Quatro Estaciónes en España

Things I've Learned:

• Como hablar español


• To greet anyone I know with a kiss on both cheeks


• All my plans for this year were wildly unrealistic – except for the one about spending lots of time in cafés reading novels


• Spaniards look great in earth tones


• I love it when Spanish speakers correct my Spanish; it means they think I’m worth it


• Brad’s stove-top biscuits and cornbread are delicious


• The meaning of “Tengo ganas de . . .”


• Mayonnaise comes from Spain – specifically Mallorca


• Our pull-out love seat is universally detested among our houseguests


• What it’s like to have 14 visitors in 9 months


• How to make gazpacho


• How to pack


• The best gelato in Sevilla in on Calle Zaragoza


• It can be hilarious when things are lost in translation


• Excessive socializing with archival researchers takes me to a dark place


• Something about European futbol


• Exactly wherefrom Columbus set sail in 1492


• Some fads from the U.S., circa 1990, (Chupa Chups, mullets, rollerblades) are inexplicably popular in Spain today


• How to correctly identify coquinas, almejas, mejiones, chocos, boquerones and chipirones (all seafood)


• How to correctly identify the color albero


• The rain in Spain does not, in fact, fall mainly on the plain


• Sevilla is just a big small town


• Wherever you go, God is already there


• How far a smile can get you . . . in any language


• I’m married to my perfect traveling partner


• Now that the time has come, we’re ready to get back to the land of: amber waves of grain, purple mountain majesties, the dollar, my paycheck, barbecue, burgers, our oven, our church, the English language and the people most important to us in the world

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Dear Readers,

Your interest, support and prayers have meant so much to Brad and me during this time abroad. Writing for the blog has been a wonderful way for us to reflect, remember, release and reach out. I’m sure some things I’ve written have been incorrect and/or inappropriate, but that was a given. Thank you for pardoning me and/or laughing at me.

This post will be the last one (on this blog anyway) because we are leaving Sevilla early Wednesday morning. We look forward to seeing many of you in the weeks to come. God bless and happy trails!

Dos besos,
Neely

Últimos Días

When Evelyn finally got to our apartment on Saturday, she jokingly asked, “So, am I like the 15th person to visit you this year?” I said, “No, the 14th.” We’ve had a constant flow of company this year, and it’s wonderful to have my childhood best friend as our last houseguest in Sevilla.

With Evelyn at the Alcázar

I’ve been looking forward to Evelyn’s visit for months. She’s an extremely experienced traveler and has boundless energy. Even though – due to flight cancellations and weather – she arrived in Sevilla 30 hours later than she’d planned, she looked cute and was ready to sightsee.

After our high school graduation, Evelyn and I took an unforgettable trip through Europe with two dear friends, Callie and Sarah. This time around, Evelyn is in Europe after graduating from NYU business school. Three of her fellow MBAs from school met up with her in Sevilla (the first stop on her marathon Euro vacation). Brad and I try not to look puzzled when the four of them start discussing finance, consulting or boroughs in "the city," aka New York.

Aval, Nelson, Evelyn, Andrea

We have introduced Evelyn to the joys of life in Sevilla: riding bikes, picnicking by the river, tinto de verano, having tapas outside in little plazas . . . During her time in Sevilla, Ev and her crew are visiting the important sights in the city, and they’re taking day trips to Granada and Córdoba – must dos if you’re in Andalucía.

Meanwhile, we’re processing the complex emotions that come with our move back to the U.S. To be honest, I don’t know if Brad has so many complex emotions – mainly he feels happy about getting back to chicken wings and barbeque. As for me, though, I feel very strange about leaving. “Bittersweet” doesn’t really capture the feeling. Last night I told a little old lady with heavy shopping bags where to find a taxi, and I felt so sad that I soon won’t be able to give little old ladies directions in Spanish.

Tonight my German friends, Christina and Stefi, are having their going-away party at their apartment. (Stefi requested that I bring “stuffed eggs” – she loved my deviled eggs at Easter.) They leave Sevilla this weekend. I’m glad we don’t leave long after they do because I would miss them so.

Brad is finishing up his research at the archive. He took some photos at the morning coffee break yesterday. We’ve really enjoyed our time with some of the other researchers and we want to remember them. Brad was especially excited to get a photo of the woman who makes his coffee every morning. He often (unselfishly) orders coffees and toasts for the whole archive crowd, and waits for everyone's order at the counter. He’s seen this cafe woman practically every weekday since September, but she didn’t break down and start smiling at him until recently. According to Brad, she only smiles at him and scowls at everyone else. What can I say? He’s a charmer.

He doesn't even know her name, but they have a special connection

Juanjo and Tien (with her tostada)Anele, Michael, Christen and Justin

We leave in a week. We’ve already shipped a few boxes back, we donated books and clothes, we’ll force our Spain and Europe guidebooks on Evelyn, and we’ll pray that the rest of our junk can fit into our five suitcases. In preparation to say, “adios,” I’m strolling down my favorite streets and through my favorite neighborhoods. I’m also eating buckets of fresh gazpacho and piles of fried fish.

