Thus far, I have utilized this space to reflect on how I see the world around me and have neglected to reflect on the way the surrounding world sees me. Two specific experiences from the past week stick out to me:
1) On Monday, we went on a class trip with the program to the workshop of local artist Martín Lagares (Like him on FB!). He is a sculptor who does a combination of contracted traditional religious works and more contemporary pieces. He talked to us a little about sculpting, showed us around his studio, answered a few questions. After about 30 minutes or so, he asked for a volunteer. My hand shot up (because, no matter the task, who wouldn't want to be a volunteer in a sculptor's studio??), and he gestured for me to come forward: He was going to sculpt me. I nervously stood there, inches from his block of clay, both nervous and excited to see myself through the eyes of a sculptor. His hands moved quickly, fingers twisting, palms pressing--the clay yielding to his power, yielding to his grace and transforming almost magically from brick to body in a matter of moments. The whole time, his eyes almost never left my face. To be looked at by an artist is something so different, so complex. He was studying me, the shape of my chin, my cheeks, the wisps of my hair. "Cuál parte del cuerpo es más difícil esculpir?" (Which body part is most difficult to sculpt) I ask him. He explains that no body part is difficult. They're all easy. Just a few touches here and there, and you have an eye, a pair of lips, an eyebrow. t's not about making a sculpture that looks exactly like the person, he said; it's about making a sculpture that captures the essence of a person--that is what is difficult. Under his gaze, I felt so exposed. He was searching for me. Not just my proportions but my spirit, my identity. While he worked, he also challenged all of us to sculpt faces with small balls of clay. I chose to sculpt his face. So at the same time he was studying me, I was also studying him. It was one of the most uncomfortably honest silent interactions I can remember. Part 2 coming soon. Stay tuned. Love to all, and stay safe in these horrible storms! Elana
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This past week, I got a bike. Well, actually I got access to about 2,500 bikes at stations all across Sevilla. You pay for a membership, and then you have unlimited access to the bikes. The first half hour is always free, and each additional hour costs a little under a dollar. What most people do, however, is just switch out bikes every half an hour as they come across a station. That way, it's always free! It's called Sevici--get it? Like Sevilla and bicicleta (bicycle)?
My biking experience thus far has been limited to neighborhood rides on beach vacations, so the idea of city riding is a little scary. However, Sevilla is apparently one of the best biking cities in the world, bike paths linking nearly every street (check it out), and it's a very common method of transport here. I figured, I'm here for four months, I may as well go for it and do as the sevillanos do. My first couple rides have been exhilarating, adrenaline-inducing, sweat-producing experiences. Riding on the river trail, the breeze blows in my face, the sun beats down, and my energy is up. I look to my right and see the shining Guadalquivir river quivering in the heat. I look to my left and see the various restaurants and taperías dotted with leisurely outdoor diners. I feel like I'm flying past it all, gliding through the city (not so effortlessly, might I add). And then...I cross the bridge, and there's a crowd of pedestrians just waiting for me to navigate through them. I'm weaving back and forth, breaking, stopping, inching along, squeezing my way through, and then ultimately resorting to walking my bike along the path. Saturday morning, I decided to venture out on my two wheels once again. I pulled myself out of bed, threw on a skirt (retrospectively not a good idea), and headed to services at a nearby synagogue. There are two in Sevilla: one reform and the other orthodox. The reform congregation is newer, and they unfortunately don't resume services until Rosh Hashanah. In the meantime, I decided to check out the orthodox services. About four years ago, my homestay family housed a Jewish Penn student who went to services, and he was able to give me all the details: services would be inside a residential building (they keep the doors unlocked on Saturdays), second door on the left. They follow Sephardic tradition, meaning men and women are separate, but they are all in one small room together. He also mentioned that I shouldn't be surprised if I don't find the community particularly welcoming because foreigners are always coming in and out for a Saturday service. So, with his advice in mind, a screen shot of the map and the nearest bike stations, I set off in search of the Jewish community with a mixture of excitement, hesitance, doubt, and the expectation that I would probably be a not-so-welcomed guest. 