Justifying Study Abroad

As if the experience alone is not reason enough to justify my study to Spain, I site an article from The New York Times' website:
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/31/science/31conversation.html?_r=1&smid=tw-nytimes
Copied and pasted for your convenience:

A cognitive neuroscientist, Ellen Bialystok has spent almost 40 years learning about how bilingualism sharpens the mind. Her good news: Among other benefits, the regular use of two languages appears to delay the onset of Alzheimer’s disease symptoms. Dr. Bialystok, 62, a distinguished research professor of psychology at York University in Toronto, was awarded a $100,000 Killam Prize last year for her contributions to social science. We spoke for two hours in a Washington hotel room in February and again, more recently, by telephone. An edited version of the two conversations follows.

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Chris Young for The New York Times

MENTAL WORKOUT Ellen Bialystok with a neuroimaging electrode cap.

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Q. How did you begin studying bilingualism?

A. You know, I didn’t start trying to find out whether bilingualism was bad or good. I did my doctorate in psychology: on how children acquire language. When I finished graduate school, in 1976, there was a job shortage in Canada for Ph.D.’s. The only position I found was with a research project studying second language acquisition in school children. It wasn’t my area. But it was close enough.

As a psychologist, I brought neuroscience questions to the study, like “How does the acquisition of a second language change thought?” It was these types of questions that naturally led to the bilingualism research. The way research works is, it takes you down a road. You then follow that road.

Q. So what exactly did you find on this unexpected road?

A. As we did our research, you could see there was a big difference in the way monolingual and bilingual children processed language. We found that if you gave 5- and 6-year-olds language problems to solve, monolingual and bilingual children knew, pretty much, the same amount of language.

But on one question, there was a difference. We asked all the children if a certain illogical sentence was grammatically correct: “Apples grow on noses.” The monolingual children couldn’t answer. They’d say, “That’s silly” and they’d stall. But the bilingual children would say, in their own words, “It’s silly, but it’s grammatically correct.” The bilinguals, we found, manifested a cognitive system with the ability to attend to important information and ignore the less important.

Q. How does this work — do you understand it?

A. Yes. There’s a system in your brain, the executive control system. It’s a general manager. Its job is to keep you focused on what is relevant, while ignoring distractions. It’s what makes it possible for you to hold two different things in your mind at one time and switch between them.

If you have two languages and you use them regularly, the way the brain’s networks work is that every time you speak, both languages pop up and the executive control system has to sort through everything and attend to what’s relevant in the moment. Therefore the bilinguals use that system more, and it’s that regular use that makes that system more efficient.

Q. One of your most startling recent findings is that bilingualism helps forestall the symptoms of Alzheimer’s disease. How did you come to learn this?

A. We did two kinds of studies. In the first, published in 2004, we found that normally aging bilinguals had better cognitive functioning than normally aging monolinguals.Bilingual older adults performed better than monolingual older adults on executive control tasks. That was very impressive because it didn’t have to be that way. It could have turned out that everybody just lost function equally as they got older.

That evidence made us look at people who didn’t have normal cognitive function. In our next studies , we looked at the medical records of 400 Alzheimer’s patients. On average,the bilinguals showed Alzheimer’s symptoms five or six years later than those who spoke only one language. This didn’t mean that the bilinguals didn’t have Alzheimer’s. It meant that as the disease took root in their brains, they were able to continue functioning at a higher level. They could cope with the disease for longer.

Q. So high school French is useful for something other than ordering a special meal in a restaurant?

A. Sorry, no. You have to use both languages all the time. You won’t get the bilingual benefit from occasional use.

Q. One would think bilingualism might help with multitasking — does it?

A. Yes, multitasking is one of the things the executive control system handles. We wondered, “Are bilinguals better at multitasking?” So we put monolinguals and bilinguals into a driving simulator. Through headphones, we gave them extra tasks to do — as if they were driving and talking on cellphones. We then measured how much worse their driving got. Now, everybody’s driving got worse. But the bilinguals, their driving didn’t drop as much. Because adding on another task while trying to concentrate on a driving problem, that’s what bilingualism gives you — though I wouldn’t advise doing this.

Q. Has the development of new neuroimaging technologies changed your work?

A. Tremendously. It used to be that we could only see what parts of the brain lit up when our subjects performed different tasks. Now, with the new technologies, we can see how all the brain structures work in accord with each other.

