More Random Thoughts and Commentary

1.) Sports fans. There are a few of us living here at the residence hall that are not students at the university. Various work-related reasons bring us to live here, and our age and maturity separate us from the younger student population. We don’t have much interaction, as we all have busy schedules, but we occasionally come together at the dinner table. There is Eduardo – a fast-talking judge from Valencia. He is nice, but I can rarely understand him, and to try to concentrate on what he’s saying makes me very tired. Jordi I mentioned before, as he showed me around Barcelona. He is an architect whose firm is working on an apartment building here in Reus. Jordi knows a little bit of English, so he often interprets Eduardo for me, and he also admits that Eduardo speaks crazy-fast. Finally, there is Luis – a young doctor at the hospital here in town but also from Barcelona. He returns to Barcelona every weekend and brags about the ragging parties he attends.

One night, the four of us were sitting together at dinner. We hopped from various topics of conversation, one being sports. Luis, having a sister in Miami, has made several trips to the States. He has even taken a liking to American football, which most Spaniards don’t like and/or don’t understand. Luis told me that his favorite team is the 49er’s. Not being a fan of professional football, I didn’t really care that he had taken a liking to the team closest to my home. But then, he told me that when it comes to basketball, he is a Lakers fan. I immediately gave a thumbs-down with an emphatic “No way!” He asked if I was a Kings fan, and I let out a “Go Kings!” with my fist in the air. We started bantering back and forth, and I think it was the first time the “viejos” were louder than the “jovenes.”

Later in the conversation, we got onto the topic of movies and television. I was pretty quiet for much of this part of the conversation given that I haven’t watched a movie or even seen a television in more than a month. Eduardo, in rapid speed, kept asking me about certain movies, and when I couldn’t understand him, I just said I hadn’t seen the movie. But then, puzzled, he asked me what are my hobbies. I answered simply “sports” and went on to say which. Luis then chided that I am “one of these modern women.” I didn’t, and still don’t know what to make of this comment.

2.) On the topic of movies, here is a cultural observation. Spaniards love Woody Allen films. I have no idea why, but I have been asked several times about his films – which I’ve seen, which I enjoy. I think I’ve only seen one Woody Allen film, and I can’t at the moment remember the title. Hmm, does that say something about the impression it left on me? I think I walked away feeling rather disenchanted, and I will admit that I am a sucker for happy endings. So, if that says something for my personality, what does it say about Spaniards being fans of Woody Allen?

3.) To the “campo” we go. I have helped harvest several times at an off-site farm in the Terra Alta region, west of Reus. Juan Francisco, who oversees these studies, had said something to me the day before one of these particular trips about how we’d be eating “en el campo” the next day. I didn’t really know what that meant. Should I pack a lunch? We’ve got a lot of work, so we’re just going to eat in the field and keep on truckin’? Eating in the field is nothing unusual to me, but given the culture of the lunch meal here, it is not generally done. I didn’t ask any questions and just nodded my head. By the next day, I had completely forgotten the mention of it. We finished our work by lunchtime (2:00 remember), and I was starving. Thinking we’d be leaving to grab some food, we piled into the car but ventured further into the farm instead of leaving by way of the driveway. We eventually pulled up to a run-down stone cottage, and Juan Francisco said something about the owner inviting us to have lunch with him. We went into the chilly, dark structure with dirt floors and then went upstairs to the second level. We found ourselves in a somewhat more civilized compartment. There were no panes in the window, so the air was still a bit chilly, but it was slightly warmed by an open fire in one corner of the room. I looked around and made the assumption that there was no bathroom, which I really could have used. There were Styrofoam plates set around the dirty table, and there were vegetable roasting on a grill on the fire. On the table, there was also a plate of grilled sardines and sausages. The grower decided to use me as an example to show what we’d be eating. He pulled out of bags large rounds of bread. He told me to start cutting one in half and then to pull out the middle from the crust. Then, he proceeded to tell me to start putting everything in it – tomatoes, garlic, onion, sausage, and sardines. I just did what I was told, though not thrilled about the sardines. I picked up a sardine by the tail and started pulling the meat off the bones. And then, I tediously started pulling the tiny bones from the meat, and at the sight of that, the grower told me, “no te preocupes.” My eyes grew large in question, and I thought, “I’m not supposed to worry about the bones?” I started up again, and again they all told me not to worry with the bones. So, I didn’t, and I hoped that the massive amount of bread would help to collect them from my throat and carry them down. I sat down and attempted to put my mouth around the massive sandwich, but alas, I had forgotten something, which they were quick to point out – olive oil, of course. Finally, I was left in enough peace to start eating. I looked up, and across from me on the wall was a calendar of scantily-clothed women. As if the situation wasn’t already uncomfortable! For most of the lunch, I didn’t say anything, and just ate my sandwich. They were talking in Catalan most of the time anyway, so I didn’t understand much of what was being said. At one point, though, the grower told me to chill out – “tranquila.” I guess I couldn’t really hide my discomfort, but can you blame me?! And then, he joked about the story I would tell to people back home about the situation.

