An Artsy Semester

So, I am now in the middle of my second week of regular classes (my first month here was an intensive period of just one language class every day for four hours) and I have sorted out my schedule. I am taking Advanced Spanish Composition, History/Civilization of Spain, Art History of Spain, Spanish Film, and Cultural Realities of Spain. As most of you know, I am majoring in Literature and Spanish at Point Loma, and I was hoping to be able to study literature of Spain while I am in Spain, but it was impossible due to schedule conflicts. On the other hand, I am tremendously excited about how well all of my classes fit together this semester. My Spanish Civ. class and my Art History class are both starting with the fifteenth century and moving forward to the modern era. Studying both the history of Spain and the art of Spain that came out of those eras in the same semester is going to be fantastic. It is also going to be a really artsy semester for me with Art History, Spanish Film, and a water-color painting class I am taking for fun on top of my normal hobby of photography. It should be interesting, and I am looking forward to learning a lot, to say the least.

A Soundtrack for Life

I ride the bus from Nervion every morning to Prado San Sebastián where I transfer to the tramvía (electric/cable train) to continue on to Plaza Nueva where I get off and walk a few more blocks to school. I then do this in reverse to go home for lunch, then come back to school for my classes in the afternoon, and then once again in reverse when my day is finally done. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time on public transportation (when it finally stops raining here, I hope to walk more, but until then...well, we continue on). The tramvía at least is always tuned to what must be a classical radio station-- sometimes it is an intense symphony, a melancholy piano sonata, or famous operatic works. Although I already had a sense of how important music is in a film, I am learning more about it in my Spanish Film class, which, consequently, is changing the way I observe and perceive things. When riding the tramvía, I find myself imagining that the music is part of the soundtrack of my life or someone else's life: "If this were a movie, what kind of emotions should I be feeling, what kind of thoughts would be going through my head, where would I be headed, and where would I be coming from?" Oh, man, my profe would be so proud.

A Passionate Language

One of the things I love about the Spanish language is the passionate and descriptive nature of it. I have heard some names that in Spanish are perfectly normal, but would be quite strange in English. One of my professor’s names is Milagros (Miracles) but she goes by Mila, and another of my professor’s names is Consolación (Consolation) but she shortens it to Conso. Encarna (one of the women I met in my apartment complex) is short for Encarnación (Incarnation – like the theological term) and my friend Jess was telling me that she met a woman named Puri, which is short for Purificación (Purification). I doubt you would find those names in a book like 1001 Baby Names in the States. One can get away with saying fantastic things in Spanish that would never fly in English. For example, this past week I bought books and school supplies for my classes, and when I paid in exact change, the girl behind the counter said, “Gracias. Stupendo.” Now, as someone who has worked behind a counter, I can get away with saying “Awesome, thanks,” but if I said “Stupendous,” you would probably wonder what I had been drinking lately. In the same way, phrases like “Chicos, es divino!” (Guys, it is divine!) and “Que barbaridad!” (What a barbarity!) that are normal in Spanish evoke sentiments of, shall we say… “Drama-Queen” ? … in English. Seriously, if I started saying things like “What a barbarity!” or if you heard other people saying, “People, this is just divine!” what would you do?

Morocco

This past weekend I visited Morocco with a tourist group based here in Sevilla. Almost all the students from my program went on this trip to Morocco as well as other study-abroad students here in Spain. It was strange returning to Africa with a huge tourist group, actually rather unsettling. I think I experienced more culture shock from that huge group of tourists than I have experienced anywhere else, even when I went to Africa the first time. We visited a few cities in Morocco—Chef Chaouen, Tangiers, Tetuan, Ceuta—but only the very touristy parts. Don’t misunderstand me—the cities were beautiful, I learned a lot about the culture and customs, and I am very glad I went. I just hate being a tourist, especially in a place like Africa where it is crucial to be culturally sensitive and aware of the issues there. I hate being with a group of tourists, especially a huge group of tourists who are so blatantly American. Well, enough of that. Morocco is officially a Muslim country, but I was surprised at how many changes have occurred within the past decade for the Moroccans. The government of Morocco is an absolute monarchy (the king has all the power), and their current king is relatively young, about forty-five or so. He was educated abroad somewhere and has put into effect what to me appear to be some very good changes in the country. For example, the current king’s wedding was a public one, which means that for the first time in the history of Morocco, the people have seen the face of their queen; in the past, the wife (or wives) of the king were always veiled and never seen by the people. She also appears to be involved in several causes and active in her role as queen, which to me seems to be a wonderful step forward for the rights of women in Muslim countries. I hope that the government of Morocco as a Muslim country can set an example for other more conservative Muslim countries in the world to take steps for women’s rights. Besides some of those political things, I learned a little bit about the Muslim culture itself. One of my favorite moments was walking the windy streets of Chef Chaouen, a beautiful small market town (yes, Mom, I was in a big group, which consequently made us even more obvious). I asked our guide, a local man of about sixty, why everything was painted in shades of blue, and he told me that certain colors are very significant in the Muslim culture. For example, blue represents the love of Allah, white represents the peace of Islam, and green represents the community of Muslims around the world. This explains a lot; every Islamic center I have ever seen in the States has been painted in schemes of white and blue or green, and now that I understand the symbolism, it makes a lot of sense.

