My New Neighborhood

So amigos, it's official. If and when I move to Spain, I've found my neighborhood. It's possibly the most adorably storybook place I've ever seen in real life. It's called the Barrio Santa Cruz, and it sits at the foot of the picturesque Castillo de Santa Barbara, unspeakably quaint with its maze of streets and stairways that don't allow for any cars. It's just gorgeous.

We must have been walking around too early for the American tourists (if indeed there were any to be found) because while we encountered plenty of meanderers with cameras, they were almost all Spanish, with a handful of younger British men who passed us on their way up toward the Castillo. We meandered with the best of them, spending a luxurious amount of time admiring the view from the overlook in front of the little church, which, just as an example, looks something like this--------->

We wandered past dogs, old ladies in folding chairs, and too many flower pots to count, though some were notably cooler than others.





It also probably helped that the weather was just about perfect: look at that sky!!

Not bad for a sunny Saturday on the Mediterranean.

Comida//Food, etc.

So I've already had some pretty fantastic encounters with edibles here. See previous posts for reference to ham haunches hanging from the ceiling, sheep and pig heads in the central market downtown. Tapas for three days straight, delicious coffee, chocolate, and frozen yogurt.

I was finishing dinner with my familia and mi padre happened to mention that they usually make the paella we had had earlier that day with rabbit - they had opted for chicken that day because of me. I quickly informed them that I had no aversion to eating bunnies, so they're putting in the conejo next time, but this led to a discussion of Spanish food and the various ways that my particular family has, wittingly or not, grossed out the American students who have come before me. I mentioned our jaunt through the market with the sheep and pig heads, and my padre, with a worrisome smirk, asks me if we didn't also see any cabezas de caballo//horse heads.

Well.

I flatter myself that I'm pretty good about trying strange foods. There are a few foods (I know, Mom, olives) that I do dislike, but I also enjoy things like raw beef and oysters, so I feel like I'm not really a hard sell when it comes to trying different foods. Apparently unlike other students who have stayed in this house, I didn't bring a list of foods a mile long that I am refusing to eat. But horse. It threw me for a bit of a loop. I probably had a pretty funny look on my face as I tried to process the shocking information that not only do Spaniards eat the animal that carried the men who shaped the American Dream, they think it's pretty damn tasty. My host parents spent the next several minutes sparing me from having to comment by raving about just how delicious horse is. Before you go, they've told me several times since, we're going to the market and bringing back two big pieces of horse. We'll cook it up and you'll see just how delicious it is. Vale, I said. Okay. As long as it's not tomorrow and I have some time to prepare myself, I'll try horse.

I was then rendered speechless again by the conversation turning, as it often seems to here, to the Chinese, and not in a particularly complementary or politically correct way. The Spanish don't often seem to worry about being what Americans would consider politically correct - not in a necessarily malicious way, but they do love their stereotypes. You know, my host mother says conspiratorily, los chinos eat cats and dogs!! Just imagine! How horrible is that? She turns to the couch where the family cat is, predictably, curled up asleep. If she's not asleep on the couch, she's curled up on or under my bed. I don't mind, and at this particular moment, I resist the urge to comment on how Mini el gato wouldn't make a very satisfying meal, given the lack of meat on her bones, because Mini's sweet, she really is, and I can't figure out how to say it in Spanish fast enough. I do mention, several minutes later, that for Americans, eating horse is not really that different than eating cat and dog. My padre shrugs, and says something to the effect of: well, to each his own.

The conversation broadens, and he asks me, half-watching the Spanish news story about Obama's meeting with Hu Jintao, why Americans are so reluctant to open their minds to other cultural experiences. He's already asked me about American gun laws, and why someone as crazy as Jared Lee Loughner was allowed to get his hands on a semi-automatic. I find myself trying to explain the American ideal to someone who clearly thinks (though he's too polite to say so outright) that it's sort of close-minded and self-indulgent. I also wonder about the sort of people who have traveled here before me, and what he has experienced that has led him to create this perception. One of these days, when I have time and energy to concentrate on thinking and speaking at the same time, I'll continue the conversation.

I can't believe it took me almost a week to see the Mediterranean.

