Salud, Hong and homo-erotic cartoons

At exactly this time last week Ana was sending me off to the train station in Sevilla - I can’t believe I’ve already been here for a whole week! What’s amazing is how easily and quickly this family has adopted me into their home and how compatible everything is for the most part. I spend the days with the kids communicating in spanglish (it’s a little harder to gain their trust/ be fun, it’s coming along slowly). The only thing is that I have been weirdly exhausted, I sleep for so many hours and I feel like I have a constant fever even though my sore throat has gone away. I don’t know what could possibly be wrong with me but it suckkkssss. I also find it interesting how both Ana and Olga told me that cold water is bad for the throat. This is mildly ironic because they both smoke and Olga owns a fryalator for her kitchen AND uses a non-stick pan with the bottom torn to shreds AND eats artificial sweetener. But beware of that cold water? Maybe that’s why I’ve been so tired. Ahh, yes, too much cold water. I also find it bothersome how they both would complain that I eat nothing. Olga eats about 2/3 of the portion that I do, minus dessert. And continues to comment that I eat nothing. And her husband does too! He was like, oh Emily’s on a diet haha. I was just like. What.

OH GOD, I have forgotten HONG. This is so important. An ode to all of the middle-aged asian men I have ever known, and to all of the humor that they have brought to the world. So the language classes at CLIC had lots of people of different ages and nationalities, including middle-aged, Korean Hong. I was introduced to that which makes Hong Hong on his second day when the teacher randomly picked him to write a soccer vocabulary list (that we had had for homework) on the board and to describe the words. It took half of the class. In a thick Korean accent, but in spanish “um. Uhhh. Um. Linea. Linea. Um. Uhhhh. Linea.” Draws a line on the board. “linea. Ummmmm. Linea.”

Professor “they understand Hong, please continue.”

“uh. Um. Linea.”

“YES HONG.”

Once we watched a movie and had to describe the characters. The father was an average middle-aged man and hong wouldn’t shut up about him being guapo. He also called the wife sexy like 8 times. It was awk.

We also talked about relationships one day and he told the class how it wouldn’t be okay with him for his girlfriend to have friends that were boys. Or to take a vacation without him. Okay Hong.

Hong was quite the star of the class, and had us all in giggles each day. However, what made it that much funnier was the lack of tolerance that another student, Jeff (American college student), had for him. One of my favorite activities during one of Hong’s episodes was to look over at Jeff. What a face. It was always such disbelief. It was so much what we were all thinking – what the fuck you crazy fuck – but just straight up, and without a sense of humor about it. HILARIOUS to watch the two.

So then later that week our conversation teacher came up with a terrific activity. We would role play parents and children and would have to have conversations with one another. Jeff was my “husband,” and we were lucky enough to experience Hong as our child.

Hong: “Uh. Ummm. Uh. Can I get a piercing? Umm. Uh. Um. Uhhhhh. In my belly button?”

Jeff: utter disbelief / disgust. “What do you want???”

Hong: “Uh. Ummmm. Uh. Piercing. Bellybutton. Umm. Uh.”

Jeff: “what?? Do you like other men? Are you gay??”

Hong: “uh. Ummm. Uh.um. cool. Very cool. Um. Uh.”

And then I died. I was crying. In class. It was too much. He wanted a tattoo as well.

So much has been lost through this description, but God. If you could have been there. If only you could have experienced Hong.

But yea. I’ve watched a lot of TV. A lot of Spanish dubbed anime. (We watched the same five shows 2 days in a row – exactly the same). Have you ever seen the show “Lazy Town?” If that isn’t the most homo-erotic children’s show I have ever seen, I don’t know what is. I’d say it blows spongebob right out of the water.

Adios, Sevilla. HOLA, MADRID!!!

And so with tears in my eyes, I bid dearest Sevilla adieu.

-the cane-wielding citizens who preferred to station themselves in the center of the narrow walkways

- the youth who preferred to get it on in those same streets (but by night)

-all the drunken foreigners on calle Betis each night of the week

-the EPIC CATEDRAL

-none of the monuments because I didn’t visit a single one

- the helado stands every 5 ft – faaaabulous dinner option btw

-caracoles (SNAILS THAT I ATE even though nobody at my table would?)