In terms of monolinguals and bilinguals, the big thing that we have found is that the connections are different. So we have monolinguals solving a problem, and they use X systems, but when bilinguals solve the same problem, they use others. One of the things we’ve seen is that on certain kinds of even nonverbal tests, bilingual people are faster. Why? Well, when we look in their brains through neuroimaging, it appears like they’re using a different kind of a network that might include language centers to solve a completely nonverbal problem. Their whole brain appears to rewire because of bilingualism.

Q. Bilingualism used to be considered a negative thing — at least in the United States. Is it still?

A. Until about the 1960s, the conventional wisdom was that bilingualism was a disadvantage. Some of this was xenophobia. Thanks to science, we now know that the opposite is true.

Q. Many immigrants choose not to teach their children their native language. Is this a good thing?

A. I’m asked about this all the time. People e-mail me and say, “I’m getting married to someone from another culture, what should we do with the children?” I always say, “You’re sitting on a potential gift.”

There are two major reasons people should pass their heritage language onto children. First, it connects children to their ancestors. The second is my research: Bilingualism is good for you. It makes brains stronger. It is brain exercise.

Q. Are you bilingual?

A. Well, I have fully bilingual grandchildren because my daughter married a Frenchman. When my daughter announced her engagement to her French boyfriend, we were a little surprised. It’s always astonishing when your child announces she’s getting married. She said, “But Mom, it’ll be fine, our children will be bilingual!”

Tuition dollars hard at work - for now, and for the future.  The next trick is keeping it up in the States

Home from Lagos

I honestly do not know where to start for this post, so I'm just going to go a little more stream of conscious than usual - bear with me.
Considering that Portugal is more or less engulfed by Spain, I really expected Lagos to be similar to at least one of the Spanish cities I have been to.  Not the case at all.  I have not spent nearly enough time in nearly enough Portuguese cities to make an overall assessment, but the two countries are very distinct despite the fact that they share the Iberian Peninsula.  Unfortunately our short stay was shortened because all the Monday busses were booked, so Jorge and I booked the bus for 1:45 this afternoon and are now back in Sevilla.
In our one full day, we met up with some people from our program and went down to one of the most incredible beaches I have ever been to.  Although this particular beach was not as expansive as the others we walked by, it was much more scenic.  The sand lay at the base of steep cliffs and scattered throughout the water were dramatic, isolated rocks.  Of course, these tall standing structures in the middle of a deep oceanic water are just asking to be jumped off of.  In the end, it was a lazy, relaxing day at the beach that I once again escaped without a sunburn.
Unfortunately, because the trip was shortened, there was a lot that we left in Lagos unexplored.  We had hopes of renting kayaks and paddling out to caves or walking through the city during the day - maybe next time.  Instead, we learned a good deal about the tourism industry in Lagos.  I honestly do not think I have seen a larger collection of Australians and British people before in my life.  I came in expecting to ask "se habla Español" to confused Portuguese citizens.  To my surprise, I never ran into that problem because most store owners, waiters, bartenders, etc. spoke English with an accent.
To be brief, Lagos is a beautiful city, the atmosphere might have been even more laid back than that in Sevilla, the food was delicious, and the people (tourists) were very friendly.  It is a city I would love to go back to later, and hopefully I will have the opportunity to see other places like Lisbon, Porto, etc.  The one positive of being back home early is that we will get to see the holiday for San Fernando - the patron saint of Sevilla whose body has been preserved for nearly 800 years.  I'll tell you more about that in the days to come.

Long overdue in many ways

Jorge w/ Lola, Me w/ Tina, Carmen and James

I apologize for not posting in a while and for taking so long to secure a picture of Carmen, the two dogs and James.  I kept telling myself I would write one throughout this week but then a siesta nap, The 42^nd Parallel, or a game of pick up basketball would interrupt my motivation.   As I am currently on a 3-hour bus ride to Lagos, Portugal, I can finally sit down and recap the past week.