So it's official: as of Friday, I've been in Alicante for one week, and Thursday night was the first time I saw the Mediterranean (because I decided that out of the airplane window doesn't really count). That's really terrible. This city is ON the Mediterranean. Not near - the sea is really right there. I've been a less than five-minute walk away from it at least eight times this week. I've just never walked down that far.

So, Thursday evening ended up being the end of a really fantastic day, seeing the sea for the first time. We had class in the morning (as we have all the mornings this week), and sitting through four hours of grammar review... well... some things don't really merit blog space. After class, I bused home for la comida, the main meal of the day, around 3pm. My madre's sister and father joined us, so I met my tia//aunt, and abuelo//grandfather. Friday afternoon, her other sister and nephew joined us, and Saturday afternoon I met the other nephew, and my abuela//grandmother. I think I've got the whole family straight now, but who knows. More might appear at the next meal.

But back to Thursday. After comida, I bused downtown to meet up with some Whitman girls and some Spanish student friends we had made during the program orientation. The original plan was to go tomar un café, or get coffee, which really means sitting in a cafe for several hours, only several minutes of which are spent actually drinking coffee. We actually ended up at a new frozen yogurt shop called "Sweet Yoghurt," which I still haven't quite figured out how to pronouce the Spanish way. "Yogurt" doesn't sound the same when the Spanish say it. Regardless of how to pronouce it, the frozen yogurt was DELICIOUS. I think they put less sugar in it here, so you can still taste the bite of the yogurt, and with strawberries and chocolate sauce on top... wow. Apparently Alicantinos don't really eat ice cream or gelato or frozen yogurt in the wintertime, but we sat out in the street under space heaters, and it was incredibly pleasant.

Afterwards, we walked down to la playa//the beach, and we were crossing the street about a block away when we ran into a fellow student from the program, just coming from the beach. Alicante suddenly reminded me really strongly of Portland - it's big enough to feel like a city, but small enough that you can run into anybody on the street by chance. It was a really comfortable, familiar feeling, which is kind of funny if you think about it, because I was actually with people that I know really well, and yet running into someone I've only known for five-ish days made me feel at home.

We continued walking toward the beach, inviting our incidental companion to join us, if he cared to be the only boy with a gang of girls. Pobrecito. We made it to the beach right at dusk.
We walked out past a very nice-looking hotel to a rocky point sticking out parallel to the beach. Looking back in the other direction as it got darker, the Castillo de Santa Barbara was all lit up and lovely at twilight. Other people, being more photographically minded than myself, suggested that we take a group photo, which is something I always wish I had suggested, but rarely do. It is, however, wonderful to have a photo of Whitties and friends in Spain, backed by a picturesque castle and a strip of the Mediterranean.
Really, all things considered, this picture is a pretty good representation of how great Thursday evening was, especially considering that it followed on the heels of Wednesday, which was probably the most stressful day I've had here so far (not, of course, counting the travel day...s?). It think that was what culture shock feels like: I was just acutely aware of exactly how much effort it takes to perform a daily routine in a second language and in an unfamiliar place. How much attention I had to pay to every single detail of everything that I did. I jokingly told a friend that afternoon that the night before I had even showered in Spanish. We laughed, but later agreed that it was not an unrealistic representation of the stress build-up we were accumulating. Since Wednesday it's been much better, due in part, I think, to the Thursday evening feeling. This place is amazing, and I can feel comfortable and relaxed here. It was a really excellent reminder.

Un tour, una familia, y una aventura de autobus.

¡Hola amigos!

There has been soo much going on, I'll do my best to explain without rambling. We'll see. I'll also do my best not to slip any Spanish words in odd places, which is getting easier and easier every day - good for my language skills, bad for my blogging comprehensibility.

First of all: the tour of Alicante. It's Monday night here, and we toured the city back on Saturday, which is like a lifetime in the Me/Alicante relationship, so I'll remember the order of things as best I can. The photos will help.

We took a bus from the CIEE offices on the University of Alicante (UA) campus "al centro", to downtown. For many people, it was the same bus route that they now will take from their homestays to UA for classes. Downtown, we assembled in front of this building:

which houses el Mercado Central, a big market that has signs outside pointing you toward fish and seafood on the first floor, and meat and sausage on the second floor. Don't worry, you would know which is which with your eyes closed - the smells are incredibly strong, though not totally unpleasant. Well, if you don't like the smells of fish and meat, it would probably be hell, but I didn't think it was unpleasant.