- shrimps in their shells (WTFFFFFFF shrimps are crazy looking in their natural form)

-the good friends I made from China, Germany, Sweden, America blahblahblah

-Ana the best host mom ever who told me that I was disordenada, needed to be ordenada to be an au pair and told me that she would teach me how to be ordenada, took me out to eat snails and other important sevillan things, pretty much taught me more Spanish than anybody else including the all important “fresqita” – cold (apparently nobody actually says frio, but quite ironic seeing as how it is pretty much NEVER EVER fresqita in fucking Sevilla) and pipis (they don’t go to the bathroom – they do PEEPEES!)

- NOT the temperatures that reached 104 every single day or the sun that ate my soul

-the lack of dog laws leading to leashless poop-happy (everywhere) but somehow fairly well behaved puppies

-all of the people that I recognized from seeing on the street every single day including the men who sold tissues on the corners

- the 4 crucial Joses ,

- that one boy who I made do a cartwheel in a bar. He voted for John Mccain and believed in Jesus, but bought me a shot and told me I had a smoking hot body before trying to chew my face. I sent him a facebook message the next day. It said “Hey remember that time I made you do a cartwheel? In a bar? In Spain?” For some reason he still hasn’t replied…..

-NOT tostadas

-those random irish guys….. I really wanted to be friends with them!

-the fact that these people have so much spirit that I walked into 4 random parades before the end, including a protest of some soccer president for something about the world cup – I have pictures of this one, and luckily, I was wearing green like everybody else (I must say that my primary reaction was panic as I thought I was in fact aligning myself with some unknown political party)

-being called beautiful because somebody wants me to buy something from them

-the random “hah low” s – like hello.(Spanish boys are very silly and try to speak English sometimes. Always =FAIL)

-that “nice guy” (hahahaha VIVI)

-that adolescent book I read in Spanish called “The Prince of Fog”

-adventures, tapas, the most beautiful little streets i’ve ever seen, omnipresent happiness

So I made my way to the train station, packed bocadillo in hand (by Ana obvi) mildly sick because I RETARDEDLY stopped taking my antibiotics (for the love of god, never do this ever). I was terrified as I could not understand Olga on the phone that one time she called me. Had I ever seen a picture? No. Did I know anybody who knew them? No. What were the kids names? Dunnnnno. So with all this in mind, I showed off my utter brilliance once more by missing my train. Why? Because the ticket was written in 24 hour time (didn’t matter that I TEXTED Olga the right time before, nope). Panic. Fiasco. So much Spanish with different people. The good news is I survived, made it to Madrid, found Oscar by speaking Spanish over the phone (can I get a what whattttt? There were like 800 exits from this place LEGIT).

Annnnnnd then I showed up at this house. And there were these children and these parents. And I was like whoa, last night I was trying to accidently run into Jose #2 and now I am taking care of these children who I cannot understand. Well that was only 3 days ago and since then I have fallen in love with this family and these children. I can understand what the hell is going on. I may live in the attic without air conditioning, but I have figured out these windows (they have like 10 pieces and you’re supposed to do different things with them at different parts of the day to keep the house cool).

Also FUNNY STORY. So I may have accidently told the family that I take tostadas for breakfast each day. (Who isn’t wildly jealous of my wit by this stage?) Good news is that tostadas are actually just toast, and that his family gives me REAL toast (helllllz yess. although they still eat margarine instead of butter. F.). My first few days were a bit rough. Besides just having to adjust to the whole being able to do my laundry whenever I feel like and cold water that spouts from the refrigerator, I am LIVING with a family of four… and they don’t really speak any English! My Spanish is definitely improving and the majority of my responsibilities consist of watching Spanish cartoons, drawing and eating yogOOrt. Unfortunately they also consist of going to the pool about 15 ft away. They may seem to the majority as a slice of awesome, but to the girl who has avoided swimming in public since the EIGHT GRADE (have not done it), it was just one more situation in which to panic. Olga had to bring me to like three markets to get a bathingsuit (because I refused to wear a bikini) and nobody except the super-obese in spain where banadores (most don’t start until like size 14!) The lifeguards are HOT and the other girls my age here are flawwwwwwless. F.M.L. Today I got over myself. And got a wicked sunburn. In the most awkward shape. I was too busy trying to position myself certain ways so that I didn’t fall out of my suit that I didn’t apply the crema correctly. I mean even IIIII am envious of my sheer intellect. Go self.