I cannot remember weather or not I mentioned that Jorge and I had another roommate, James, who studied here this past semester.  He is a football player at Gettysburg College (http://www.gettysburgsports.com/roster.aspx?rp_id=2739&path=football) and a very good Spanish speaker.  Anyway, he just finished his final exams last week and Tuesday night was his last night staying with us.  To celebrate finishing the semester and to say goodbye to him, Carmen and her son Alfonso treated us all to a few beers and tapas for dinner.  During most dinners at “la casa,” we usually congregate around the TV and watch fútball or local news and briefly comment on what is happening; it was a real treat fully engage with Carmen and Alfonso as they told us about the previous students they had hosted and asked about life and politics in the US.  Alfonso asked us what we studied at UNC and was really interested to hear about the Peace, War and Defense curriculum because his younger brother is in the Spanish armed forces.  It was interesting to hear his take on terrorism and bin Laden’s death, especially because Madrid was subject to the train bombings in 2004 (he thought his death was a good thing).  After dinner, Jorge, James and I went out to Fundación for his last night before returning home.  It was fun getting to meet him, even for the short time we were here at the same time, and it was nice living with such an adept Spanish speaker that could help with grammar and teach us colloquialisms.  We get a new roommate at the end of the month and look forward to meeting him then.

Yesterday we took another one of our class field trips, this time to Real Alcazar.  I had already visited the former royal palace four years ago with my family and the Stewarts; however, I had forgotten how beautiful it is.  Once again our art teacher was our tour guide, and once again, he left me wondering how in the world he knows so much about seemingly everything.  Real Alcazar is essentially a standing representation of the history of Spanish architecture.  Construction began in the 8^th century by the Moors (who originally built it as a fort) and then subsequent rulers added on to the palace through the 18^th century.  As a result, there are Arabic, Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque influences.  In fact, there was one plaza (I forget which) where if you look straight ahead, there you see the original Arabic entrance (with Arabic arches, sculpture, etc.), to the left was Baroque (I think, but same idea with sculptures and arches representing that style), and to the right was evidence of the Renaissance style.  Throughout the palace there were unbelievable, bright mosaics; intricate, decorative ceilings; and expansive, beautiful gardens.  I admit that I do not remember the Alhambra very well, but I think that Real Alcazar is very comparable and maybe just as impressive.  I guess I will be able to give a true comparison after I visit it next weekend.

Last update then I promise I am done with my novel of an entry – sorry to those with a short attention span, I know mine would be waning around this time too.  This past Monday, I stumbled upon an outdoor basketball court just a block and a half away from the school.  Every afternoon, from 18:30 until sundown, a group of regulars meet and play pickup ball.  Although soccer dominates the Spanish sports world, Spain actually has the biggest market (and thus talent pool) for basketball in Europe.  With the intention of showing all these Ricky Rubio and Pau Gasol wannabes what it is like to play American ball, a few of us went down to the courts to play.  Right off the bat we noticed we had a distinct height disadvantage, but all things considered, we held our own pretty well.  I’ve played there a few times this week and plan on making it out as often as possible.  The court is not in the best condition – its really slippery and one of the goals does not have a net – but it has two backboards and two rims so it works just fine.

Signing off now.  You can expect to hear from me on Monday or Tuesday as I recount my stay at Lagos.

On the road again Goin' places that I've never been Seein' things that I may never see again And I can't wait to get on the road again.  Everybody say, "On the road again" Like a band of gypsies, we go down the highway We're best friends. - Willie Nelson

One of the roofs in Real Alcazar

¡Olé!

