My host family is great: Luciano is probably the nicest man ever and in this unconventional arrangement, he is a fantastic stay-at-home grandpa/dad and cook; Angela is quite spirited to say the least and once in a while I get a kick out of her picking on people (like the "gordos", aka fat people on tv); Najwa, the 9 yr old granddaughter is really cute and quite the motormouth; Rocio, the 25 yr old daughter who still lives at home while going to school and working, is really friendly; Abdullah and Esperanza, Najwa's parents, are nice....
Yet there are a few other members of the 'family'. The OTHER host students.
First, it was Tai Chi (and, yes, I am sure his name really is not the martial art, but that is how we all said it). He didn't really speak Spanish and frequently responded to questions with "OK" or "BIEN" and a big thumbs up. He did speak a little bit of English, so we talked a few times and I learned that he is an engineering student in Japan who studied in Seattle for a semester and is going to India this summer. He was really nice, but I must say the language barrier that I witnessed was more like a brick wall that he ran into face-first. And I had a front row seat. As I mentioned previously, they cut all of the skin off of their fruit, which was new to me and apparently new to Tai Chi as well. As he was working on a pear one evening in an elaborate cutting pattern like a spiral, Luciano told him to be careful for his fingers when he got to the bottom (in Spanish, of course). Tai Chi, who was holding his pear at the bottom and had already cut off the top stem and skin, looked at Luciano, smiled, and took the biggest bite of his pear from the top where the stem once was. I am sure I am not doing justice to the hilarity of the situation. I started laughing uncontrollably and had to excuse myself from the table after a good 10 minutes of hysterics. Tai Chi never ate a pear again, and when I returned from a weekend excursion he had gone back to Japan and I began to feel at ease at the dinner table once more.
The next three months passed without any other students, but at the end of May I was informed that two Americans were coming. Luciano informed me, in awe, that they were from Texas but strangely spoke no Spanish and must not be Mexican. I'm not sure where he got this stereotype from, but I guess 23 years of hosting students maybe brings that on. Anyways, when I returned from Menorca, there they were at the dinner table. Luciano was right, they did not speak Spanish. Joshua said he took a few classes in Jr. High and Tony said that he had never learned it. I spent that first dinner translating for them and feeling pretty good that they thought I was fluent despite my stuttering. (I must say this "you will achieve fluency while abroad" lie needs to be stopped. I have been here almost 5 months and am still waiting to wake up sounding (and hopefully looking) like Penelope Cruz.) Anyways, after guiding them on an unsuccessful laundromat adventure and a couple of weeks of translations, I feel like a bonafide Spanish genius. I am very relieved to see them eat pears the American way so there is no room for error. (Yes, they eat them SKIN and all, and Angela and Luciano say NOTHING!... I knew I should've tried that.) And alas, it takes a little pressure off of me at the dinner table, though I never really spoke anyways.
Please note, (DAD) that I will be bringing home a picture of my host family and maybe even Josh and Tony, if you are lucky. Unfortunately Tai Chi has faded into the sunset and is now more myth than man in my mind: the legend of the pear.
I have been informed that along with my passport, this photo is necessary for my readmittance into the USA. Since I am quite ready to return, I don't want to risk being sent back...
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Pues, hombre...
We were warned coming to Spain as women that there is a different attitude towards women here, that sometimes students feel outrightly harassed on the streets or even a little unsafe. Coming from D.C. to a small Spanish town, I was skeptical. In D.C., in any town, men do and can whistle, make comments or give the classic up-and-down once over frequently. Nevertheless, most girls can block it out, continue walking with their heads up or even give a sharp retort if needed. In Spain, the real vulnerability I felt was due to my visible "extranjera" (or foreigner) status. I'm not sure what the trick is, but even from across a street or 20 feet away, certain Spaniards pick out friends and I as "extranjeras" immediately. (Yes, I am aware that the English may also serve as a good clue, but even in situations without it, they knew.) How can we respond to these remarks, in Spanish that is clearly tinged and perhaps even tainted with an American accent? If I go out late, guy friends walk me home not because of my fear but because of their insistence. I do feel safer yet I feel safer in D.C. when I am walked home at night as well. I do not usually think that a man who makes a rude sexual comment toward me or my friends will actually harm me, yet the fact that he makes this comment so blatantly and loudly is something new and, in ways, alarming. It is much more difficult to ignore, it is there and it is loud.