Today is the first day that I was well enough to not have to take 2 advil ever 3 hours to quell my out of control fiebre. ALWAYS FINISH YOUR ANTIBIOTICOS.

Oh and I googled Jose #1 from his business card. He is OOOOOLD holy shit. But if you look him up, you can see his picture!

I probably forgot things. Maybe I’ll just add some more details later? Maybe I’ll just have a detail post.

virgenes, tostadas, hippies and reggaeton

Today was my third time accidently walking into some sort of religous festival in the past two weeks. I knew something was up because the street was covered in rosemary but I was still surprised when I walked into some sort of full blown parade, a group of men carrying an enormous decorated replica of the virgin mary on their heads (complete with burning candles, flowers and its own freaking marching band). They're really into the virgin mary here. Last week each neighborhood decorated their own replica of her and the whole city was up at 3 am making a pilgrimage from "virgen" to "virgen." Then they get crunk. (Including my host mom). Irony? The first parade that I stumbled upon though was much different - something like 50 covered wagons painted bright colors and towed by oxen, accompanied by millions of people and their children in full flamenco dress walking dangerously close to the enormous animals. I don't even know. I don't even know.

Also,

I have recently developed a sincere hatred for something called a "tostada."What is a tostada, you may ask? I will tell you. It is FAKE fucking toast. It's like... a toast cracker. It comes in a plastic wrapped column, is it about as filling as a piece of paper and is the only thing that has ever been served to me for breakfast. dear tostadas, I LOATHE thee. Twice I have made the mistake of ordering tapas that turned out to secretly be thinly dressed tostadas - I'm sure you can imagine my thorough, THOROUGH dissapointment.

The (majority of) the food continues to be delicious, clubs continue to be free, drinks continue to free, dinner comes in the perfectly sized portions (and prices). It gets a bit hot sometimes, but normaly it's quite beareable. I've explored a bit more and have fallen in love with the bohemian section of the city called Macarena.

Dear mother,
what would you do if I became a Spanish hippy?
what would you do if I grew out long dreadlocks,
stopped eating to pay my inflated rent,
and refused to wear anything besides geni pants (a much more elegant and whimsical form of crotch pants)?
What would you do if I owned a Spanish hippy shop (as all these spanish hippies do),
played very very strange games in the park (I watched this occur one day - two rows would stand opposite eachother, dance towards each other, and then everybody runs every which way. I don't even know)
and had a lip piercing?
Would you still love me?

Oh and funny story. So it turns out my birthday was today. I thought it was YESTERDAY. shhhhhh! I may or may not be a disaster, but it had been a long time since I had seen a calendar! I celebrated that shizzle on friday night. UNO, DOS, TRES, CUATRO, I know you want me.... You know I want you.... Did I mention that I love free drinks? It was a pretty intense adventure. I have a couple bruises.

Oh, and I never want to leave.

Went out adventuring last night again! I went to meet some friends that all live in this residence on another part of town, but it was night and I didn´t know how to get there so instead I took a cab. Unfortunately, the CAB DRIVER also didn´t know how to get there and we had to ask people on the streets (which were incredibly narrow and not exactly inviting for the poor cab). It´s okay. The 10€ fee not so much. (he knocked off 30 cents...) But the wine was strong and the company was refreshing!

Now whoever said NYC is the city that never sleeps has obviously never been to Spain. Yes, people go clubbing till it´s light out in new york, but I have never seen strollers out at 2 am or huge crowds blocking the street still around 4! People here party forEVER and will continue milling about with any excuse possible. I think that last night had something to do with some catholic virgin or something (they keep having these mini holiday/processions aka excuses to forego sleep).