Ya Es Verano

The heat has arrived in Sevilla and the days are very long. Last night the sun set around 9:30. Sevillanos don’t sup until 10 or later, so the timing feels just right. The siesta is a necessity during the summer in southern Spain. In the street, the quietest time of day is from 3-5 because everyone is resting in their homes – made with high ceilings, marble floors and central courtyards – all of which aid in cooling the building. When you walk past the open door of a building with any interior courtyard, you pass through a refreshing whoosh of cool air.

Since I’m a Haus Frau, but I don’t want to run errands in the afternoon, I went out this morning. After getting my usual 2nd breakfast: un media tostada con tomate y aceite y un manchado, at Bar Rodrigo, I headed for the closest bike station. On my way, I gave a sweet nun directions to Jesus del Gran Poder, a church in our neighborhood. Giving directions to little old Spanish ladies is always a pleasure.

I have a bike card from a friend of ours who spent time in the archive here. He entrusted his bike card to me once he left Sevilla. With a card, I can take a bike from any station in the city and deposit it in any other station, and the first 30 minutes are free. I’ve taken to riding a bike to the bus station, or up the river towards the cathedral, or to the Triana bridge when I go to the Triana market.

This morning, I went to the Triana market for coquinas, tiny clams that are popular in these parts. I picked one of the many fresh seafood stalls and waited in line. The seafood at the market is pretty impressive; there are huge, dense tuna fillets, tiny crabs, slowly wiggling in the netting of a bag, milky white squid whose tentacles hang over the counters and small prickly conch shells.

When my turn came, I told the fishmonger that I wanted coquinas para dos personas. While he weighed and bagged my order, an older man walked up, and began chatting jovially with him. The old man nonchalantly selected one of the tiny coquinas from the counter in front of me, picked it up, pried it open and ate the clam inside. He contentedly announced, “Those coquinas are quite delicious and fresh!” I smiled to myself and gave the fishmonger 3 euros.


Ingredients: coquinas, olive oil, salt, white wine, parsley and an obscene amount of garlic

El Itenerario Verde

“Extremely Tough” is a rough translation of Extremadura, the autonomous community in Spain through which Brad and I traveled this weekend. Extremadura is not a barren hard place as its name might suggest. Much of the area (directly north of Andalucía) undulates between hilly pastures populated with happy-looking livestock and lush mountains covered in graceful trees and cheerful wildflowers. Extremadura is not a big tourist destination and you’re hard-pressed to find anything bigger than villages . . . that’s why we went.


Fifty years ago, Life Magazine did a piece on Extremadura. At that time, in the middle of the Franco regime, Extremadura was poor, with conditions bordering on third-world. If strangers entered a town, inhabitants would fearfully disappear into their houses. The descriptive photographs that showed up in Life were deeply embarrassing to the Spanish government, and they began serious efforts to improve conditions in Extremadura. Today, inhabitants still look at you when you drive through the tiny farming villages, but only because they’re puzzled as to why you’re there.

We rented a car to explore Extremadura because many areas are practically inaccessible by bus or train. Driving through tranquil pasture land and over mountains was splendid. We were usually the only car on the road and we could stop whenever we wanted to take photos of cows, sheep or pigs grazing. (Call me a city girl, but roaming livestock and rolling hills delight me.)

Pigs eating bellotas, or acorns, under squatty Spanish oak trees. Acorn-fed black pigs like these become jamón ibérico – famous Spanish cured ham. These pigs are only raised in Extremadura and Andalucía.

We spent one night in Trujillo, home of Francisco Pizarro. Pizarro sent back lots of his silver money once he’d made a mess in Peru, and built mansions for himself and his family members there. Not much has changed in Trujillo since then (500 years ago). Trujillo is very rocky and hilly; oddly, it reminded us very much of Siena in Tuscany. In a word, it’s understated.

Plaza Mayor, the center of town. The statue is of Pizarro.

Trujillo is also full of storks and swallows. Extremadura is known for its bird wildlife. In any city or town, you see dozens of large stork nests perched on top of the highest buildings. The tops of steeples are especially good real estate if you’re a stork.

A stork nest

After a drive from Trujillo, through the pastures, into the mountains, you’re in vulture country. Rare species of carrion-eating birds live in the national park, Monfragüe, in northeast Extremadura. Spring is a wonderful time to visit Extremadura because it’s filled with blooming flora and baby animals – calves, lambs and piglets! (Baby vultures aren’t as cute so I didn’t really look for any.) Anyway, hiking in Parque Monfragüe was definitely on our itinerary.

We parked at the outpost near the park, bought a couple sandwiches and set off. We took the Itenerario Verde, a trail lined with bright wildflowers that took us over streams, past fields and up a mountain for a view of the river and a 9th century Moorish castle on the opposite mountaintop. I was taught that picnicking on a rock in the middle of stream – without any sound of cars, machinery or people – is the nicest way you’ll ever dine. It's true. Throughout our day in Monfragüe, the phrase, “all creation proclaims God’s glory,” kept popping into my head.