Reflections from Itálica

Yesterday, on another fieldtrip, I went to the ruins of Itálica a few miles outside the city of Sevilla. The ancient Roman city of Itálica was built in 206 BC by a Roman general and his troops in order to protect Roman soldiers wounded after a battle. According to my profe, every soldier in the Roman army carried a few posts along with their normal gear so that if they needed to they could construct a fort quickly, which is what they did for Itálica. Obviously, they later built a real city complete with an amphitheater that seated 25,000 spectators (the third largest in the Roman Empire). It was rainy and gloomy when we were there, but as my friend Christy said, it seemed rather fitting. The rain lent a touch of antiquity and even tragedy to the place. It seems very right that it should rain while one is walking around ruins, almost as if no other atmosphere or ambiance would make sense. Standing in the middle of the amphitheater was intimidating and sobering; I could imagine it filled with people, imagine how much blood was spilled on that ground. I felt very small standing in a place that was so ancient, so other-worldly, as if my life has been nothing but an infinitesimal speck in the great span of the centuries, which, of course, it has. I found myself imagining the city at the time of Christ, imagining what that world may have been like, and thinking about the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ and the martyrs. We are in the season of Lent right now (the forty days prior to Easter), which is a season of contemplation of the death of Christ; it is a season of sorrow, but also of anticipation of the coming Resurrection. In the middle of a ruined Roman city, I was reminded that though I am small, a mere speck from the perspective of time and the universe, Christ died for me so that I may have new life which is more significant by far than any empire. And although this city was once great, perhaps even significant from the perspective of history, it is now in ruins. In a small way, I was reminded of the things in life that are truly significant, the things that will last forever, and they are not grand empires or impressive cities, but instead they are the things of the Kingdom of God. Eventually the season of my life will come to an end, like all things do, and I do not know if I will be great or significant like the Roman empire, but I do know that if I am remembered, it will not be for the sake of my own life or works, but because for some inexplicable reason God chose to work through me.

Language Fatigue

Hearing and trying to use a second language constantly has become a little bit physically and mentally draining. Often I find myself concentrating very hard to try and understand everything that is going on and I am learning so many new words that I can't remember them all. Trying to express myself in another language when I can't find the words to say what I want has also been exhausting. I visited a class on Cervantes that I am thinking about auditing at the University of Sevilla this week, and the professor spoke so quickly and with a very strong Andalucian accent, dropping s's and lisping through everything. It also did not help that in one hour he gave a crash course in the history of three centuries. I understood most of what he said and I learned a lot, but I was so drained by listening. Don't get me wrong: I absolutely LOVE the Spanish language and the culture of Spain. I think it is beautiful; I am just a little bit exhausted. But, I keep pressing on because I know it will pass.

The Cathedral

Although I have been to the Cathedral of Sevilla before, this week I went for an official visit with a group from the Center. Also known as La Catedral de Santa María de la Sede de Sevilla, it is the largest Gothic cathedral and the third largest church in the world. (The two larger ones are St. Peter's in Rome and I think a church in London). With the discovery of the Americas, Spain became one of the most important and most wealthy powers of the world, and all the gold Spain received from the new world came directly to Sevilla. Christopher Columbus is actually buried in the cathedral. Because of this influx of wealth, Spain was able to fund projects like grand cathedrals and there was a flourishing of art, culture, and construction in Spain. The cathedral is built on the site of a former mosque, following the capture of Sevilla from the Moors. The builders used some columns and elements from the mosque, most famously the Giralda, a minaret (the tower in a mosque that is used to sound the call to prayer) converted into a bell tower for the cathedral. The Giralda is an important symbol of the city, both now and in the past. The interior of the cathedral itself has beautiful stained glass windows, paintings, and many small chapels. I wish that I could show you how awe-inspiringly huge the cathedral is. It is overwhelming.