30-40 minutes, a bit of circling, and a lot of sweat later What I did not expect, however, was to not even make it in the door. Unfortunately, the doors were not unlocked. I heard no voices. I found no other doors. Just one big locked door in the middle of a narrow street. I spent about 15 minutes being bummed out and hoping that someone would magically come to the door, but alas, no so such luck. And it wasn't as if I was about to start stopping passersby to ask. "Perdón, hay servicios para Judíos aquí?" Don't think that would go over so well. Instead, I decided to take advantage of my location and walk to the famous modern sculpture Las Setas, as it's called (the mushrooms per the shape). They were not what I had expected them to be from photos I had previously seen. But then again, that seems to be a theme. What most drew my attention, however, was not what was above ground but rather below. If you descend the staircase, you find a glass-enclosed exhibit covering almost the entire underground space. What's inside? The ruins and artifacts of the old market that used to be where the Setas are today. You see, the Setas were kind of a controversial project--a contemporary sculpture/tourist attraction taking the place of a historical market? I don't think so! To add to that, the construction of it cost double the estimate. On the other hand, some people felt that it would help propel Sevilla into the future, to show people that the city has more than just a history, but a present and future to show as well. In this way, Las Setas to me symbolize the ongoing battle between preservation and progress, but there's a spin: this conflict seems to have more to do with how outsiders perceive Sevilla and Spain rather than what it actually is like. Las Setas scream progressivity not just to Sevillanos but to the world. They are a landmark of architectural modernity that put Sevilla on the map for a present-day, rather than a past, occurrence. They acknowledge that Sevilla has continued changing and developing and contributing, and they push the world to acknowledge that, as well. It hasn't been a full week of living with my host family, and yet we have fallen quite easily into a routine. Afternoons go a little something like this:
"Chicas! El almuerzo!" Mi mamá sevillana calls from the kitchen to let us know that lunch is ready. I hop off the bed into my flip flops and straight through the door of the kitchen to finally lay eyes on the food that has tempted my nose and grumbling stomach for the past hour that I've spent willing the minutes to pass faster. As usual, the table is dominated by one large unfamiliar dish (of which I can recognize about 2 ingredients off the bat), four intricately designed blue plates, two large glass bottles of water, and the ever-present basket of perfectly soft bread. After snapping a quick photo, which hasn't ceased to make everyone laugh, the four of us--host-mom Carmen, host-dad José, fellow exchange student Arielle, and I--take our usual seats. After trying to guess all the ingredients, failing, and instead getting a rundown of the mystery menu, we break out into a conversation (inevitably revolving around Spain: Spanish political climate, common Spanish idioms, the importance of family in Spain, new words learned in Spanish class, etc) interspersed with brief pauses to catch a sentence here or there of the news streaming from the TV in the corner. Today, I decided to initiate a new lunchtime ritual: a version of Spanish/English Taboo (name TBD, stay tuned). The task is simple: Pick a slip of paper with either a Spanish or English word. Describe the word or concept in Spanish until everyone either gets the word or understands it if it's new vocab. We laughed our way through a few words, Carmen and Jose quick as ever to produce the English words we described, and Arielle and I scratching our chins trying to figure out what exactly they were describing and if we could even think of the English word! So far, Carmen is winning! But really we're all winning because we are all learning new words (; By the time we finish lunch, it's about 3:30, which means it's time for the afternoon siesta. I