After our hike, we drove our way down the mountains, through more pastures, over streams, up other mountains and arrived in the hamlet of Guadalupe. Guadalupe is nestled in the Sierra Viejas, and a view from above shows you that the center of the town is dominated by the stone structures of the 14th century monastery and church and the 15th century hospital. The hospital has been turned into a state-run Parador – a fancy old building of historic significance in an out-of-the-way place – and we spent the night there.

Guadalupe, with the monastery on the right and mountains in the background

Guadalupe is so beautiful. Brad noted that it could be an Alpine village because it is surrounded by high, lush mountains. When we arrived, we were a bit grungy from our hike and a bit road-weary from the mountainous drive, but we headed towards the monastery. Guadalupe is famous for the Virgin of Guadalupe, who lives at the Franciscan monastery. She is an authentic 13th century Black Madonna (painted black).

By the way, a Virgin by same name is extremely important to Mexican Catholics. That Virgin of Guadalupe appeared to an indigenous Mexican. The shrine for her in Mexico City is behemoth and it was utterly packed when we visited it years ago. The Virgin in Extremadura, however, made her appearance before the one in Mexico.

View from the courtyard in the monastery

The last guided tour of the monastery had already left by the time we got there, but they allowed us to join up with the group. We were taken through a huge hall where the monks dress for mass – it’s filled with paintings by Zurbaran. Then to a circular room with a multitude of treasures on display. Everything in the room – from the intricate crown covered with diamonds, to the embroidered and beaded capes, to the massive Murano glass chandelier from Venice – was a gift to the Virgin. Our tour also went up to the choir loft in the back of the church – even though a wedding was taking place. We got up to the large loft just as the soloist, accompanied by a friar on the organ, began to sing Panis Angelicus. Below, we could see the wedding guests receiving the sacrament.

At the end of the tour, our group was left in the care of a real Franciscan friar. He was to take us to see the Virgin. He led us up a wide stairway to a fancy anteroom. He told us about the Baroque paintings and sculptures in the room – all of which depicted strong women from the Bible. He then led the group in reciting the Hail Mary before he unlocked the doors to reveal the Virgin.

The Virgin was very striking because her small black face and hands are the only parts of her body that are visible. The rest of her was covered in a hot pink head covering and cape. Brad and I couldn’t get too close because the friar stood next to her and invited the group to kiss the Virgin’s cloak and pay her homage. I didn’t have any specific requests to ask of the Virgin, so I hung back.

Before our group had cleared out, the mother of the bride and the bride herself had come up to pay the Virgin their respects. The mother was wearing a lovely blue outfit and, in her hair, she had a comb covered in black lace that hung down her back. Worn with a black dress, this comb called a mantilla is the mourning dress worn by women during Semana Santa. The mantilla is also worn at very formal occasions.

The mother of the bride leaving the church
A photo of the Virgin in one of her other outfits

We watched the wedding guests disperse, and then walked around the monastery to have a drink at the bar inside. The atmosphere at the monastery was a bit too serious to really enjoy a glass of wine (the Jesuits are better than the Franciscans when it comes to having a drink and a good time.) To complete our evening, we dined at the Parador where we were staying. The food was unbelievably good. Brad had duck. I had pork with cheese sauce – every bit as decadent as it sounds. And we had cava to drink; it seemed that we should celebrate having such a wonderful time on our last excursion out of Sevilla.

As an added treat on our way back home, we drove through Miajadas, the self-proclaimed “European Tomato Capital.” We didn’t have time to sample any tomatoes, but we got a great view of the tomato water tower on our way out of town. Since I also come from a region where giant water towers are shaped like prized fruits, it was a special moment for me.

Una Barbaridad

Recently, Brad and I joined some archive peeps for tapas. The majority of the crowd were native Spanish speakers, and the majority typically decides the language everyone will be using at the gathering. I enjoyed catching up with Consoli, a sweet girl from the Basque country who just got back from 3 months in Cuba. Then, I talked with Magdalena for a bit – she’s a nut. At the end of the night, Magdalena told me my Spanish had grown una barbaridad or “a barbarity.” I’d never heard that wonderfully descriptive word before, but I assumed (correctly) that it was a compliment.

Although my Spanish still needs LOTS of work, I can converse for hours in Spanish now. The conversation is stilted and, at times, frustrating for me and whoever is listening, but I can even be funny in my more inspired moments. Being able to converse in Spanish was my main goal for this year abroad. It’s unbelievably rewarding.

Yesterday, we came full circle, so to speak, by having a long lunch with the Camprubis at their beautiful home. When we first arrived to Sevilla 8 months ago, we stayed with the Camprubis; and their son/our friend, Lino, helped us find our apartment, set up bank accounts, etc. It was delightful to see them again – this time, being able to speak Spanish. Now, both Brad and I also know many expressions and terms that are unique to Spain or unique to Sevilla. For lunch, Carmen made a huge pan of delicious arroz negro: rice and seafood, flavored (and colored) with black squid ink. For dessert, we all tried nisperos, a sweet fruit that was growing on one of the trees in their garden.

