One plan down: so many to go!

I booked a flight! My absurdly disjointed summer planning has begun:

For a mere total of 13 Euros--a 1€ ticket!--I am flying from Paris to Oslo on June 14th. That is the only plan I have right now for the entire summer. Join me in laughter at this delightful fact.

Watch out, Europe!

...I don't know how or when I'm getting to Paris nor do I know whither I shall go from Norway, but I'm sure it will be great.

And I just ran into a friend from high school in the Mercado San Miguel in Madrid--what a small, wonderful world.

Madrid, España

I got to Madrid on Friday with my mom and brother, arriving on the AVE with three Spanish friends in the same train car. Mi mamá y hermano leave tomorrow: then for me, back to Sevilla to sort out a few things. My summer plans are shaping up and soon I'll disclose them....

The one sure plan is Norway in mid-June and my departure from Europe August 2.

Oh, the possibilities!

The last clean load of laundry has been packed, sort of

Thoughts at ten to two, the night before the program ends:

Is Eurail worth it? It doesn't seem to be.
So here I am, nearing the end, with a whole two months ahead of me really unplanned--I mean, really.

I just looked up driving directions from Madrid to Florence. Somebody help me.
And the rental car prices are horrendous, so that option's out at least.

I need to get from Sevilla to Madrid to Oslo to Budapest to Sevilla (and let's throw in Marseilles and Salzburg for good measure) during the months of June and July.

RyanAir?
Hostels?
Hitch-hiking and begging?
What about a pilgrimage--I can just walk everywhere!

This is going to be great.

La Feria: I feel pretty, witty & scared

During la Feria, the streets of Sevilla, España are at their liveliest and most colorful: swarming with tourists; women in enormous, vibrant flamenco dresses; men in perfectly circular wide-brim hats and old-fashioned, short, fitted coats driving 4-horse drawn carriages; and more. Everyone and their baby is ready for the festivities, literally. I saw many a wee babe smothered in fluffy ruffles and some three-year-olds in pink heels:

 Alas, I had no flamenco dress of my own. I settled for a red dress one day last week, to avoid blandness at the very least. Armed with a moderate knowledge of sevillanas and a camera, I planned to hit the streets of Feria during the day to get a sense of the different atmosphere. Waiting in the center of town for a couple of friends, I witnessed the phenomenon of the ultimate tourists.

Background note: Feria isn't taken lightly here and actually causes some complaint amongst the population. It's commonly called clasista. The problem is the private casetas. The private casetas are just that: private. Not everyone can enter, and those who spent the money, rented the space and provided the food--in my opinion--have every right to invite whomever they please. If they have the money, they're going to spend it on their caseta. We see "class" differences while strolling about Feria, but is that different than what we see on the street everyday? People wear what their money can buy them, drive what their money can get them and spend it how they please. Feria is no different. It isn't a guaranteed public fiesta. In the end, are the complaints founded? that the outsider will not enjoy himself at Feria? The average Feria-goer can and likely will get drunk in a public caseta and have a swell time, I believe. May I present exhibit A, below?:

Back to the original thought, that Feria isn't taken lightly: women are decked out, all day and all night, and the paparazzi-like tourists have a field day. Those with money make it known: they wear a different flamenco dress each day for the week of Feria. Now, the average price range I've seen on flamenco dresses was at the very lowest, €100, ranging anywhere up to €500. Do the math--remember the 1.4 conversion rate--and be shocked. Anyway, I was people-watching near a fountain and saw a Spanish woman pursued by various tourists with cameras. They thought they were inconspicuous, but their khaki shorts, cameras slung about their necks and tennis shoes were the blatant markings of a tourist. As I was watching this woman fail to shake off her followers, I realized I was in the viewfinder of someone's camera myself! Across the plaza, two men thought they were pretty sneaky. I empathized with the women in the flamenco dress and waited for them to move on. I think the lovely, old building behind me framed a blonde in a red dress fairly well, or something. As I had walked to that bench earlier, a wandering photographer asked me if he could take my picture--what? Since when does this happen? Oh, Spain.

Slightly out of place.

Walking home that night, I had the biggest scare I've had yet in Sevilla: I was followed! Now, don't worry: I don't plan on letting this happen again. I only have a week left; I won't be up that late/early again; and I won't walk alone on narrow side streets anymore. Thankfully, I was on the phone with a friend here so I felt as if someone were with me and they could have at least instantly responded (I say this to stave off others' worries). I was walking home after a late night at Feria, someone passed me on a motorbike twice, slowly, then oddly enough, stopped in the road when I was crossing; then must have turned around later because as I was turning onto the last few small streets home, I heard a motorbike behind me again. I thought, "no, that can't be him," but it was. There were some people in the street, and then, as if in a movie, they all vanished in a group around the corner, walking away from me. I had hoped for a few stragglers, but no such luck. Before turning down another street where the bike had anticipated my route, its engine shut off, my heart about quit too, and I turned around and took off for the longer, better-lit path home. I am still alive, safe and sound, and slightly wiser.