used to think people took naps during this time, and then I learned that's not true. But now that I'm here, I'm really not sure I have any more of a grasp on what siesta is. What I do know is that from mid-afternoon until about 7:30ish, Sevilla is eerily still. No one is in the streets. Stores are closed. Restaurants are locked up. Cervecerías lock the metal gates. My homestay parents either sit in front of the TV or retreat into their room for a descano (rest). All is quiet. Inextricably, siesta is linked to the all-consuming heat that possesses this time of day. I thought that being in Myanmar would prepare me for this, but it's a different kind of beast. If you've ever seen the movie Rear Window, you might remember how tangible the heat is: James Stewart is sweating miserably, the woman across the courtyard has stripped down to lingerie, and the couple upstairs sleeps on their porch outside the window. It's terrible. Well, that's how the heat is here--terribly restrictive. It's almost as if the heat has somehow manifested itself and weighs on everyone's backs and feet, daring them to budge. What's worse is that indoors really isn't that much better. In fact, it might be even hotter. Air conditioning is not really a thing here. Yeah, you read that right. The cost of electricity is so immense that usually only one room in a house will have A/C, and it's turned on as little as possible. Instead, windows are opened, a fan or two is turned on, and light sheets replace any form of blanket on the beds. But more on Spain's electricity habits later... For me, the siesta has been a challenging part of the day. I feel trapped inside the home, almost suffocated by the stifling heat, all the while knowing that there is nothing to be seen or done or heard outside of the house. It feels like wasted time, like I'm somehow missing something, missing time to explore and get acquainted with my new city. But I think I need to be patient and realize that growing accustomed to the siesta is a way of becoming acquainted with Sevilla--it's just a cultural acquaintance. It's hard to see it that way when I'm spending several hours a day sitting on my bed on my computer and feeling like I'm in a sweat lodge, but I know that there's really no other option. You can't go out in this heat. You can't work in this heat. Laziness is not a factor at all. In fact, people here end up working the same number if not more hours; they just don't work in the middle of the day because the sun necessitates a pause. It's interesting to think how much our climate influences our culture. I've thought about it more with the cold going to school in Philadelphia, but I've never really realized how drastic a difference climate can make. The American in me can't help thinking that if more places had/used A/C slash if A/C was somehow more affordable, things could be different...But would they actually be? Can modern invention somehow supersede climate and therefore shift culture, not all at once but gradually? Food for thought--maybe during siesta? "El amor...te prometo..."
I nod my head along to the sweet singing and stringing of the presumably Spanish man just a few feet to the right of me. The group of majority European tourists lounging poolside on the roof of the hotel quietly accept his unsolicited serenade, passively allowing it to bathe the terrace. My chaco-tanned toes instinctively begin tapping along as I try to decipher the words. "El amor...te prometo...mumble mumble mumble...el amor..." Oh well. On my left, I'm treated to a view of the red and brown rooftops and arching balconies of Sevilla's centro. The trees are ever-so-gently blown by the wind, a breath of movement in the stillness of the white structures. The sun wanders not-so-slowly just beyond the umbrella's reach and right into my face, and I'm forced to relocate to complete this blog. What a struggle this life is... Yesterday and today have been blurs of color, food, and heat. Our first assignment for our course Más allá de los estereotípos (Beyond the Stereotypes) was to explore a neighborhood of Sevilla with other members of our group. My assigned barrio was Triana, a little neighborhood just over the river filled with restaurants, bars, shops, and narrow picturesque streets (see below). For part of the assignment, we interviewed a few locals passing on the street. The first person we stopped was a middle-aged woman out for a stroll with her dog. She exuded such an air of warmth and enthusiasm, generously answering our questions, writing down street names, gesturing animatedly, and giving my arm a few quick squeezes