Allie in the South of Spain

I´ve mentioned it before, but I will say it again in order to put this post into context for anyone who has been living in a cave the last two years: the world is suffering from a financial crisis. Apparently, in some places like Spain it is an obsession and not a day goes by that we don´t hear about it. First, we had a general strike back in September (that really did a lot of good, I see the changes daily) and then things seemed to die down a bit in that it wasn´t necessarily the first thing to come on the news everyday. Then, a few weeks ago came the implosion of Ireland´s economy and successive bailout. People here in Spain (with good reason I am sure) have become concerned that they might be next. I understand their fears in an economy that seems to rely heavily on the tourism industry. When people are suffering hardships, they cut back and travel is one of the first things to go. Well, here I was thinking I was contributing to the European economy (even though their curr...

It has been a while since I last updated my blog so there is a lot to write about. I am sure it will take a few posts to fit it all in. To begin with, my sister came to visit me in Sevilla for a week not too long ago. She arrived on a rainy Saturday. Unfortunately this rain was to continue during her entire visit. Now, someone (Jose) once told me that constant rain like it has been isn't normal for Sevilla in December. This is the second time I have been here around Christmas and the second time it has rained all day every day. I think someone lied to me. Even with the crappy weather, we decided to head out to an alternative (and by that I mean unattractive and smelly looking) bar that night so she could meet some of my friends. The day after my sister arrived we went to Cordoba to visit the Mezquita which is the old mosque that someone threw a giant cathedral right in the middle of. It is really impressive. Inside the Mezquita Visiting Cordoba  Not to let the rain g...

Sevilla is flat and thank god. Otherwise I wouldn´t be able to rocket around the city so easily on a bike. I have a Sevici (which is pronounced Se-vee-cee and should not be confused with the dish of seafood cooked in citrus juice) card which allows me to basically check out bikes around the city at different stations. You run your card, pick out your bike and off you go. It is a great system, provides exercise, cuts down on the use of cars (and emissions) and saves time. But everything isn´t all fluffy puppies and candy. There is a down side to Sevici. I have come to realize that I am quite agressive when I get behind the handlebars. Allow me to explain. As part of the bicycle system and as a way to foment their use, the city has created many bike lanes so that you don´t have to ride in traffic (because Spanish people drive like maniacs). This of course means that they are on the sidewalk. However, so as to distinguish where bikes can go (and therefore where pedestrians CANNOT go),...

There has been quite a bit of buzz here in the south of Spain as news broke last week that a 10 year old Romanian girl had given birth in a town in Andalucia. I read a report that her mother (the baby´s grandmother) claimed that it was something common in their country. Ummm, gross. I thought seeing fourteen year old trashy girls on Maury claiming they wanted to have a baby (you don´t know wat de bin thru) before being scared straight was bad enough. Apparently if they lived in Romania, they might be on their second (or third) child by that age. Now, I am not claiming that all Romanians believe in underage motherhood, nor am I aware that their government condones it. (Here in Spain consensual sex with anyone under the age of 13 is considered child abuse). But haven´t we all learned something from "16 and pregnant" and its spin-off "Teen Mom" (both of which are shown on MTV here)? Why else would they be on TV other than for educational purposes? Don´t we all, for exa...

The Pope a.k.a. Benedict XVI a.k.a. the Bishop of Rome a.k.a. Joseph Alois Ratzinger is coming to Spain! He is headed to Barcelona and Santiago de Compostela this weekend. Here is Spain the Pope is known as El Papa which for me is just weird. Allow me explain why, first because for me Papa is my grandpa and always will be even though he passed a while ago. My memories of him include big gold chains (he was Italian of course) and  arguing for hours with my grandmother about whether there were native penguins in Florida. I remember being sort of afraid of him because he teased us when we were little and I recall him bringing us donuts after church on Sundays when my grandparents would come to our house. Wait a minute. Maybe El Papa and my Papa weren´t so different after all. El Papa rocks gold and kind of scares me. He also seems to be unable to admit when he is wrong (see birth control, gay marriage, women´s role in the church etc). He might take a page from my Papa´s book and ...

