pleasure to welcome back my first guest blogger, Sandra Vallaure. As a Spaniard who’s lived in and traveled to an extensive list of countries, Sandra’s love for Seville started with a simple weekend getaway, and she’s called La Hispalense home for eight years now and is the author of the e-book Seville in Two Days. Read on for the second in a short series of tips for first-time travellers to Seville.

Day 2. Discover a flamboyant city

If you liked the experience, have breakfast at Horno San Buenaventura. This time you could go to the one located in the Plaza de la Alfalfa, 9. 

Your day must start at the Casa de Pilatos, the finest palace in Seville, which is just up the road from the square. The mixture of styles (Gothic, Mudéjar and Renaissance) result in a very special place., and the two gardens are peaceful despite the noisy streets surrounding the Casa.

It’s a highlight you shouldn’t miss but here’s a tip: don’t pay to visit the upper floor; the real treasures are at the ground floor.

Just in front of the Museo, a weekly art market can be found on Sundays. Photo by the author.

From there, walk through the center to the Palacio de Lebrija  – a must-see if you liked Casa de Pilatos, as you’ll be touring a beautiful residence nearly on your own – or the Museo de Bellas Artes. The fine arts museum is the second largest in Spain after the Prado in Madrid.

A 10-minute walk gets you to Eslava (c/ Eslava, 5) a hidden gem outside the well-traversed tapas bar areas. It’s next to the Plaza de San Lorenzo, my favorite square in Seville. Another option is the Bodega Dos de Mayo (Plaza de la Gavidia, 6), a traditional bar with excellent food and prices.

Plaza San Lorenzo, a lively square just off the tourist map. Photo by the author.

After lunch, double-back on your track until you reach the Iglesia de la Magdalena. The exterior is beautifully decorated, especially its dome and roofs. The interior is also very rich and it’s one of the main examples of the Sevillian baroque architecture. Unfortunately, it needs urgent restoration in some parts. 

La Maestranza is Seville’s stunning bullring and the oldest in Spain. Though not the oldest or largest , its traditional architecture and Andalusian touches make it a unique place. If you want to know more about bullfighting, the guided tour provides a good summary. 

The gorgeous bullring at the foot of the Guadalquivir. Photo by the author.

Then, cross the Puente de Triana, the oldest bridge above the Guadalquivir. Walk along the Calle Betis and enjoy the views of the Guadalquivir and the Torre del Oro. 

I seriously recommend Las Golondrinas for dinner. You can either go to the classic one in Antillano Campos, 26 ,or the modern one in Pagés del Corro, 76. They are 2 minutes walking one from the other and the food is awesome.

Alternatively, you can try Paco España at c/ Alfarería, 18. It’s a very welcoming bar. 

The salmon-pink facade of the Iglesia del Salvador is a popular meeting point for sevillanos. Photo by the author.

As you can see, Seville is one of the most vibrant cities in Spain. In my opinion, it’s also the most beautiful. Actually, if you ask around locals will tell you that “there’s no need to go anywhere else”. And they’re right!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandra lives in Seville and spends all her free time exploring the world. She is the editor of Seville Traveller, an online resource about the city. She has also published an e-book that will help you plan the trip of a lifetime. You can follow her on Twitter or keep posted through Facebook.

Filed Under: andalú, Andalucia, culture shock, expat, flamenco, gastronomy, ham, la vida loca, living abroad, moving abroad, Seville, siesta, Spain, tourism · Tagged: , ,

from the Chi to the SVQ

November 12, 2011 by · 3 Comments

My life is dominated by Spanish culture: I have a Spanish partner and speak to him exclusively in Spanish, work in a Spanish school with Spanish children, and don’t know a soul in my surroundings who speaks my language and understands my customs. People joke that I’m heavily influenced by the sevillana way of life, and I once survived 20 months without stepping foot in America (or eating a Portillo’s hotdog).

Last night, I grabbed my bike and headed to the center last night to meet two of my fellow Chicago folk, Kelly and Siebs, for Mexican food. As I parked in Plaza San Francisco, listening to Coldplay’s “Beautiful World” and marveled at the light from the Giralda flooding the cobblestone. I snapped a picture on my phone, and upon putting it back in my bag, whirled around to see someone in a Packers jersey. I had to laugh to myself.

Kelly had just been shoe shopping, so we walked down Calle Sierpes towards the square where we’d meet Mickey. Plaza Salvador was half empty on the warm Autumn night, and as we chatted about her upcoming trip to Paris, I stopped dead in my tracks. A bespectacled study abroad student with an accent matching my mother’s was talking about the Cubs and Sox.

I may be far from Cheesehead territory and the Northside, but it takes very little to get me back to that same old place, Sweet Home Chicago.

What do you get homesick for while abroad? How do you deal with homesickness? Do you stick to expat enclaves in your city abroad?

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Filed Under: America, coming home, expat, family, la vida loca, moving abroad, Seville, Sweet Home Chicago · Tagged: , , , ,
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