Disclaimer: some may find a few of the following descriptions a bit gruesome

In case you could not tell by the title and the pictures, last night we went to a bullfight.  In Spain, there are two types of bullfights: Corrida de Toros y Novillada con Picadores.  I'm not completely educated on the issue, but to my understanding (in baseball lingo) the former is equivalent to an MLB All-Star game with expert matadors vs. the most massive toros (Nolan Ryan vs. Barry Bonds*)(*although the toros do not need PEDs to be huge); the later I would compare to a AAA minor league game.  The show yesterday was a Novillada de Picadores, but to be completely honest, I do not think I would have been able to tell the difference between the two.  I thought two of the three matadors were magnificent although people that knew bullfighting all said they were all rubbish.  I'll tell you why I say two of the three later.
In every bullfight, there are three matadors that each face two bulls.  In each fight, there are three stages that I will try to describe as best I can.  In the first, the toro is released into the stadium.  Several minor matadors (the main matador's 'team' I guess...for a lack of better words) wave pink and yellow capes so that the bull runs around a bit and tires it out.  In the second stage, two other 'teammates' on horseback ride out into the battlefield and stab the toro between its shoulders to injure the muscles and weaken it (this happens twice).  This part is particularly interesting because when the bull sees the horsemen, he charges at the horse and attacks it.  The horses are heavily armored and blindfolded so that they can withstand the blow and are not spooked by the charging bull, but it is still incredible that they maintain their balance and composure.  Once the men on horseback leave the stadium, some other helpers then charge the toro and try to plant two colorful daggers between the shoulder-blades to further weaken the beast (this happens three times for a total of 6 daggers).  Once this is done, the third and final stage is when the main matador faces the bull head on.  The fight ultimately ends when the matador sinks a spear through the exhausted bull's spine and kills it.
To call the scene a 'fight' discredits the true art of the sport; however to call it a 'dance' does not accurately portray how macabre it is.  I completely understand why it might get outlawed, but I sincerely hope it never does.  The spectators are not bloodthirsty mongrels seeking gore and the matador is not a malicious person that taunts and humiliates his or her foe; everyone's respect for the toro is immense.  After the bull is killed, the meat is sent to orphanages so it does not go to waste.  I cannot imagine that the bull that made my hamburger spent his final minutes any more or less desirably than the way in which these bulls did.  If anything, these guys get a chance to take a shot at his opponent and their meat is going to people who appreciate it more than I do.  It is a unique part of Spanish culture and it will be sad if it is gone.  And with that, I will step off my soap box.
In the six fights that we saw, I think we got a little bit of everything except for a true goring.  First off, these bulls that were "reserved for amateurs" were enormous; I am terrified to imagine what the experts face.  Of the 3 main matadors, one was a woman trained in Mexico (thus a different technique), one was 19 years old, and the other had flashy moves.  We saw one of the 'teammates' forced to the ground and attacked by a bull (he escaped uninjured); also, later on in the evening, the 19 year old was flipped into the air by his bull only to stand right back up and resume fighting it (he was also uninjured, obviously).  At one point the 'flashy' matador knelt down in front of a charging bull but waved his cape around his body so that the beast ran around him (my friend Brittyn has a picture of it that I will post as soon as I can so you can see more clearly); then two fights later the female matador could not manage to spear the bull and kill it - this actually happened in both of her fights.  If there were ever justification to illegalize bullfighting in my opinion, it would be because of matadors like the female one I just described.  It was painful to watch her unsuccessfully try to kill the bull as many times as she did; she even got multiple chances at point blank range when the animal was too exhausted to pick his own head up and she was still unable to make the fatal stroke.  It was not hard to watch when the other matadors were able sink the spears in almost effortlessly, but watching the bull receive blow after blow without dying was another story.  Spectators deservedly jeered the matador as she exited the stadium.  The older man next to me said he had never seen someone have that much difficulty killing the bull - and judging by his age, I would imagine he's seen as many bullfights as Yogi Berra has seen baseball games - so I still stand by my opinion that they should not be outlawed.  When it is done correctly, it is a beautiful sport and I'm glad I was able to witness it before it is a thing of the past.
Toreador, on guard! Toreador, Toreador! And think, yes, think as you fight, That a dark eye is watching you - Georges Bizet

The guys at the bullfight: 

Jamal, Jackson, Me

Jorge, Colin

Ode to Harold Camping

A reading from Matthew 24:36 - "But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only [and listeners to WYFR Family Radio]."  Actually, according to the CNN article (http://bit.ly/lvWFQu), Camping previously predicted the apocalypse in 1994.  The way I see it, if we can make it to year 2013, we will have lived through 3 apocalypses; I think we're the invincible generation.
So what did we do to celebrate the supposed last day of the universe? Field trip to one of the first civilizations in Spain, Italica.  Founded in 206 BC by the Romans, Italica is littered with unbelievable ancient ruins.  It was home to one of the biggest anfiteatros (a stadium for gladiator fights and naumachias, much like the Colosseum) in the Roman empire.  Given its size and importance in society, people would travel from all over Spain and N. Africa to see fights held at the site.  I felt like a much less intimidating version of Russell Crowe as I walked through the same tunnels that former gladiators walked through before they stepped in front of the hostile crowd.  Afterwards, we walked down the main street of the city - fun fact, the Romans invented the elevated sidewalk so that pedestrians did not have to walk through rain runoff from the crowned roads.  Though no full houses have survived the test of time, most of the floor plans are still in tact and their beautiful mosaic floors have largely been preserved.  Unfortunately people used to be able to buy certain images from the mosaics, would remove them, and then display them in their homes.  Apparently there is one house in Sevilla that has accumulated a lot of the prettiest ones and puts them on display; I hope to be able to visit it sometime in the near future.  Just like at the Cathedral, my art history teacher toured us through the city and was very informative about the history, art style, and architecture. 
After our visit to the ancient city, we took a short drive to the local beach.  The white sand was expansive, the water was blue, and the women were topless.  All things considered, it was a relaxing afternoon.  By the grace of God, I escaped the outing without much of a sunburn and my khaki shorts dried out quickly enough to be comfortable for the bus ride back home (being the responsible, intelligent person that I am, I forgot to bring my swimsuit for our beach outing).  Sitting on the beach just reminded me of my three week homestay in Cádiz four years ago where we would spend every siesta on the beach.  Those three weeks taught me the value of study abroad and I'm definitely glad I've come back for another go at it.
Well, I know its only 4:45 back home, but 18:00 (the doomed 6:00 PM) has come and gone here without any excitement.  I guess we'll have to wait until 2012 to experience God's wrath.  
But it's alright 'cuz it's Saturday night So mista funkmaster pump the Bee-Gees and, And all you college students bring your ouijas ... We strive to teach youth baby and stay alife - Wyclef Jean