In the States you know that Christmas is coming because radio stations start to play holiday tunes or the mall dresses up in its big ornament finery. Santa comes to town and you see parents lined up for hours waiting for their turn to take an awkward picture of their kids on his lap. All of the sudden, toy catalogs begin to arrive because the elves are busy at work. Every year it appears that this is happening earlier and earlier. Wasn´t it just Halloween like yesterday? I thought being in Spain I would have a respite. Nope. Christmas (and Los Reyes more importantly) are coming here too, even though it is only the first week of November. How do you know? Well, for one thing you walk into your local grocery store and the first thing you have to traverse is a jungle of toys and already overstressed parents searching for this year´s hot item (which seems to be some creepy action figure type thing called Gormiti). Good job marketing folk. Next, after weaving your way to the actual food, yo...

While here in Spain I have taken it upon myself to enroll in an Italian course. I have always wanted to learn Italian and figured this yearlong break from other studies was the perfect opportunity. Italian for me is either the beautiful, harmonious cousin of Spanish or the creepy, hairy  neighbor of Spanish. In any case, both languages are fairly similar so listening to my professor and gleaning the basic meanings is not really a problem. I am in a class full of Spaniards who come when they feel like it, leave fifteen minutes early and tend to chat when there. That being said, I sit towards the front of the class to hear better and not be distracted. I might be the only person there with a real interest in learning the language. Most days I sit by myself which at first bothered me. I thought, what kind of a freak am I that I have this entire row of five chairs to myself. Do I smell? I added extra deodorant and a spray of perfume, it wasn´t that. Do I not smile e...

Last weekend, José, a few friends and I took advantage of another holiday (Spaniards never work) in order to drive to Lisbon. We left in the early afternoon, worried about the forecasted rain and though it poured the entire drive there, we were fairly lucky the rest of the time. After nearly five hours in the car, we were finally crossing into Lisbon when we spotted Big Jesus, a giant statue that overlooks the city with arms spread wide. Needless to say, I spent the entire weekend orientating myself to where on the skyline I could see Big Jesus. He was always watching. Creeper. We arrived and checked into our hostel which did not make the best first impression. After getting off the scary elevator that had no door and went flying up five flights of stairs fast enough to make us all a bit dizzy, we were greeted by walls with fur. I am not sure who made that design choice but it was disgusting. It looked like someone had gone to JoAnn Fabrics and picked up the cheapest fabric from t...

Here in Spain I have noticed that old wives´ tales are still fairly common. I think these myths are probably based somewhat in reality but that doesn´t make them true (and any less ridiculous in some cases). For example, I have been scolded by a Spanish friend for going to open the refrigerator without shoes on. Why? Because I might electrocute myself. Though I appreciate that he was trying to keep me safe, I am fairly certain that as a kid I would yank open the freezer sopping wet from swimming in the lake in search of an Otter pop and never got zapped so I would draw my own conclusion on the odds of me getting a shock. Apparently, it was the combination of not having my feet covered that might cause electricity to travel through the fridge and into my body, as if on a tile floor (because carpets are virtually nonexistant here in the south of Spain) my feet (though quite large) might create enough static electricity to cause a reaction with the metal of the doorhandle. Now, I can ...

Today Jose, Megan and I went and spent the day in Cadiz because (surprise surprise) Spain has a holiday and people had the day off. We arrived midmorning and wandered around the city, visiting the museum (interesting because Cadiz might be the oldest city in Europe), the cathedral (because this is Spain of course) as well as the Torre de Tavira (an old watchtower where you get great views of the city as well as the opportunity to see it through a camera obscura which reflects realtime images from a lens onto a mirror onto a disk, or at least that is what I understood of the mechanics as explained by the not-so-enthused guide). We had a seafood lunch and then wandered down to the beach. I am somewhat sad to say that one of my favorite parts of the day was seeing all of the wild cats who live down on the breakers next to the water. I really wanted to lure one close enough to steal it but of course, Jose was the voice of reason. Instead I contented myself with playing a sort of "Wher...

Here is Spain, they number their floor levels differently than we do in the U.S. Instead of beginning on the first floor, they start at the ´planta baja´. The first floor is only counted after you go up one flight of stairs. What is the big deal you might ask? Well, I live on the fourth floor here in Spain (which would be the fifth in the U.S.) and there is no elevator. It is kicking my ass literally. Imagine climbing Mount Everest, you start off enthused, by the second floor you need to stop at base camp and eat a Powerbar. By the third you have strapped on an oxygen tank and half the expedition has either abandoned or died. By the fourth the sherpas are dragging you the rest of the way. Moving was especially fun as you might imagine, hauling things up and down the steps. For some reason at nighttime I get especially confused when climbing up to my apartment because I have almost tried to open the downstairs neighbor´s door twice now, both times stone cold sobe...