Anyway, we wandered around up and down the river (a nice area covered in bars up and down). Who should I run into but my favorite Irish 3? My new favorite people, I wish I could have chatted with them longer! They are absolutely NUTS! (did I mention I randomly ran into older man who kissed me having drinks with his business friends a few days ago? ahhhhhhh) I practiced my spanglish a bit, which is always fun/a totally fabulous way to flirt. When I decided I was tired around 3, I simply walked home alone because the streets were as crowded as day time. This whole place is on crack.

Woke up this morning to bid Alexandra a bon voyage and as our host mom prepared breakfast (which is the same thing ever single day mind you - tostadas, these weird toast crackers with butter and jelly), she admitted that she´d been out till 6 and then had breakfast at a bar. Adorable.

Go Spain.

An outing with 4 girls from the school, all around my age except the one who may have been around 60. She was very nice but I could not imagine going out with such younger girls at her age. I’m not sure whether to call her brave or strange. I would have given her a thumbs up, but she was wearing the same dress this morning?

Flamenco show = one of the most utterly passionate and emotional mind-blowing shows I have ever experienced. The guitarist was so talented, and while the traditional style of singing took me a bit off guard, I was feeling every note of that sad love song by the end. He was too. He was crying. And the dancer was fantastic! She had sooo much energy, stomping around in perfect rhythm to her gorgeous guitar-playing/clapping counterparts. How badly to I want to take a flamenco class?

Tapas afterwards - even smaller than I may have expected, but still very good. I don’t eat nearly as much here but as everything that I do eat is pretty much straight grease, it’s not really a problem. I got “la tortilla de mariscos” which translates to “tortilla of shell fish” which is kind of like a crispy little shellfish omlette. But very good. I am also now acquainted with the “hip” chick drink of the country, “tinto de verano.” It translates to “tint of the summer” and is basically like red win with sprite. This is apparently what almost every girl gets almost every time she gets out. No more vodka shots for me!

ADVENTURE

So I hang with the northeastern crew again (my new favorite bunch) and we go to this bar where they know the bartender and we all get free shots. It’s this little hole in the wall place, there were maybe 20 people in there altogether, but we were from all over the place. Butterscotch rum is SO GOOD and drunken Irish men (named Rory) are hilarious (especially when lecturing in the ways of love and destiny). As we were leaving at 5 am I tried to take a picture of him sitting (very drunkenly) in a broken office chair in the middle of the street that somebody had put to the trash. Unfortunately, you can’t see anything because I was also drunk and there was no flash =(. Now don’t let that 5 am fool you – we were off to a bumping party on the other side of town! Seeing as how I am always surrounded by gay men it should be of little surprise that my first real European discoteca was a raving gay club. But it was crazy awesome. And we got in for free with those sweeeet connections! I saw things that I had never seen before, and didn’t arrive home until the sun had begun to rise: enough to call the night a success.

THE BEGINNING

Mission 1: get to spain. Status: SUCCESS!

For some reason, the concept that I was going by myself to another country where I was going to live with random different people for 9 weeks didn’t ACTUALLY hit me until I arrived at the hetherow airport scared shitless that I was not going to find my connecting flight to Madrid at “terminal 3. It was more nerve racking because they insist on taking forever before posting the damned gates assignments.. whatever… I also had a connecting flight from Madrid to Sevilla. Madrid’s airport looks really cool but actually sucks because everything single thing is in Spanish and even those that SPEAK the language can’t figure out where they’re supposed to go. I had been freaking out about customs but they didn’t ask me a single thing, just looked at my passport and stamped it. I should just stop freaking out. Everything went very well and I arrived in Sevilla at 4:50 p.m. after having left the day before at about 5:00 pm, but with a very confused inner clock.

Interesting people met:

Maria from Serbia on her way to Belgrade to meet up with her fiancée. Recent graduate of UMass Boston, studying social justice regarding gypsies for a year before graduate school, very nice, very talkative, very much a fan of those little mini wine bottles that they served…

2 Swiss women on their way to Sevilla for the week. Very nice. Made me very jealous that they live in Switzerland for like 800 reasons including a rocking currency and the ability to go to spain for a week, no problem.