Sangria verdict

Its gooooooood.

Acculturation at its finest

I apologize that I have not posted in a while, for nothing too significant has really happened; however, I will use this post to offer a synopsis of how I've adapted to the Spanish way of life.  Yesterday was perhaps the laziest day I've had yet.  I'm considering it my personal, extended siesta day.  Class was both challenging and entertaining.  To begin the class, Angeles asks us if we have picked up on any new words in the past day.  I forget if it was our compañero James (a fellow study abroad student with a different program that is staying with our family) or if it were Carmen who first described the Cathedral de Sevilla as "¿es la puta madre," but I know they both said it throughout the conversation.  Colloquially, "puta madre" means "very cool." Literally it says "mother whore."  I can only imagine it is the Spanish equivalent to the American phrase "______is the shit" to say that it is very cool.  When I told Angeles that Carmen said this at dinner, she nearly could not believe it.  She told us, "si es verdad que 'puta madre' significa 'fantastico,' pero es algo que dice con sus amigos" (yes, 'puta madre' does in fact mean 'fantastic / cool' but it is a phrase used with friends).  She was definitely caught off guard but thought it was funny nonetheless.  The lesson for the day was a challenging one - using the future tense of a verb to express uncertainty - but it is definitely one that will come in handy when talking to people around here.
After class, we came home to a great meal prepared by Carmen (who I promise to have pictures of soon.  She has been a little under the weather recently but I'll try to snap a picture of her, Jorge and me as soon as possible) and immediately fell asleep shortly afterwards.  Siesta is supposed to last from 14:00 - 17:00; mine went from 14:30 - 21:00, waking up just in time for a light dinner.
A quick aside because I forget if I have mentioned it on this or not yet, but the eating pattern is much different here than it is in the States.  Breakfast should be considered more of a snack than a meal; it consists of a small bowl of cornflakes (chocolate cornflakes being another option).  Then, instead of a moderate lunch at noon, "almuerzo" here is the biggest meal of the day and is never eaten until either 2 or 3.  It consists of mostly starches and always comes with a salad doused in vinaigrette dressing and a fruit option.  When I say lunch is the biggest meal of the day, I mean it is a really big meal.  No wonder siesta comes after it; the food coma instantly puts you to sleep.  Then dinner is always very late, usually around 22:00, and is a sandwich and maybe a bowl of soup.  Anyway, back to yesterday...
Being a Wednesday night, not much was happening, so Jorge and I took advantage of the off night to smoke our Cubans on the side balcony.  We came back in, I read part of my book (The 42nd Parallel of the U.S.A. Trilogy by John Dos Passos - if anyone has read it before and wants to discuss, email me), and then retired to bed at a decent hour.  I told you it was a lazy day.
Siesta is nice, but now for the true, fun acculturation.  Little know fact about me is that I enjoy cooking.  Be it baking pumpkin bread for neighbors around Christmas time, grilling a steak dinner in the summer, or making flan when I was younger, I have always enjoyed experimenting in the kitchen.  Being in Spain, I figure that I must bring something back to the states to add to my cooking arse bartending nal.  Tortilla española? Churros con chocolate? Tapas? Empanadas? No, no, no, and no.  I've decided to put my skills into play and look into the drink department.  Today Jorge and I have concocted our favorite Spanish treat: sangria.  Mixing in a 1.5 liter water bottle (with a neck wide enough for us to fit the necessary fruit in), we poured 3/4 a bottle of red wine, a few shots of gin, a couple cups of Sprite, a splash of orange juice, and a few slices of lime, apple, and orange.  With these were precise measurements, we sealed the water bottle and have it chilling in the refrigerator for either tonight or tomorrow night.  I'll report back how it is.
Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care? If so I can't imagine why. - Chicago