A non-creepy, silly parallel to this type of situation: earlier in the day, upon asking the price of a ride around Feria in a horse-drawn carriage I was informed by the driver of the exorbitant €80 price tag on a 45 minute ride. I was about to walk away as he decided to let me know it would be free if I'd be his girlfriend...after a moment's debate, I decided the opportunity cost was a bit too high. I'll take a carriage ride another day.

Often, situations in Spain are more like that: harmless and hilarious. They do tend to become annoying, to say the least, with the more aggressive, macho men. But these last few days, I haven't had a worry in the world: I've got a protector.

Her name is Maya and she's nine years old. She's got a great set of sharp teeth and a loyal spirit. She's a Rhodesian Ridgeback that I'm watching while her family is away. I've got a great apartment to myself, near the Cathedral, and I stroll around with this large animal, happily watching the people eye her and then shuffle to the side as I walk by. This never happens--it's generally shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks of Sevilla, and generally, the bigger man wins the sidewalk space. I miss chivalry.

Her owner said people flock to dog-walkers as fountains of knowledge; oracles of Sevilla's geographical information. And she was right. I've been asked twice for directions since walking the dog and am happy to report, I was able to assist in both cases.

Tomorrow, the fantasy is over. I return to my little bed, in my little room, with my feisty little Spanish host mother. It was fun while it lasted. But being called to the table to eat, and being prohibited from any housework aside from making one's bed is a rather harsh reminder that one doesn't belong. At Leo's, I'm just a study abroad student. Here, I'm a functioning human being: I gladly wash dishes, singing with joy as I do; I walk the dog with a skip in my step and create meals for myself, using more dishes than necessary sometimes, just so I can wash them later. But it's been a contentment-learning experience: c'est la vie.

And on Thursday, I will bid good-bye to my host mother and say ¡hola! to my real mother!

La Feria: ¡Olé! Sevillanas y más...

 

You can enjoy my guiri-style sevillanas and more in the photos I just put up!
Here, I'm being taught how naturally sevillanas can be done by a four-year-old--humbling.

LA FERIA: It's a fair?

...that was my first thought on Monday, when I went to see the alumbrado (at midnight, when they light up the portada, main gate, and the rows and rows of lanterns at Feria). And yes, folks, as the name would appear, la Feria is indeed a fair, Spanish-style.

Half of the fair grounds are taken up by by the usual: rides, fair food and expensive, hard-to-win games in which you may be able to walk away with a large, stuffed-animal pig which you won't know what to do with the next day. Their Ferris wheel is the fastest one I've ever been on. And the other rides looked much too rickety to be trusted. The students with pulled muscles and stitches can attest to the fact that they may not be too secure. But then again, the girls in flamenco dresses even survived them so, this is just a warning: enter at your own risk. An interesting variation to the typical Viking Boat we have in the States--the long boat swinging like a pendulum--is that in addition to the rows of seats, there are "jail cells" at either end. The seating was empty because everyone wanted to be standing up, not buckled in, jostled around amongst ruffles of dresses and limbs, flying around in the cages on the ends of the 'boat.'

3 AM and the night life of Feria is just getting started. This area was the usual State Fair-esque part, full of sugary friend foods and useless knick knacks.

The other half of Feria--what I found to be the

Here's a glimpse at the hustle and bustle of a public caseta: I preferred las privadas.

better half--and the original reason for its existence is las casetas. This area is a mini-community of little party tents. [No, I have never seen or heard of anything like this before. Perhaps something comparable, yet more wild and less classy, would be an area of a college town with a bunch of frat houses. Exit one house, enter the next one down, and keep on partying. Then again, that might give you the wrong impression.] This section of cobblestone streets and tightly-packed sandy sidewalks is cluttered in rows and rows of tents, covered in cheerfully colorful, striped materials. Each caseta is erected on a rented plot of land in a designated part of Sevilla used yearly for Feria, has a wooden floor, chairs and tables inside, a bar and food, room to dance and a group of friends or business associates there around the clock, ready to greet their invited guests. There are two types of casetas: public and private. The majority are private casetas, which means invite only. I was fortunate enough to make a friend in bachata class that invited me to his caseta. He explained that it was as if I were invited to his home. This translated to: I merely show up and immediately am handed enough food and drinks to prepare for hours of fun. The food? Delicious Spanish staples, like revuelto Rociero and carne mechada. The drinks? Rebujitos, rebujitos, rebujitos. A blend of manzanilla sherry and 7UP, it's a refreshing drink for the hot, dusty days and long, busy nights.