Acabando la beca

So I have less than 4 weeks left at the archive. I feel like this is a good time to stop and reflect on what’s gone on here at the AGI this year.

First of all, a small miracle occurred in the archive last week: I actually had the urge to write my dissertation. That is nothing to laugh at. I put the urge to good use and, in the middle of the archive, began outlining chapters of the dissertation. I have no doubt that this rough outline will change drastically over the next year or so, but it’s a good start, I think. I’m pretty excited about it.

The reason that I can actually write an outline now is due, in large part, to the stuff that I’ve found here. Some of it is very good.

There are very showy things, like a painted tribute record from 1543. The tribute is recorded in a preconquest pictorial style with the names of the towns written glyphically down at the bottom (that’s “Place of the Sweat Bath” on the right, by the way). The preconquest indians from central Mexico were way too cool for boring old letters and numbers.

Then, too, there are less showy—but no less interesting—things. Like how the Texcoco royal family tree started to seriously turn back in on itself by the 1590s, or how farms were exploited for profit over the course of the sixteenth century, or how Spaniards dramatically altered the way that indians conceived of land and space. The point is that I think I’m starting to see things.

As an added bonus, I’ve had a couple of ideas for future projects. It may seem a bit premature to be thinking of future projects when I haven’t even finished this one, but I will likely be asked to talk about my future research plans during job interviews, so it’s good to have a few ideas already in mind. Here in Seville, I had two. The first was to do a study of the environmental impact of colonialism in central Mexico. In documents that I look at now, I’m always seeing ways that the Spaniards have changed Mexico with their crops, mills, irrigation ditches, livestock, etc. (And Al Gore has made environmental issues so trendy these days!) The second idea was to do a study of the Salazar family of Mexico City. This family comes up in many of the documents that I’ve found, and they all seem to be very mean, nasty people. Sounds fun to me.

Anyway, that’s how’s it’s winding down. I’ve got a couple more judicial cases (very long cases) that I’m working to finish up, but that’s about all that I feel like I really must see before I leave. I’m feeling good about it.

La Niña, La Pinta y La Santa Maria

In keeping with my trend of bizarre experiences in Spain, I was treated to a day in Huelva by Mario, my tutee. He drives to Huelva weekly for work. There’s not much to see there, but he said he wanted to show me “los barcitos,” the to-scale reconstructions of the boats in which Columbus sailed to America.

Although he definitely spent too much money on a fancy lunch for me, the local seafood is amazing, and I was excited to see the barcitos afterwards. First we toured a small monastery called La Rábida (pretty sure that translates to “The Rabid”), where Columbus stayed in the days before he set sail on his fateful voyage. Then we walked down to the harbor below to clamber around on the 3 boats. They are unbelievably tiny. In 1992, on the 500-year anniversary of the discovery of the Americas, Spain sailed those 3 boats to Hispañola, along the same course that Columbus took. But with modern navigation tools.

When I got home, Brad informed me that the scale of the boats is all wrong. He knows a naval historian who explained the inaccuracies to him one time. Why am I not surprised? He also told me that La Pinta essentially means “The Whore.” Isn’t there an old sailor’s superstition about how every discovery expedition has to have a slutty boat . . .?

El Rocio

Rocio is a popular girl’s name in Sevilla. Typically, names ending in “o” are male names. (Female names end in “a.”) Rocio is a girl’s name because “El Rocio” is a manifestation of the Virgin. Hundreds of years ago, a hunter found a statue of the Virgin in a tree trunk near the village of El Rocio, which is near Doñana, the wildlife refuge that extends to the Atlantic coast. In the days before Pentecost, people from all over Andalucía take the pilgrimage to El Rocio.

The church of El Rocio in Huelva. We saw this church on our way to and from the beach last week. It sits on the edge of a beautiful marsh.

A couple of Sevilla hermandades (brotherhoods) begin the pilgrimage together – leaving from their churches in the city. My friend, Mario, called to give me a heads up about one of the brotherhoods that was going through our neighborhood. I saw the Macarena hermandad go through on their way to El Rocio. Later I walked through Los Remedios to see the San Salvador hermandad leaving the city. (I walked so far I felt like I’d completed half the pilgrimage myself.)

The processions out of Sevilla look similar to the pasos of Semana Santa, but everyone wears what looks like their Feria costumes. Mario informed me that it’s actually special garb just for the Rocio pilgrimage. Women wear a skirt and top – unlike the one-piece Feria dress – and the skirt is roomy for walking over terrain. Many also wear boots and a small leather purse around the waist – for trail mix, I assume. It was odd to see all the women in cheerful flamenco-looking dresses taking a religious pilgrimage. Not surprisingly, going to Rocio involves lots of drinking, eating and general merry-making.

The procession of people, animals and carts to Rocio includes: many people on foot, a cart on wheels with an image of the Virgin, and horses, donkeys, oxen and vehicles pulling mini covered wagons with people inside. People essentially camp out in these wagons (it’s about 60 miles to El Rocio), so they are stocked with plenty of refreshments and comforts.