Note: photo of Sangria compliments of Shannon Burleson, taken in Plaza Mayor, Madrid.  Hopefully our experiment will be as good as the ones we've had at cafes!

This post has zero relevant content

I was fiddling with some of the posts and making some edits to them and for some reason my second entry ("Which calle is this calle?") jumped up to the top to become my most recent post.  There are few things that I'm a perfectionist about; writing is one of them.  When one of my posts gets out of order, it irks me.  I'm going to try to fix it.  If you haven't read the "FDOC" one yet, it is underneath the misplaced "Which calle is this calle?"
Technology is frustrating....

"¿Which calle is this calle?"

Finally getting acclimated, and I think I can get used to this.  After a night out in the city, the entire crew enjoyed the opportunity to sleep in.  The first priority of the day was to rehydrate and get some food on our empty stomaches.  As any good McAmerican would do, we did not think twice about where to go.  We headed straight for the beautiful golden arches of McDonalds to get a quick bite of McTapas (otherwise known as a double cheeseburger with fries).  However, calling this place McDonalds does not give any credit to it at all.  Jim Skinner (McDonalds' CEO - yea, I googled it) would be embarrassed by how luxurious it was and might even disfranchise it for misrepresenting all the other McDonalds around the world; in fact, if it were not for the familiar greasy burger and salty fries, I might have considered it fine dining.  McDonalds is not supposed to be an enjoyable, comfortable eating experience... bienvenidos a España I guess.
After we marveled over how un-American the most quintessentially American icon was, we got an official start to our day.  Unfortunately we were not allowed to go into the Royal Palace because there was some sort of "official event" taking place.  My guess is the lesser known Prince Pedro is having a royal wedding of his own to Kristina Medioton, but as history has dictated since the Armada, the British royalty stole Spain's thunder.
After being rejected by the Spanish royalty, we did successfully get to go into a small Cathedral and watched as the church members took communion.  Afterwards we walked through the quaint Mercado de San Miguel and then went down to Plaza Mayor to enjoy a tapas and sangria lunch.
The highlight of the day was walking down south to the Polvo museum.  En route, we went to the top floor of an old former bank.  We got a 360 degree overlook of the city that was breathtaking. Finally we made it to the Polvo where they featured paintings from Diego Velazques, El Greco and Goya.  All in all, it was a successful tour of Madrid.  Its a shame this is the last day we have in the city, but I hope that I'll be able to spend another day or two before I leave.
With thoughts as bold as thought can be / Loving life and becoming wise / In simplicity. - The Who


note: the above photo is McLuxury.  Also, I added a picture to my post from yesterday of the crew that got into Madrid early - from left to right: Jorge, Me, Shannon (who also is writing a blog at shannonburleson.blogspot.com), Colin and Hillary.

FDOC (....PDDC?)