As unique as one half of the Feria is from the other, the days and nights are even more radically different. Day time boasts men on horseback in their flat, circular brimmed hats and tight, short coats and boots. Women, ages 0 to 80, are in flamenco dresses all day and all night. Parties of people are carted by in horse-drawn carriages, arriving from the streets of Sevilla to la Feria in style. The atmosphere during the day makes you feel as if you've been transported to Spain's past. Strolling around one afternoon, hazardously dodging death by horse carriage, I stopped by "our" caseta with two friends from Hillsdale, as I said, "just to say hi." Three hours, two plates of food and two pitchers of rebujitos later, we left.

I took many a photo, because thousands of words are required to give even a very simple interpretion of Feria. As my friend here said--and I whole-heartedly agree--it's just something you have to experience. I would recommend somehow getting an in to a private caseta though. There was no other reason I stayed out 'til three or four AM except to dance sevillanas with my new and old friends, in a pleasant, cozy atmosphere. Yes, I did that for multiple nights in a row and my body is still annoyed with me. My brain isn't quite functioning up to par right now either: today was a very warm day and at seven PM, it dawned on me I had good reason to lament, for not only had I worn black jeans and a black top, I put on wool socks this morning. I have no idea why.

More to come on the wonderful, crazy week that was la Feria de Sevilla.

The blessings of friendship & modern technology! Etc.

This has been a marvelous day! 

I finally got to go to the church for which I've been searching: la Iglesia Presbiteriana Reformada.

I arrived corriendo en bicicleta for a 45 minute journey, including a bit of walking, for the 11 o'clock service and met all sorts of wonderful people that know my friend Ryan, who lived in Sevilla and attended this church for a few years a while back. They were quick to welcome me back for next week's service and the lunch to follow, which means hours of fun conversation and heaps of delicious Spanish food prepared with love by very experienced hands. I do hope to go, although I have to somehow work out the timing with attending my usual church, Betania (Bethany) here in Triana.

So, after the service presbiteriana was over, I chatted with one of Ryan's friends, and may go to la Feria this week with him and some of the members of that church. 

From there, I leapt on my bike and headed back to Triana, hoping to make it in time to sneak into Betania to snag my Bible, which I had forgotten there last week. (I accidentally took a hymnal of theirs in place of it--boy, I ought to return that soon.) [Side note: I commiserate with those who dislike English spelling. For several weeks, I too have been having issues. I remain convinced--until spell check tells me otherwise--that accidentally ought to be 'accidentily.' To the average English-speaker's eye, I'm sure that looks ugly, but not to me, anymore. I'm used to logically phonetic spelling and pronunciation these days.] 

I got to church at the perfect time: they had just gotten done with the service and, as usual, were scattered about the church and street, chatting away in the early afternoon sun. I was talking to another friend--someone from Grand Rapids, MI! What a small world--when a dear, older lady who had taught me some songs greeted me. We chatted a bit, she asked me if I had plans for the day (I had told Leo earlier that I wouldn't be coming home for lunch, not knowing whether or not someone would invite me, but just hoping) and upon hearing my answer, invited me over: I accepted immediately (never mind the 10-15 minute presentation, 8-10 page paper and final exam I have to prepare for Wednesday).

I went to her house by car with a couple from church, and we chatted and ate delicious chicken, rice and pisto for a pleasant couple of hours. We finished off with a cappuccino and off I went again, on my bike in some drizzling rain, to Triana. I logged a couple of hours on my bike that day, I believe. She is such a sweet woman and even showed me her guest bedroom and told me it was mine whenever I came back to Sevilla and she wouldn't hear of me paying even one céntimo.

If this day could even get better, it did: I had a productive hour at home, chatted with Leo, had some tea, then headed to Starbucks to meet Marina and Caitlyn. One hilarious conversation and a white mocha later, I was back on my bike headed home yet again. I ran into someone I know, for whom I was going to house/dog-sit this summer but I'm no longer needed, which frees up more time for travel! She had invited me over for a pancake breakfast tomorrow--a real breakfast!! Unbelievable. I haven't had anything more than 6 cracker/wafer things in the morning for about three months. I said hello, confirmed my appearance the next day at 10:00, and was merrily on my way.

In the midst of a light dinner, to Leo's chagrin I had asked for yogurt with which I ate my granola that's left over from Portugal, I chatted with my dad who is thinking of coming to Europe again, and we shall hunt down some relatives in Norway together! Then, wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, I got to see five beautiful woman I love in one Skype conversation. Though I've been called a Luddite, I do have my share of good experiences with technology and so therefore will not ditch it all completely...though I may not necessarily mind being surrounded by less switches, cords, buttons and lights when I'm living in the jungles of Africa...or wherever I end up.

Notes to self:

Use fewer parantheses (maybe that means my brain just always thinks in paranthetical thoughts, and I do think I think this way, I mean, clearly I do, but maybe I could take time to think about my blog post before typing it--but I was too excited, this had to be right here, right now: instant gratification)

Always be welcoming.

Always invite people over for lunch after church, especially new faces.

Always rejoice!