As I watched this strange procession move down the street in Sevilla, I turned to the woman next to me to ask what the mini covered wagons were. She assumed I was asking about the whole shebang, so she began telling me about hermandades, etc. I wanted to hear her explanation, so I just listened. She began to talk about Rocio, the Virgin, and I could tell she was a practicing Catholic. She told me that some people go to El Rocio to ask forgiveness for their sins. She said, “If you have any troubles in your life, you can go her and she will help you.” She said she has 3 kids and 6 grandkids and she’s 73-years-old, so Rocio has kept her and her family kept her healthy and protected. When I looked in her eyes, I could see she was completely sincere; she was telling me all this out of compassion. That was the first time I’ve had a conversation with a Spaniard about her tangible faith.

The Virgin of El Rocio

Un paseo

I’m feeling sentimental because we only have a few more weeks in Sevilla. (Indulge me, if you will.) I will miss the random sights, smells and scenes from the street. We spend lots of time “en la calle” and it’s a great cultural adventure every day.

Calle Mendoza Rios

Strolling home after some early evening shopping on Tetuan . . .

I turn onto the small pedestrian way, Calle San Eloy, to avoid the crowded sidewalk along Alfonso XII. It’s about 9 p.m., and most stores are just closing on San Eloy. Two chattering women come out of a tiny shoe store and pull down the metal grate – painted pink – in front of the glass door. A college-age foursome (3 girls, 1 guy) walks towards me and I just catch the end of the guy’s question; he’s Spanish. One of the girls with him, wearing a short stylish dress, answers deliberately with a grating American accent, “Tengo un examen mañana.” I roll my eyes.

The two short older ladies to my right are supporting each other as they walk; the shorter one uses a cane. Across the way, an old friend spots them and immediately begins yelling and smiling. Walking over to her friends, she proclaims, “¡Oy-yoy-yoy! ¡Que guapa!” As I turn down Calle Monsalves, I see little clusters of neighbors and friends talking and nibbling tapas at a bar. The Plaza del Museo has its usual unhurried activity as I pass through. Someone’s dog is sniffing along the shrubbery. Throughout the plaza, periwinkle-colored jacaranda blossoms lie on the ground.

I walk two blocks up Alfonso XII to Calle Redes – I haven’t turned down this pretty street in a while. The sunlight down the street is dusky; a warm breeze is coming from somewhere – the river? Just as I pass the large doorway into an interior courtyard, I hear a door inside close and a handful of voices begin to sing “Cumpleaños Feliz” to the tune of “Happy Birthday.” The pitch is shaky, but I can hear big smiles in their voices.

Looking into the open door of our local bar, Abacería Baños, I see that Pedro is not working tonight. I smile at the guy behind the bar – he was really nice the last time we were there. I hear a saxophonist practicing scales at the music conservatory across the street. The practice room window must be open. When I’m just half a block from our apartment, I see a cute girl my age hurrying down Baños. I quickly recognize her as one of my intercambio partners from months ago and I remember that she lives in my neighborhood. When we met for our intercambio, she taught me so much about Semana Santa and Feria traditions.

And now I’m home – it’s 9:30 and still light.

¿Como se dice “sunburned”?

Along with the inevitable hoards of 18-to-22-year-olds, we elbowed our way onto one of the buses heading to a beach called Matalascañas. Thursday was Fiesta del Trabajo (Labor Day) and the closest beach from Sevilla is only an hour away. It’s a no-brainer. (The bus ride actually took two and a half hours that day.)

On the way to the beach, you get to see oleander and other pretties blooming along the road

Matalascañas is a crowded public beach on the Atlantic. But, if you walk up the beach for a while, the crowds disappear and you get to the edge of Doñana, a huge wildlife preserve (the biggest in Europe). Brad and I spent Fiesta del Trabajo with two other researchers from the archive. We took a walk up the beach with Elena and enjoyed the quiet near the wildlife preserve. We also saw several people digging in the sand at the edge of the water, and depositing tiny shells in bags and bottles. They were collecting coquinos – little clams that taste delicious cooked with lots of garlic and olive oil.

My sunburn? That didn’t happen until yesterday. We went back to Matalascañas with our German friends, Christina and Stefi (in their car). Since they’re German, they are professional beach-goers. Southern Spain is extremely popular with their kind – we actually ran into 5 of their German friends at the beach. The Atlantic I grew up going to is bath-water warm in the summer; the Atlantic in southern Spain is freezing all summer long. But, to Christina the water was refreshing and she went swimming throughout the day.

I have to go now . . . and treat my burns. Don’t worry, I’ve done this countless times.

¿Parles català?

Tomatoes at La Boqueria market

The springtime deluges of tourists turn parts of Spain into a temporary quagmire. One must wade through the bog if you wish to see any big “sights” in big cities. And what a bog Barcelona is in April! (But it’s a pretty bog with lots of flowers in bloom . . .)