as if we were old friends. This was my first real experience having a conversation with a sevillano, and I immediately thought, "Wow! Sevillanos are warm, bright, funny! How wonderful!" Our next homework assignment was a reading (The Learning-Doing Relationship) and reflection about reflection--how to do it, what it means to reflect deeply, to create a "thick description," what models of reflection exist. This reading couldn't have come at a better time for me, as I have been trying to balance being present and yet taking time to examine my experiences and surroundings. Seeing as I've been here a few days, it was about time for a shower epiphany to rain down, and this reading was just the thing to spark it. While squeezing the bottle of soap, I realized how quick I had been in the barrio to squeeze all sevillanos into the same category. We had met exactly one woman when I decided the personality and feel of all sevillanos. Thinking back, each person we talked to was incredibly different. After we spoke with the woman, the next of interviewee was an elderly man behind the counter of an empty corner shop. His hair was thinning, and his answers were brief. At the time, my initial thoughts about the warmth of sevillanos didn't waver. I simply thought, "He must just be different." The third person we approached was a pink-clad older woman petting a dog through the bars of an open window. She had dazzling earrings and bright purple eyeshadow that was lathered on quite thick. She seemed confused at first as to why we were speaking to her, but she answered our questions nonetheless. She was matter-of-fact in her responses, and she spoke so quickly that we struggled to understand her even after replaying our recording many times! The next interviewee was a young blonde woman sipping a glass of wine by herself at a high table just outside a restaurant. She smiled a big smile and happily shared with us some of her favorite places around the barrio. The next few interviews were uneventful: a waiter who responded with one word answers only in English, and a pair of young woman who, when asked if they lived in Triana, responded that they weren't sure (we then surmised that they were probably not from Spain...). After the first woman we spoke to, I instinctively viewed the rest through my rose-colored glasses and sought out the warmth and bubbliness that I knew just had to be there. And indeed, while stereotyping people from Seville as warm and bubbly isn't the worst I could do and indeed, while they may all be warm and bubbly people, the point is I don't know them. I don't know these people beyond a short 2-3 minute Q & A, and yet I felt confident enough to characterize the entire population of the city. While I am glad to be an optimistic person who tends to see the good in people and give the benefit of the doubt (often more than I should), I think it's important to at least recognize when my mind is creating those mental shortcuts and to stall the jury a little bit before making such sweeping generalizations (#heuristics #psychologyterms4lyfe #psychologytermsRlyfe). I think at this point in time it's important for me to acknowledge the layered quality not only of sevillanos but also of Sevilla the city and other students on my program. When I left Triana, I had an image of it as a beautiful little area. And yes, it is, but that's only the first layer. After getting cozy with my laptop and doing some light research with my group members, we learned that those beautiful tiles we photographed were actually made in the ceramics factory down the street that also produced tiles for buildings all around the city. We learned that the bridge we crossed was, legend told (but not for reals), designed by Eiffel and that when it was built in the early 1900s the features we see as decorative today were structurally necessary. With the members of my group, as well, I am peeling away new layers every day--favorite documentaries, childhood sports teams, geographical and cultural differences, food preferences, past travel experiences, creative talents, music choices, etc. Tomorrow is another chance to create a distinction between instinct, which is often judgmental, rumination, which is unproductive, and reflection, which often has much more perspective, and to discover another layer of Sevilla. Photos courtesy of Raisa and Betty (coming soon!). In the meantime, check out Betty's blog bettytchang.wixsite.com/changeofscenery. The primary language of my laptop has been turned to Español. You know what that means, ladies and gentlemen: It's official--I am in Spain!