3.) Somos amigos. IRTA celebrated its 20th anniversary this year, and a luncheon for all employees throughout Catalonia was celebrated earlier this month. It was a large affair with good food and drink, speakers and awards. On of the speakers was, in fact, the Minister of Agriculture for Catalonia, whom I met at the luncheon celebrating the olive oil fair in Reus. By this time, word had spread through the station that I had met the minister. So, people were quick to point him out to me again and asked if I remembered him. I joked back, “Claro, somos amigos.”

4.) Anti-outsider. I have now had several people comment to me that Spaniards are unfriendly toward outsiders. Admittedly, I have had several experiences where I thought I was getting a cold shoulder, but I usually wrote these off as my imagination or insecurity. Nonetheless, Justin, my South African hiking guide in Granada, and Elisa, the American woman I befriended in Sevilla, supported this notion I had suppressed. Both Justin and Elisa speak Spanish very well, and though Justin has only lived in Spain for three months, Elisa has lived more of her life in Spain than in the U.S., as she moved here with her parents when she was nine years old. Elisa said her upbringing in Spain mattered little in terms of her acceptance, and even Josefina agreed, saying that when she traveled in the States, she perceived Americans to be generally kinder to strangers than are Spaniards.

5.) Women and their boots. Boots are popular among women now that winter has – though not officially by the calendar but at least by the frost on the ground – commenced. The boots to which I am referring, however, are not the rugged kind that I used to wear in Ithaca to trudge through the snow. Instead, the boots they wear are high, often stiletto-healed and come up to the knee. Some are stylish I suppose; others are extravagant; most are ridiculous given the cobblestone streets. This was illustrated to me especially well when I was in Granada hiking up and down the hill which accesses the Alhambra. I was literally shaking my head at a woman grasping the arm of her husband as they cautiously proceeded down the path. I nonchalantly passed them in my sneakers. After all, one’s access to the different sections of the Alhambra is time limited, and I was glad not to be slowed down by style.

6.) Women and their dogs. Though most people live in flats, it is common to see people out and about walking dogs. Their dogs are generally small breeds, as Labradors and Retrievers just wouldn’t be convenient in an apartment circumstance. I’ve never been a fan of small dogs. For some reason, they are usually rowdier and bark more, and I’ve had more small dogs nip at my ankles while running than large dogs. But these things aside, what perhaps gets to me most about small dogs is something that the dogs cannot control, and that is their owners. For example, why do I see women carrying these small breeds in purses, their fur made into a fountain on the top of their heads by way of a bright pink ribbon? All I can say is – the poor mutt…. It is no wonder they are aggressive; they are probably just letting out their frustrations.

6.) Bad luck. I learned that Tuesday the 13th in Spain is the equivalent to Friday the 13th in the U.S. This month of December saw this “unlucky” day. Juan Francisco mentioned the superstition to me at work, and while watching the news at the gym, I noticed a story about it as well. I’ve never been one to believe in superstition, and luckily I experienced nothing adverse on that day; although, I did receive emails from a couple friends saying that they had strange things happen to them that day. I think it’s just coincidence.

7.) The lisp. I should have mentioned this when I wrote about language. In any case, before I came to Spain, I was informed that the Spanish speak differently than Latin Americans in that they speak with a “lisp.” Yes, I have noticed their pronunciation of “s” and soft “c” to sound like “th.” Though it sounds strange to me, I have found myself doing it on occasion, but I don’t think it will become habit.