The discriminating tourist (Brad and/or me, for example) knows that there’s more to a city/country than those hyped sights. (Granted, many sights get all the hype because they are truly are incredible, and worth a 20 Euro train ticket or a mile-long climb uphill, and they are certainly worth photographing thoroughly.)

The undiscriminating tourist waits for half an hour to see the thirteenth-century Black Virgin at the basilica of Montserrat; then when he finally gets to the sculpture, he immediately turns to smile for a photo – instead of gazing at a legendary Madonna in a holy place. The discriminating tourist finds a tour book-recommended tavern for lunch; then orders whatever the locals sitting next to him recommend to eat, and consequently becomes friends with a Catalunyan family and ends up getting free drinks.

Barcelona

When Brad and I were dating in college, he spent a semester in Spain. His group traveled all over the country, but he was especially impressed with a few spots – one was Barcelona. He loved the architecture of Gaudi. Gaudi’s final and largest project, a massive church called the Templo Expiatorio de la Sagrada Familia, was far from finished when he died. Brad told me that the church was slated to be completed in 2020 . . . and he wanted us to visit Barcelona together to see the finished version. This was several months before we got engaged and the college-version of Neely got all flustered and excited that the college-version of Brad wanted to still be with her when he was 40-years-old.

Well, we got in a great visit to Barcelona just this weekend, and now I have lots more than just the Sagrada Familia to see when I return years from now. It was Brad talking about Barcelona that first got me interested in going, and it was my parents’ encouragement that got me to book the flight and hotel. At the onset of our time in Spain, we had great plans to see every province in Spain, but that’s crazy and I’ve only seen a fraction of the country. Mom and Dad know me so well that they didn’t want me to miss the funky, artsy city of Barcelona.

Our first order of business in Barcelona was to check out some of its wonderful art and architecture. We ascended Montjuic to the Museu Nacional, which has a world-class collection of Romanesque art and lot of cool Gothic and Renaissance stuff too. Their Catalan Romanesque pieces (most from the thirteenth-century) are essentially frescoes that were lifted off the walls in tiny churches in Catalunya and transferred to the museum. Deep, vibrant colors and compositional balance are typical in Catalan Romanesque.

A domed apse; the seraphim were painted with 3 pairs of wings. Many of the renderings had eyes painted all over the angels’ wings – signifying the eye of God that sees all
Christ with the four gospels symbolized by creatures

Montjuic is a hill in southwest Barcelona that is home to: the National Palace, built for the 1929 Expo, gardens, buildings from the 1992 Olympics, a great Miro museum (which I will have to visit on my next trip to Barcelona) and gorgeous views of the entire city.

Palau Nacional
View of Barcelona with the Sagrada Familia in the distance

Gaudi is not the only architect of note who designed buildings in Barcelona, but he is certainly the most beloved and probably the zaniest. In his later years, he became extremely religious and vowed to only design sacred spaces. Before taking this vow, he designed some of the most famous and ingenious secular spaces and buildings in Barcelona. One building, called Casa Batlló, was inspired by the story of Saint George and the dragon.

Casa Batlló; the balconies are the skulls of the people eaten by the dragon, and the roof line of the building is the dragon’s scaly back

Park Güell is a space that Gaudi designed originally as a private estate, but later it was opened as a public park. From Park Güell, one can see all of Barcelona and the Mediterranean. The structures in the park are fabulous and make you feel like you’re in a silly dream world.

The two buildings at the entrance to Park Güell

The Sagrada Familia is trippy. Construction was begun in 1882 and it’s still a full-on construction site. You still get mesmerized by the soaring palm branch ceiling and the seemingly out-of-place figures sculpted into the front of the church. The only reason anything seems out-of-place is because Gaudi did stuff that no one else did. He put a green Christmas tree covered with white doves above the main door of the church and he put large sea turtles at the bases of columns . . . Why not? It’s all so cool! Eventually the church will have 12 sky-scraping towers and the design input of numerous individuals. Most of Gaudi’s own plans for the structure were destroyed, so people have tried to remember what he had planned – and they’re building what they hope will honor his memory.


We visited another memorable holy place during our stay in Barcelona: Montserrat. Montserrat is a somewhat remote mountain (1 hour from Barcelona) with a monastery and basilica. According to legend, St. Peter brought the icon La Moreneta, or the “Black Virgin,” here centuries ago. Numerous miracles have supposedly occurred at this spot, and the holy grail is here of course as well. Religious pilgrims (and tourists) keep the mountaintop basilica busy. Although the basilica was gorgeous (especially the life-size Romanesque mosaics of female saints that line the walls just before you get to the Black Madonna) and the boys choir sang beautifully, it was the mountain views that filled me with that quiet sense of God.

La Moreneta; Romanesque art depicts the Virgin as a throne for Christ and metaphorically depicts the link between the holy and the human. Note: I didn’t take this photo – I was too busy being a discriminating tourist.
Montserrat literally means "serrated mountain"
The Hermitage of Sant Joan on the top of a peak

You’ll be shocked to hear that our trip to Barcelona wasn’t only about visiting religious cites. We also ate and drank our way through the city. Our first meal was sushi – actually sort of a spiritual experience after being deprived of it for so long. We found a bagel place – Brad was in heaven. And did you know that all cava (Spanish champagne) comes from Catalunya?