I arrived Monday morning after a series of long flights to the city of Seville in southern Spain where I will be spending the next four months (Check out Basics & Background to learn more about what I'll be doing here). The first drive and the first walk in another country are for me a time to quietly observe--a first effort to understand the culture, the people, the streets of a new place. Jet-lagged as I was, on the taxi ride over to the hotel, I began to take in my surroundings. Most obvious was the explosion of Spanish: signs, conversation, music. It wasn't the shock to my system that it was when I visited a South America during my gap year. Instead, I found it somewhat soothing. I recognized words, sounds--it was familiar and comfortable, and I immediately felt good to have Spanish enveloping me. The next thing that popped out at me was the quiet. For the fourth largest city in Spain, Sevilla hardly feels like a city at all. After spending a summer in Philly and beginning to adjust to the honking of horns, the constant sirens, the smells which I don't think I'll every be used to, skyscrapers that my sister feels could fall over at any moment, and pedestrian chatter every which way, Sevilla is almost like a city in meditation. The trees sway ever so slightly, cars pass in a not-so-steady stream, a man on a street corner tries to sell some "agua frío" as a group of tourists walks by, a few sevillanos sit and enjoy a glass of wine and some bread at an outdoor cafe. Later in the day, when I wandered the streets with a few girls from my program in search of an afternoon snack, we were surprised to find many shops closed and many streets empty. Perhaps it's the sweltering 100 degree heat that tranquilizes the town, or perhaps it's the fact that I'm in a hotel near the edge of the city just over the river, or perhaps it's that the pulse of Sevilla races in the nighttime, but there's no question Seville has a certain quietness to it. This is a welcome break from the hustle and bustle that I have come to expect from larger cities. Other than the Spanish and the sound (or lack thereof), I have to say that I haven't been overwhelmed by the "foreignness" of the country. After being in developing countries in which every time I turn my head I'm being exposed to something completely new, Seville feels relatively comfortable. I, of course, write this quite hesitantly because it is my second day here, I am staying in a hotel, and I'm surrounded by 13 other American students. I'm sure that once I move in to my homestay, start classes at the university, start volunteering with a community organization, and actually begin to take in the history and the life of the city, the nuances of Spain and of Sevilla will start to emerge and provoke more questioning on my part. Indeed, it is the constant questioning, the intense observations, and the never-ending comparing and contrasting that accompanies being in a new place that I love so much. As far as the Why of being here, this is a big one for me. With a laundry list of worries, memories, and doubts rolling through my mind, living in the present moment is a highly sought after dream that I try to keep as a goal for myself. While traveling, I find that living in the present becomes, remarkably, an almost moment-by-moment reality. I furrow my brows trying to catch a song playing overhead, carefully note a new word and how it keeps coming up in certain instances, look up at buildings and examine their silhouettes against the sky, pause on the sidewalk to frame a perfect picture in my mind. Every moment it feels as though I'm bombarded with new and curious stimuli in need of examination, and there's no time to fret about the past or future; there's only enough time and space for the present at any particular moment. For some reason, at home and at school, I don't have this same sense of wonder and appreciation to plunge me into the present. Instead, I have stopped seeing everything around me as an adventure and instead see it as mundane. Part of why I came here was to reconnect with the part of myself that is in a constant state of wonder about the now. This time, however, it won't simply be an across-the-ocean phenomenon--I hope to continue renewing the ordinary when I return. Fitting then that Sevilla first appears to me to be a city in meditation, a practice which concentrates on what else but the present moment... (Who)
Hola! Soy Elana. After two years of laying low within US borders, I am venturing out again for the first half of my junior year. The passport has been dusted, bags (almost) packed, and insurance purchased because here I go. This time, I'm making my way across the Atlantic to a new country on a new continent: Spain. (Where) The next four months will be spent in Seville, which is the fourth largest city in Spain and known as the capital of Andalucía in the south. It's just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Strait of Gibraltar, and it is, I've been told, a center of flamenco dancing, a hub of amazing late-night tapas, and a goldmine of religious history. I'll get back to you on those. (What) In Seville, I will be part of Penn's Seville Program. I'll be taking several classes at the University of Seville as an exchange student and a few classes at a Consortium called CASA with other international students. As part of my studies, I am hoping to conduct independent research on conversos and crypto-Jews, Jews who were forcibly converted to Catholicism around the time of the Inquisition but continued practicing Judaism secretly. The whole time, I will be living with a host family, which I will be matched with a few days after arriving. The (Why) of this trip is something that I will be continuously addressing and re-addressing throughout my time in Spain and on my blog. Stay tuned. For now, grab your dancing shoes, a big appetite, and an open mind, and come join me over the next few months! Vamos, amigos! |