Mission 2: figure out what the hell is going on. Status: unsure…

I arrive in Sevilla with a woman holding a sign with my name on it. She’s driving me and one other girl through the city which is for the large part abandoned (Sunday evening – fair, but makes it look sketchy even though it’s totally not). She drops me off at this random apartment building. Another moment where I think to myself, good god, what the hell am I doing??? But then I meet Ana, my host mom who is very very nice, my roommate Meri and the next day another CLIC student, Aleshandra. Thank God for these people who fed me, showed me how to get to school and pretty much saved my life.

Aleshandra: Northeastern international business student here with a Northeastern program using CLIC, lives next door, has showed me around, taken me out and helped me translate.

Meri: Emory student here with an accelerated Emory language program so that she can finish her language requirement faster, lived in my room for a day before moving out to be closer to CLIC, took me to school the first day (as she had been with Emory for a meeting the night before) – this is big, sevilla streets are a bit like wtf and the map we were given sucks butt.

Mission 3: learn some Spanish. Status: I already understand much more but I still sound like a belligerent retard. I hope to stop frustrating Ana by one day understanding everything that she says!

Mission 4: find somebody else to buy me drinks. Status: preliminary success.

Aleshandra and I are getting ready to go out with her group(Tuesday? So what!). She asks “So what’s the goal tonight?” ummm have a good time? No! flirt with Spanish boys? No! get their numbers? No! hook up with them? ?? ?? No….. Get them to buy us free drinks! Ahhh yesssssssss, genius =D

Some Spanish guy (friends with some northeastern kid) gets us into this place without a cover! Very niceeeee!

Boy 1: From New Zealand. Very cute, tall, etc. Went to university, not sure what for, but has travelled all around South America and Europe and is continuing his travels to the U.S. shortly. Left to go buy a drink myself, oops! (but good practice)

Boy 2: From Morocco in his third year of medical school in Spain. Also very cute, tall etc. Bought me a drink after I told him the story of my road trip. I took a vodka shot (because I’m CLASSY). Will be on his way to the U.S. shortly as well. Jacksonville is on the itinerary. Neither of us could figure out why.

Man : Attractive Spanish man, but maybe around 30? Talked to me for a very long time about a lot of things, said he lives around the area where I am au pairing, said if I needed a place to stay I could stay with him and his girlfriend…. Gave me his drink. Spoke some awesome spanglish with me. Gave me his business card…. Put his tongue in my mouth?! Parate chico! He stops, apologizes. Talk some more. He does it again. Rescued by Aleshandra! But I still have this silly man’s business card! He is the director of “matchmind: ideas & technology for business.” Se llama Jose Ignacio de las Llanderas. Queries su movil? Porque lo tengo! Jaaa!

Some observations on the Spanish people as a whole

-They walk as slow as the goddamned snails that they are so enthralled with consuming. When I walk to school I must resist the urge to push these meandering souls out of the way. Don’t they have somewhere to be?! God, this is a CITY!

-Girls my age like to wear these pants that I call “crotch pants.” Low slung, tight around the calves with enough crotch space to house a 2 ft. long dong. Denim, soft, colorful… why, so many varieties! Perhaps I have only yet to acquire the taste for this style….

-Some people are so small. Like, just really really tiny. Like, literally I cannot tell how old they are sometimes because they are just so petite! There are also normal sized people but I have never seen so many small people in such a concentration.

A few random things

-I’m walking down the street. A little boy is looking at me right in the face as he walks by me coming from the opposite direction. Whatever. I hear something behind me. Little bugger has his hands in my purse. Pocket was empty, fool. Now SHOO!

-The food that Anna cooks for me is awesome, but I don’t get dinner. I am also cheap. So I only eat two meals a day! Perhaps I will meet me weight-loss goal… jajaja

-One of my Spanish teachers is hilarious. He is as much of an actor as a teacher and spends the class running around, having imaginary love affairs with himself and reciting lines from movies while they are being shown. Para Anna Feingold: se llama Jose Miguel.

There will be so much more.

BESOS!