In front of the Mercado we split our group of 60-something students into 5 groups of 12 or so. These groups are those with which we now have our two weeks of intensive language class. Each group was assigned a guide, a CIEE professor or staff member. Paco, the director of the Liberal Arts program (ours) came with my group, and we spent a few pleasant morning hours walking around downtown Alicante. We started with a walk through the Mercado. This was by far the grossest sight we saw:
Those are sheep heads, in case you couldn't tell. There were also pig heads, but those still had skin on them and so were not as creepy. There were also rabbits ("like Bugs Bunny," Paco joked), pig skin (just the skin of the head, with the nose shape still awkwardly there), pig hooves, and cow hearts. We didn't see any testicles, but apparently those are pretty popular too. That five-minute meander through el Mercado made me really glad that I'm not a squeamish eater.


From el Mercado, we walked up a few blocks to look at the Plaza de Toros - a bullfighting arena. There are no bullfights until the spring, and there was a decidedly mixed feeling in the group about going. Paco seemed to represent more or less the majority when he basically said that it was a valuable cultural tradition to experience, but we should also be prepared for a lot of blood. I heard that some of the other professors and staff condemned the practice much more strongly.


Since there are no bullfights right now, there are posters up for other events outside the Plaza, concerts and things. There's also a museum around the back that has displays and information about the culture and tradition of bullfighting, with none of the blood. Also, unlike the bullfights themselves, the museum is free. And open during the winter.

Walking back toward the main part of el centro, we caught several glimpses of el Castillo de Santa Barbara, one of two castles in the city of Alicante, that I'm pretty sure has been here since the Moors in the 12th(?) century. Clearly, I need to brush up on my Spanish history. I think that we're hiking up the castle this weekend, when we'll probably get some cultural and historical context, and also what is apparently (unsurprisingly) a spectacular view of the Mediterranean from the top.

We walked through el barrio, which is a length of narrow street, almost alleyway, that forms the center of Alicante's celebrated vida de la noche - nightlife. And nightlife is a big deal here. I think I heard someone say in the past few days that Spaniards have one of the lowest average hours of sleep per night of any country in the world. I have no idea where I heard that or whether or not it's actually true, but I would definitely believe it. Apparently it's perfectly normal here to salir//go out until 4 or 5 or 6 in la madrugada//the early morning. Then they get up to go to work at 7 or 8. It feels a little bit like "no rest for the wicked." "No sleep for the Americans trying to conform to Spanish cultural norms!" (On a total Google-induced sidenote, did you know that that phrase - no rest for the wicked - is derived from the Bible, but was popularized in the 1930s by the Little Orphan Annie cartoons? Do you care? This is the rambling I said I wouldn't do.)

But speaking of random references...

The ad is for a furniture store, and the speech bubble directs readers to the store, 20 meters away, where sales abound and apparently there's no interest for 30 months. Obama looks convinced, if not exactly ecstatic about the prospect of cheap furniture. There's really nothing more I see fit to say about this.

Moving on: I moved in with my host family yesterday afternoon. They're really wonderful! Una mamá, un papá, and two little sisters, who are ten and almost fourteen respectively. I like all of them very much, and I'm very optimistic that the next few months here will be great! The single drawback is that we live a little bit farther out that most of the other students' homestays. Now when I say farther out, let me put that in perspective: Alicante is really pretty small, and the main part of town is even smaller. Regardless, it's divided into barrios//neighborhoods, and my barrio is a little farther than a quick walk from el centro...

Which leads directly to the story of the day. Today was our first day of classes, so we gathered in two places in town at 8am to ride the number 24 bus to campus together for the beginning of school. Many of the other students will continue to take the 24 from their homes to UA and back, but I live in a different direction, and will be taking the number 34 instead. But I didn't do that this morning - I rode the 24 with everyone else. Four hours of grammatical review later, we emerged into the sunlight, clutching the bocadillas//sandwiches that our mamás had packed for us. We had several CIEE activities after lunch, and then many of us meandered (by bus) towards el centro. Some people were on their way to buy cell phones, other had other shopping needs (or wants). I needed notebooks, so a few friends and I walked to FNAC, a mid-sized shopping center downtown. Finding nothing in their book section, but receiving a recommendation for a nearby shop, we sat in the FNAC cafe and drank coffee con leche and I ate an empanada argentina, a savory pastry that was delicious, thought I suspect that "argentina" only indicated the presence of beef instead of ham. We found the little papelería that the FNAC guy had recommended, and bought notebooks for our classes. Success!