My nephew Miles Daniel Potter was born prematurely a few days ago. He lived but a short while before passing away. My sister and her husband got to hold him and love him, and finally say goodbye. My mother was also there to welcome him into the world as well as when he left it. She told him about all of the people who loved him and would miss him. But is any of this really any consolation? How do you grieve a life that was never even begun? How do you say goodbye to someone you never met but loved all the same? Why did this happen? Growing up I used to hate when my mother would tell me that "life isn´t fair." I guess she was right all along. Life isn´t fair, and it sucks. My family is devastated and I am halfway around the world. I always wanted to be an aunt, and I was for a little while without even knowing it. What now? Where do you go from here? There is nothing anyone can do to make it alright because it´s not. If you are the praying type, please pra...

Last weekend Kate came to Sevilla to spend the weekend. This also coincided with my move into my new apartment (FINALLY!!!!!!). Okay, one thing at time. Kate arrived on Friday morning while I was at work. We met up and went out to lunch as well as some shopping at the Factory which is a clothing outlet here in Sevilla (yes!). That night we went out to a Spanish disco where Kate felt it necessary to creep on a ton of people, very obviously taking pictures until a pair of gay guys caught her and actually posed for the picture. They then proceeded to ask me to add them on Tuenti (Spanish broke ass version of facebook) so they could see it. I liked the disco minus the 9 euro drinks, the four hours of bad techno music and the random skanks who came out onto a platform every few songs to "entertain" the crowd. Now, I can handle go.go dancers or whatever you want to call them but these girls didn´t even dance. They just posed and not even to the rhythm of the music. Lame. At least t...

If you know me, you know of my aversion for licensed character anything (including but certainly not limited to apparel). That being said, Spain suffers from an overabundance of adults with a fondness for cartoon characters. I don´t see anything wrong with children who wear a Sesame Street outfit but seeing some grown ass woman wearing a Disney shirt makes me want to lose it. I will admit that I noticed this trend a lot more while living in Chile but here in Spain it is also common. I understand that a lot of times anything associated with American pop culture automatically equals cool but come on. (This also applies to clothes that have a phrase written in English that makes zero sense of which I have seen quite a few). Attention Spaniards: Please, for the love of god, take that sun bleached and sad looking Looney Tunes character out of the back window of your car. I am sure it is blocking your view and really serves no purpose other than to say to the rest of the world that ...

On September 29th there is a call for a general strike in Spain. Everywhere you look there is publicity calling for people to stand together in solidarity to make a point, or in other words to take the day off work (okay, I´m in, really no need for more explanations). From what I gather from the posters Spanish workers have had enough (sobran razones apparently) of something and I am assuming what they have had enough of is the economic crisis. Want to know what I have had enough of? Hearing about the crisis here in Spain. Every day on the news (which is on the TV 24/7) they talk about the crisis and how slow Spain is at coming out of it compared to elsewhere in Europe. (Maybe this has something to do with the fact that somewhere near 30% of students don´t finish what would be our equivalent to high school here, I am just saying). In any case, it is always crisis this and bad economy that. Blah, blah, blah. So the logic(?) of this strike is that due to a lack of jobs and ...

Though there are many things I love about life here, my pillow is not one of them. You might be thinking, weirdo what is the big deal, a pillow is a pillow, right? WRONG. Allow me to explain what the big deal is because this is worse than the flat pancake pillow my sister and I had in Paris. Unlike their overseas counterparts, the Spanish pillow is much thinner and longer. To use a description that might be more familiar, if we were in elementary school  and they were the shape of folded paper it would be hot dog style, versus hamburger (see American) style. The pillows here remind me of body pillows, the ones that pregnant women use or lonely, sad people who want something to sleep against. But the Spanish pillow is put at the head of the bed, so rather than having two individual pillows, you have one long skinny pillow to share if there is someone else in your bed. Who thought this was a good idea or comfortable in the least bit? I am a selfish sleep...