A couple of Brad’s fellow “scholars” who are researching in Barcelona took us to a great restaurant, and invited us to “Mexican night” for supper the next day. It was super fun to see them and swap funny culture-clash stories.

One day, Brad and I found an out-of-the-way taverna for lunch. We were seated next to a family at a long table. After ordering our drinks from the waitress, the man sitting next to Brad leaned over and asked if we spoke Spanish. Language always builds a wonderful bridge, and we were chatting away with them before long. The guy strongly recommended that we order the caracoles, “snails.” He said that this restaurant has the absolute best. We’d never eaten snails, but there’s a little something called, “seizing the day,” so we did it!

Our pan of caracoles
Brad, using a special tool (called a wooden stick) to eat the snails

We didn’t just have snails in an incredibly rich tomato sauce, we also had a big plate of grilled meats. By the end of our delicious meal, the patriarch of the Catalunyan family next to us was giving us glasses of cava and making us try their dessert. We topped it all off with some scotch and orange soda. You don’t get more Spanish than that.

Our menu at the memorable lunch spot

Os cuento

Plaza San Salvador on a Friday afternoon

The cultural norms and quirks of southern Spain are fascinating to me. I am forever attempting discuss the cultural differences between here and home. So far, I have found Spaniards themselves to be the best at describing their unique ways. Spaniards who have traveled elsewhere are acutely aware of how special their home is. (Andaluces, or folks from Andalucía, are especially proud of home – and few ever leave.) Below, I recount two cultural experience stories from Spaniards.

Las Pipas

Pipas, or sunflower seeds, are extremely popular in Sevilla, and everyone spits the shells on the ground while eating. (Littering – even inorganic material – is standard in Spain.) The pipa consumption during Semana Santa was mind-blowing. Every plaza had a carpet of shells.

A Sevillana was studying abroad in England one summer. One day, she was eating pipas. Gradually she realized that everyone standing around was staring at her. Then she realized that maybe they don’t spit the shells into the street in England. She noted that it was noticeably clean in their country, but they’re just pipas! What’s the big deal?

The Waitress

Dining in Spain is an exercise in patience and assertiveness training. In order to be served, it is necessary to flag down a waiter (usually takes several attempts) and yell out your order before he angrily storms off. Wait staff in Spain do not rely on tips because they have a decent salary. I tip 20% in the US, and here I usually leave a few cents or nothing.

Two Spanish women walk into a restaurant in the U.S. As they are being seated, their waitress walks by and says something like, “Hi there! How are y’all doing tonight? I’m Jessica and I’ll be taking care of y’all. If you need anything, just give me a holler!”

One of the Spaniards, thinking Jessica must be a good friend (after such a warm introduction), stood up and gave her a kiss on both cheeks – the proper way to greet any acquaintance. The other Spanish woman, having some experience with American wait staff, was so embarrassed that she immediately stood up and left the restaurant.

Mis estudiantes

I’m working again! Not for the flamenco shop family who never learned how to smile . . . I’m an English tutor! One of my pupils is Mario, the previously-mentioned Peruvian gentleman, and my other two pupils are little Swiss-German girls who live in a suburb outside of Sevilla. I got the gig with the little girls because my German friends work as au pairs for their family and they gave me a very good recommendation.

The tutoring sessions are all quite short and I may only work for a few weeks, but the work is delightful. With Mario, I get to practice my Spanish a bit and I’m learning about architecture because some of his work involves designing country homes for Brits who wish to spend their holidays in southern Spain. Mario learned English many years ago, but he remembers a good bit and he just wants some conversation practice. Can do!

The little ones are spunky (today I tried to teach the 6-year-old “silly” because that is her primary personality trait.) I get to prepare a little lesson for them twice a week and we just have fun. I try to involve acting, singing, dancing, shouting, drawing and lots of “very good!” With young children, it’s fascinating to watch them soak up a language. Their dad is a professional fútbol player, so they’ve lived in Holland, Italy, Switzerland and Spain; this summer they move to Manchester. The younger one defaults to speaking Spanish during lessons, and the 8-year-old defaults to German. I try to stick to English.

Living in Europe, I’ve realized that English is such a vital language for businesspeople, travelers and students. In many parts of Europe, English is a lingua franca because people from places like Denmark or Poland realize that very few people speak their native languages and they need to learn English in order to communicate with the world outside their county’s borders.

By the way, learning how to spell and read in English is freaking hard! Glad I never had to learn how . . . wait . . .

“Sevilla tiene un color especial”

You know you’re at Sevilla’s Feria de Abril if you are: grinning, drinking rebujito, eating pescaito frito, clapping along with Feria songs played on a loudspeaker, watching locals dance Sevillanas and taking photos obsessively.