Recently, two girl friends and I were walking down a main street in Salamanca and as I crossed to the other side I heard one friend shout "Are you serious?" (yes, in English). I ran back to see them both staring astonishingly at two old men walking casually by. One of these old men had nonchalantly ran his hand up my friend's dress and leg as he took an evening "paseo" with a friend. It is beyond me to explain why this would ever be considered appropriate behavior and the fact that it occurred at 5pm on a street full of people is even more unbelievable. Now this would not have been an everyday happening in America, or at least I should hope not.
That would not happen back home. We have that assurance, belief and security... but is it a false sentiment?
When I told a friend that I was involved in Take Back The Night, an organization to fight gender motivated violence like rape and domestic abuse, she glibly replied that that was great but things like that don't happen back home in North Dakota, D.C. must be different. I'm not sure what she considered "things like that" to be, but I found the statement an acknowledgment of the blissful ignorance and false security we often build up for ourselves. If "things like that" were only nameless and faceless assaults and unfortunate incidents on the street like the molestation of my friend, perhaps a lot of the more damaging, scarring and painfully personal abuses would not exist. When we do not visually see these assaults or hear these sexual innuendos shouted at us, do we think that women are truly safer and live in a more advanced and equal society?
A friend who had studied in Spain informed me that domestic violence is big issue and I should watch for it on the news. To be honest, I find the openness and alarm with which the Spanish media and government address this abuse to be somewhat encouraging. The existence of this abuse and violence is disheartening and alarming, yes; but I would venture to make an educated guess that the quantity is perhaps equivalent to that in the US or other countries. What makes us believe that domestic violence then is not a problem in America? While we may say 'to each his own' or have a belief that what occurs in one's home is private and personal, have we really forgotten that there is a time and a place where this line is crossed? Three women were killed in domestic disputes here in 24 hours in Spain; it was all over the news and the government was actively debating what steps needed to be taken to prevent further deaths. Yet, every single day in the US 4 women die from domestic abuse (http://www.now.org/issues/violence/stats.html). Has this become so normalized as to be forgotten?
I realize that our cultures are different. In some respects I long to return to the US where men are at least a little more subtle and make derogatory comments only under their breathe, where it is easier to ignore, to become oblivious and to block out the persistent culture of misogyny and sexism. Nevertheless by turning this attitude into acceptable undertones in daily life (in snide comments and distasteful jokes), we have failed to acknowledge the importance and prevalence of the issue: the mistreatment of women not just publicly in our cities and towns, but also in the privacy of one's home.
Recently, two girl friends and I were walking down a main street in Salamanca and as I crossed to the other side I heard one friend shout "Are you serious?" (yes, in English). I ran back to see them both staring astonishingly at two old men walking casually by. One of these old men had nonchalantly ran his hand up my friend's dress and leg as he took an evening "paseo" with a friend. It is beyond me to explain why this would ever be considered appropriate behavior and the fact that it occurred at 5pm on a street full of people is even more unbelievable. Now this would not have been an everyday happening in America, or at least I should hope not.
That would not happen back home. We have that assurance, belief and security... but is it a false sentiment?
When I told a friend that I was involved in Take Back The Night, an organization to fight gender motivated violence like rape and domestic abuse, she glibly replied that that was great but things like that don't happen back home in North Dakota, D.C. must be different. I'm not sure what she considered "things like that" to be, but I found the statement an acknowledgment of the blissful ignorance and false security we often build up for ourselves. If "things like that" were only nameless and faceless assaults and unfortunate incidents on the street like the molestation of my friend, perhaps a lot of the more damaging, scarring and painfully personal abuses would not exist. When we do not visually see these assaults or hear these sexual innuendos shouted at us, do we think that women are truly safer and live in a more advanced and equal society?
