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.