Because Jose and I are still waiting (im)patiently for our apartment, we have to commute into the city each day which gives me the opportunity to listen to Spanish radio and all it has to offer. As someone who HATES talk radio, I will often flip back and forth between three or four stations during the drive in order to avoid commercials and people who are running their mouths. What is played on the radio never ceases to surprise me. It would appear that Spaniards have what I will call an eclectic taste in music. The line-up of songs might start with something in Spanish and then jump to "It´s raining men" sung by Geri Halliwell (the skankiest Spice Girl if I do remember correctly, not the lesbo, or the blonde or future-Mrs.-David-Beckham-emo-never-like-to-smile Spice but the one who dropped out and ruined my childhood and belief in girl power). Inevitably the song "Halo" by Beyonce will come on (which for some unexplainable reason is the only one they play by her) f...

A big, hairy, smelly ape-like creature has been spotted in Sevilla! No, a primate hasn´t escaped from the zoo or some weird private collection. The ´gorilla´I am referring to is the man that ´helps´you park your car and then asks for money. Often times it is difficult to find a parking spot in Sevilla, this I will admit but I also think it is ridiculous to have to pay some random bum who stands in the street and points to a spot you would have seen anyway. These men are called gorillas, why I do not know. What I do know is that if you do not pay them they will not watch your car and something ´unfortunate´ might and probably will happen to it. So I guess you are paying for two services, the pointing out of a parking spot (and perhaps the help with guiding your car into the 3 square feet that are available) as well as standing vigil next to your vehicle (rrrright) to make sure no one scratches, dings, bumps, smashes, crashes or totals it. If for some reason any o...

This weekend Jose and I went to Portugal. I like to think that Portugal is to Spain what Canada is to the U.S.: it is easy to cross the border, the people are fairly similar minus their weird way of talking, things are a bit less expensive and you might go for a vacation but you do NOT want to live there (because in the end they might be your neighbors but there is something just a little off about them). I had the sensation while in Portugal that I was still in Spain but a sort of twisted version of Spain where towels and linens are really cheap. In fact, oddly enough a lot of Spaniards travel to Portugal exclusively to buy these items. Anyway, Jose and I spent the two days at the beach. You might think ohh, aren't the beaches in the south of Spain (and Portugal) supposed to be sexy, full of the bronzed and beautiful? If this is your (mis)conception, I hate to burst your bubble. The several beaches I have visited have all been characterized by old men in banana hammocks and women ...

Last night Jose and I went to go see a parade! It´s not what you think, there weren´t any Spanish shriners and there was no candy thrown (that is reserved for Los Reyes). Not a fire truck could be seen and though there was a marching band (whose players chain smoked between songs), their music didn´t consist of ´Stars and Stripes Forever´or any type of fight song. It was much more solemn. Rather, we went to watch a religious ceremony in Mairena in which they took the city´s Virgen statue (she is known as Nuestra Señora de los Remedios) out to parade through the streets because it was her special day. In Spain this is called "un paso" and consists of a group of people who bear the weight of what can only be described as a float covered in flowers and candles atop of which perches the venerated statue which is decked out in all its finery (crown, robes, etc). The people who carry the Virgen move to the beat of drums and are hidden beneath the ´float´. It is a spec...

Every afternoon when I wake up from my siesta I like to watch a show called ´La tarde con Juan y Medio´ (the afternoon with Juan and a half, apparently a name that comes from the host being so tall). I know that I previously said there was nothing on Spanish television worth watching, at least until ´Las chicas de oro´ comes out but this is helping me get by in the meantime. During one part of the show (the only I have seen or care to see) they invite lonely guests to come and plead their cases in-front of the television audience. Each person tells their story and gives their criteria for their perfect match, then callers can ring the show to express interest. In some ways it is endearing, in others funny, at times just plain creepy. Generally the people who are willing to put themselves out there on television are divorcees and widowers (see desperate) and as much as you don´t want to laugh, it is hard not to. Here´s an example: Antonio is 70, he is looking for a young...

I joined a gym here in Spain partly to give me something to do aside from my job and partly to prevent gaining weight this year. After making this decision, I realized I would need a small bag to bring my gym clothes to work because we still are not in our apartment yet. It was during the search for a cheap gym bag that Jose took me to what he referred to as 'un chino.' Some kind of Chinese fortune teller or guru who knows where to get a good deal you might ask? Nope. Imagine the biggest and best dollar store of your life, a labyrinth of inexpensive random crap sold by as it was explained to me, mostly Chinese people (hence the name: un/el chino). Now just to clarify, not everything costs a dollar or even just a euro but the sheer quantity of unnecessary stuff makes up for this fault. In 'el chino' you can buy everything from make up to ties, picture frames to toys, curtains to school supplies. As I wandered aimlessly through the aisles I couldn't help but think, a...