A friend who had studied in Spain informed me that domestic violence is big issue and I should watch for it on the news. To be honest, I find the openness and alarm with which the Spanish media and government address this abuse to be somewhat encouraging. The existence of this abuse and violence is disheartening and alarming, yes; but I would venture to make an educated guess that the quantity is perhaps equivalent to that in the US or other countries. What makes us believe that domestic violence then is not a problem in America? While we may say 'to each his own' or have a belief that what occurs in one's home is private and personal, have we really forgotten that there is a time and a place where this line is crossed? Three women were killed in domestic disputes here in 24 hours in Spain; it was all over the news and the government was actively debating what steps needed to be taken to prevent further deaths. Yet, every single day in the US 4 women die from domestic abuse (http://www.now.org/issues/violence/stats.html). Has this become so normalized as to be forgotten?
I realize that our cultures are different. In some respects I long to return to the US where men are at least a little more subtle and make derogatory comments only under their breathe, where it is easier to ignore, to become oblivious and to block out the persistent culture of misogyny and sexism. Nevertheless by turning this attitude into acceptable undertones in daily life (in snide comments and distasteful jokes), we have failed to acknowledge the importance and prevalence of the issue: the mistreatment of women not just publicly in our cities and towns, but also in the privacy of one's home.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I am the question master?
I had an exam this Monday. We got three sheets of blank paper to write on and one sheet with three typed sentenced, to make a commentary on (which most of the Spaniards wrote a full sheet front AND back about... did I say there were THREE sentences?). So I receive this paper with three typed sentences, start to panic, but thankfully my cold-hearted evil philosophy professor announces that she will verbally tell us the three other questions that make up the exam. "1. Development of the conscious; 2. Intencionality in Husserl; 3. Language and intentionality." Yes, these were our "preguntas" and if I'm translating that correctly, which I'm pretty sure I am, "preguntas" means questions. Basically, we were supposed to write, aka copy, as much as we could remember from the teacher's lectures and our notes about the given topics in 2 hours.
We frequently play a little card game here called 'kings' which is trivial to say the least. Well, if you draw a queen out of the pile in this juego (i.e. game), you become the question master and everyone you speak to must respond to you in a question. While there have been many efforts to deny losing to the question master (to deny the fact that you responded with a statement), we police ourselves quite well. One time, a friend responded to the question master's pregunta, "Hey, Sean, are you the question master?" with the statement, "I am the question master." As we called him out on his mistake, he tried to change the intonation of his voice to make his statement into a question, imitating a pubescent boy on just the last few syllables. While this provided a few laughs, we stuck to the rules and ultimately he lost that one...
I have a creeping suspicion that Spaniards, or at least Spanish professors, would not excel at this game. Simon Says would perhaps be a better bet as they thoroughly enjoy when any student regurgitates exactly what they have said previously... or is that called the shadow game, you know, the one that young children like to play to annoy their babysitters? But alas, they can never truly convince me that they actually are question masters they claim to be, regardless of the intonation they invoke.
We frequently play a little card game here called 'kings' which is trivial to say the least. Well, if you draw a queen out of the pile in this juego (i.e. game), you become the question master and everyone you speak to must respond to you in a question. While there have been many efforts to deny losing to the question master (to deny the fact that you responded with a statement), we police ourselves quite well. One time, a friend responded to the question master's pregunta, "Hey, Sean, are you the question master?" with the statement, "I am the question master." As we called him out on his mistake, he tried to change the intonation of his voice to make his statement into a question, imitating a pubescent boy on just the last few syllables. While this provided a few laughs, we stuck to the rules and ultimately he lost that one...
I have a creeping suspicion that Spaniards, or at least Spanish professors, would not excel at this game. Simon Says would perhaps be a better bet as they thoroughly enjoy when any student regurgitates exactly what they have said previously... or is that called the shadow game, you know, the one that young children like to play to annoy their babysitters? But alas, they can never truly convince me that they actually are question masters they claim to be, regardless of the intonation they invoke.
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