Then the real adventure began. I decided it was time - nearly 6pm at this point - for me to head home. Now theoretically I knew that the no. 6 bus would take me from el centro to mi casa, but I didn't at all know where to subir//get on or bajar//get off the bus. My wonderfully patient friends and I spent the better part of half an hour walking up and down the street and staring at bus maps, trying to understand why the bus stop for the 6 wasn't where it seemed like it should have been. Well we finally asked someone who knew - another bus driver, in fact, and he informed us that we were on the wrong street altogether, which we probably should have guessed, but that wouldn't have been any fun, now, would it? So we pulled out our maps and headed down a few blocks, only to find that, after close map examination, we had gone to far, so we retraced our steps (again) and were finally successful in locating the parada//stop of the no. 6 bus. Here my friends left me, it now being on the far side of 6:30pm and all of us being anxious to get home for dinner.

The no. 6 came and went, with me safely aboard, and having studied the route guide at the stop, I was relatively confident that I knew at which stop I should exit. A combination of nerves and lack of actual knowledge of the area led me astray, and I completely jumped the gun, watching the coveted no. 6 bus drive away from the stop and then looking around to realize that I had no idea where I was. So I turn around and study the bus map for another few minutes, trying to figure out where I am, where I need to be, and which buses connect the two. I'm well on my way past frustration and edging toward panic when a nice-looking older woman sits down in the bus shelter with her grocery bags.
"Excuse me," I said in Spanish, "but I think I'm a little lost. Can you help me get there?" and I pointed at the map. She could and did - she informed me that I had merely gotten off several stops too early, and said that she was taking the no. 6 too, so when the next one came, we would get on together and she would show me where to get off. She was as good as her word and as a bonus added stories about her daughters who love to travel, two of whom now live in New York. Also, Spanish is the second most widely spoken language in the world after English. Is that true? Again, I don't actually know. She was convincing, but understandably biased. She also has a nephew who is a sociology professor at UA, and praised my Spanish as I thanked her profusely for saving me from a more lengthy adventure.
"Until next time!" she called after me in Spanish as I exited the bus (thanks to her direction) at the correct stop. Running on adrenaline and nervous energy, I made the three and a half blocks from bus stop to casa in record time. Well, I kept thinking, at least now I know.

Bienvenidos!

Welcome to Alicante!! I just got here myself, after more than 24 hours in airports and airplanes, so I'm a little exhausted - forgive me for the brief nature of this post, but I thought I had better kick it off.

Seattle to Chicago to Madrid to Alicante, with only one delay, and no baggage disappearances - so I guess you could say the trip was as smooth as could be expected. It didn't make the hours in the cramped airplane seat over the Atlantic any less uncomfortable, but let's not dwell.

I'm here now in the Villa Universitaria, the hotel-meets-residence hall attached the CIEE program building on the campus of the University of Alicante. We arrived here by bus from the airport around 4pm local time (subtract 6 hours for EST, 9 hours for PST), and had two hours to descansar - to relax, nap, shower or chat. I crashed into bed for an hour, sort of intending to then get up and shower before we had to meet again at 6pm. That didn't happen, so shower is on my before-bed agenda, which, given the disgusting feeling of travel grime that lingers, is quickly eclipsing blog time, so I'm going to end with

the first cool Alicante experience: dinner at a nearby tapas restaurant called Restaurante La Hacienda del Jamón. You can plug that into Google Translate if you so desire, but the important word is jamón. Ham.


Tons of it. That's the jamón hanging from the ceiling of the restaurante, which smelled delicious, if proving slightly disconcerting for the friendly neighborhood vegetarian. Incidentally, it was the first dish that came out at the restaurant, just little thin slices of this delicious deep pink cured ham.... yum.

More (and hopefully more coherently) tomorrow. We're starting off the day with a walking tour of downtown Alicante, so maybe I'll have some more sights to share.

Buenas noches!