Chances are that if you are at a major intersection and you are in Sevilla you will probably be approached by an African (not to be confused with African American so maybe African Spanish??) gentleman. Do not be alarmed, he only wants to sell you kleenex or some other random article through your car window. Said articles have been seen to include: rosaries, car air freshners, fans, key chains, etc. but never anything one would normally think, ¨Hell yes I need and/or have a burning desire to acquire that (insert item here).¨ Unless of course you are thinking, ¨Why yes I could use a package of kleenex for 3 euro. My nose has been running this whole drive. This man must have read my mind.¨ You can find these men out all day, even in the blazing heat of midday and strangely enough they are always in good spirits. If I were to have to be out in the hot hot sun, walking amongst stopped cars, inhaling exhaust, peddling random crap, I don´t think I would be as upbeat as they seem...

I hate graffiti. I don´t care if some people think it is artistic or makes a statement. I think it´s fugly and obnoxious. The first time I went to Rome, which marked the first time I had ever been to Europe, I remember being saddened by the amount of graffiti there was throughout the city. It seemed to me almost blasphemous that people would spray paint on buildings in such a beautiful and historic place. I find myself thinking the same thing here in Sevilla. I think graffiti is a selfish act because it spoils what would otherwise at the very least be nice to look at. Right across the street from where I work, someone has painted some quotes, in English mind you, in black spray paint. These quotes are something I am sure their creator thought was lofty and intellectual but really what civilized person defaces someone else´s property in such a blatant manner? Here´s an English quote for you: Good job, douche bag. Anyway, I´m sure Sevilla doesn´t have more graffiti than other cities in E...

Because Jose and I are (fingers crossed) going to be (hopefully) getting our apartment soon, we have been doing a lot of research as to which television company to use, not that there is much difference in the channels they offer. Basically Spanish tv consists of 20 channels (unless you get a special package) that 50% of the time show the news (both global and local, as in someone's cat stuck in a tree local), 25% of the time is a show called Salvame which comes in both regular and deluxe versions and chronicles the happenings of the rich and famous by a group of trashy commentators, another 15% of the time there is soccer and 10% of the time (after 100am) there is porn. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration because they do have various series and movies but you get the idea. In fact, I was getting fairly tired of there not being much I wanted to watch until I saw a commercial that salvaged my image of Spanish television. It was like the light at the end of the t...

Last night Jose, two friends and I went to Sevilla proper to see part of the ´Vuelta a España´. Translation: Spain´s version of the Tour de France (which obviously because it is French iz di best ting in di world). I was curious yet fairly apathetic about the whole race when we first arrived. Imagine, hoards of people waiting at the finish line of a race that must take place at 1000pm because during the day it is too hot. Being only a short leg of the race which runs throughout Spain, each team made a turn around the city, ending in about 15 minutes. While trying not to get killed by bicyclists or run over by the cars following them, we watched the participants finish the race (and when I was bored with that, some change in their bus). What surprised me was how Jose and his friends knew so many of the riders´names while cheering them on. I only know of Lance Armstrong and that´s only because he has one testi (Livestrong), dated Sheryl Crow and has won a bazillion times. Appare...

There are two, maybe three main motivations for me creating this blog. First, my family has asked me to do so which basically means they want easier access to creeping on my life in a foreign country. Plus they can verify that I am still alive. Second, it´s much easier than writing a bazillion e-mails to keep people updated. Third, Kate has created her blog for Italy (please see Kate love Italia) and in the spirit of Kate, Allie, Barcelona (of last summer´s trip through Italy and Spain), I figured I would keep the tradition alive. I have been here in Sevilla (or rather Mairena del Alcor, the town where Jose´s parents live) since August 2nd. (We are still waiting for our apartment to be ready). Since then I have not accomplished a whole lot because honestly it´s too damn hot to do anything in my opinion. We spent our first few days in Malaga with Jose´s aunt, uncle and cousins. Then we made our way here, wrestling our four suitcases (three of which may or may not have been mi...