The 150-year-old Feria de Abril takes place 2 weeks after Semana Santa every year. Little towns all over Andalucía have a spring Feria week as well, but of course the Sevilla Feria is the grandest. And, during the last weekend of the Feria, people from surrounding pueblos descend upon the Sevilla Feria.

You can find Ferris wheels and cotton candy at the fair here, but there are no pie contests, and the only livestock on the fairgrounds are the horses and mules that pull carriages that deliver locals to their casetas. Casetas, which are decorated tents of varying sizes, are the big thing at the Sevilla Feria.

Casetas with fair rides in the background
A caseta with a guard standing outside
People drinking, eating and dancing inside a public caseta

Of the 1,500 casetas at the fair, only 10-15 are public casetas. That’s the thing, every private caseta has a guard standing outside and keeping the riff raff out. Private casetas are paid for by groups of friends, families, hermandades (the groups who do pasos during Semana Santa), the local faction of a political party, rowing clubs, etc., etc. Casetas are quite expensive and the waiting list to get an available caseta is decades long. Like many traditions in Sevilla, Feria is not universally loved by all the locals. Some more erudite Sevillanos may argue that Feria is exclusive because not everyone has a private caseta. However, everyone I saw there - private caseta or not - seemed to be having a ball.

What goes on inside the casetas? Well, Feria is like a classy tailgate that lasts 7 days. The interiors of these casetas are decked out; many casetas have items such as: framed pictures or mirrors on the walls, lace draped over the walls, potted flowers and/or large glowing laterns hung from the ceiling. From about noon each day until dawn the next morning, people go to casetas to drink, eat and dance. The typical drinks of Feria are sherry and rebujito (a refreshing drink made with sherry and 7-Up on ice). Handily, it's impossible to get drunk even if you drink rebujito for many hours. The typical food is pescaito frito (fried fish) and essentially any food that is normally eaten in Sevilla all year.

I was lucky enough to be invited to a private caseta this week. The invite came from a Peruvian architect named Mario who’s lived in Sevilla for many years. He has a caseta with some of his architect friends. I know Mario because he wants me to tutor him in English. I only met with him once – a few days before Feria. But, he graciously called this Wednesday to invite me to his caseta. Brad came with, and the three of us enjoyed a couple hours of drinking rebujito and chatting about Feria traditions. We met a few of Mario’s friends and, at one point, we were all discussing how few public casetas there are . . . one friend joked, “Yeah, gidis almost never see the inside of a private caseta!” (A “gidi” is a Spanish nickname for an embarrassingly stereotypical tourist.) I laughed and said, “Lo se, lo se!” (I know, I know!) And then I thanked Mario for being so kind to invite me.

Dancing is a huge part of Feria. Locals all dance Sevillanas, the name of a beautiful dance that is danced with a partner or in groups of four. The music for Sevillanas has a 3 count and the first beat is emphasized. Most of the songs have lyrics about Sevilla. As Brad said, “This is the music a local far from home would want to listen to if he was homesick for Sevilla.”


Inside a public caseta on Wednesday


We got inside this private caseta because our American friend, Elena, has Sevilla connections

The dance mimics the actions of picking fruit from a tree and putting it into a basket. Many people sing along with the music and some women even play castanets. As a spectator, I was entranced by the dizzying frills and swinging fringe of the women’s’ flamenco dresses and shawls.

On Thursday afternoon

The coolest part of Feria may be the flamenco fashion. Most women, girls and even babies wear flamenco dresses, brightly-colored heels, a shawl with long fringe, elaborate dangly earrings, a color-coordinated comb and huge fake flower – often pinned on the top of the head. Staring at the million colors, dress styles, accessories, and gorgeous Spanish faces gave me a serious case of eye-glut.

On her cell phone on the way to the fairgrounds


And of course the costumed children are so precious! Many moms and their little girls or babies wear color-coordinated flamenco dresses. There's nothing cuter than 5-year-olds dancing Sevillanas in their little Feria outfits.

Sitting in a carriage
Posing for her mama
Riding with his daddy

Flamenco dresses are the only "regional costume" in Spain that still change with the fashion each year. To my ignorant eye, it seemed that white and red were really popular this year – as well as espadrilles. Then again, many of these patterns and colors have been popular for decades. I have no idea when the flower perched atop the head became the trend, but what a bold statement, huh? No one ever said that Sevillanas can’t accessorize!

When I asked these women if I could take a photo, they said, “¡Claro!” (Of course!)

The ladies aren’t the only ones with accessories . . .

The horses at Feria are decked out too!
From noon to 8pm each day, horses pull carriages to deliver people from their homes to the fairgrounds. Many women (riding side saddle) and their escorts ride past the casetas; I’m assuming the purpose is to see and be seen

I posted this obscene number of photos and videos all at once because that’s what Feria is like . . . you are surrounded by hundreds of women in a million colors and styles, dripping with accessories and looking unusually tall in their heels; you also see gorgeous horses trotting by, pulling shiny carriages full of festive people drinking manzanilla (sherry); and you hear loud joyous music from all sides; countless spinning, laughing people are dancing Sevillanas inside and outside of almost every caseta.