The alternative title for this post was "Still lookin like a freshman" .... more on that later.  For the benefit of non-UNC readers, LDOC is an abbreviation for our favorite day of the year: last day of class.  For the sake of this, I have adapted this to make FDOC, or first day of class; en Español, se dice primer día de classes (hence PDDC).  Finally, after having been let loose in the streets of Sevilla for 3 days, we have a semblance of structure to our schedule.  While I'm here, I will be studying the history of Spanish art and advanced Spanish language and grammar; the Spanish art class usually meets every week day at 9:30 and Spanish language meets at 12.  Today, however, the art class did not meet so we got to sleep in.  Unfortunately, the combined intelligence of Jorge and I were not sure if our language class met at 11 or 12, so we arrived at the school an hour ahead of time and walked into a full classroom that was not ours.  Rookie mistake.  As if that was not bad enough, I was the only person in the class without a pencil or notebook.  The pencil I left at mi casa, the notebook I left in Atlanta altogether.  Oops...  Fortunately for me it was an introductory class and I do not really need anything until tomorrow.
The class seems like it should not be too difficult but I do expect it to be rewarding.  The teacher does not speak English well, so she will not be tempted to slip into speaking English like a few of my past teachers have.  Even though we only did goup introductions and then went to the librería to buy our class books, I can tell that she is very engaging and will ensure that the class is very conversational.
After class, we toured the Cathedral de Sevilla.  I have already seen it on my last trip through Spain with my family and the Stewarts 4 years ago, but I was just as impressed this time around.  It was interesting to compare my English tour to the Spanish one.  I admit that my memory does not serve me well enough to remember anything from the tour 4 years ago except for a few random facts about Christopher Columbus' tomb, but I do know that the Spanish tour offered a new perspective about the alter, capillas, and architecture.  It really is a very historic and beautiful building that has been built, destroyed, repaired, and rebuilt over various art periods.  As a result, there is Moorish, gothic, baroque, and renaissance influence.  The tour guide for the cathedral was actually my future history of Spanish art teacher, so it was good to put a face to the name.  His tour was interesting and comprehensible, so I hope the class will be the same.
After a long, siestaless day (the Cathedral tour interfered with my siesta nap time.... worth it though), a group of us went to a small cafe and enjoyed un jarro de sangria before returning to the home.
Not much planned for tonight; we might walk around the town and take night pictures.  Jorge and I took advantage of the rare opportunity to buy Cubans, so we may indulge ourselves smoking them tonight.
To those (mom) that are waiting for pictures of mi familia, I ask for you to be patient.  Carmen was not ready for it today and wants to make sure that the picture of her that is being sent back home is not one of her just rolling out of bed after siesta, I hope the pictures of the school and cathedral will do.
I feel pretty good So I dropped into the luxury of the Lords Fighting dragons and crossing swords With the people against the hordes Who came to conquer... I'm flying in [Sevilla] Cathedral - Crosby, Stills, Nash, Young & Pepe

Not Lost... Just Orienting

Before I begin this post, I warn that today has been a relatively lazy day, and so this is more for my own journaling than to provide exciting news or updates.
As the title might suggest, Jorge and I accidentally became much more familiar with el centro de Sevilla than we ever meant to be after siesta yesterday.  In an attempt to meet the group at Plaza de Cuba - a place we have been to several times before - I offered these famous last words: "lets try this short cut and see where it takes us."  Turns out, we were headed the right direction and making relatively good progress until we took one wrong turn and headed due north instead of south.  I will say though, I do not regret it at all.  We ended up circling around the Cathedral and Plaza de San Francisco a few times before consulting a map.... which we misread and got even further lost.  Finally we decided to retrace our steps and finally met up with the group.  The highlight of it all was that we finally made our first contact with a gypsy.  She offered us a stem of rosemary as "un regalo" (a gift) then tried to read Jorge's hand.  Better watch out mom she was a cutie, but we politely refused to acknowledge them and escaped with wallet, camera, phone, etc. still in our pockets.
After dinner we found ourselves wandering aimlessly again.  Not only were we lost, but our phones had run out of Euros too, so we were lucky when Kathryn finally called us (it costs Euros to make a call, but its free to receive calls) and we were able to meet up. Thank God the world is not flat, or we might have fallen off at some point.
At night we went to the botellon (a gathering of people by the river that meet up before going out at night).  The supermercados stop selling all alcohol after 22:00, so I and a group of 4 others went across the street to, what else, the golden arches.  I felt more comfortable here than I did at the Madrid McLuxury because the ambiance is what I was used to, but I was still surprised that I could get a pint of Mahou beer along with a happy meal.  Finally, we left the botellon and made our way to Calle Betis.
Today, we did nothing too exciting, although it was an exciting time for Sevilla.  Jorge and I woke up early and attempted to buy tickets for the last home FC Sevilla soccer game; unfortunately, the cheap seats were all sold out (we had no intention of paying about $50 to watch the equivalent of a Pittsburgh Pirates vs. Houston Astros game), so we returned home and took an early siesta.  We did learn that the other Sevilla soccer team, Real Betis, won their game and finished at the top of their league, thereby advancing them to the higher league.  There were parties all over the street to celebrate the Betis advancement.  For us Americans with no real allegiance to the team in green and white, we made today an off day and hope to rest up for the week ahead.  I did find it amusing to see how celebratory everyone was.  When Betis won, I saw cars driving by with the driver hanging out the window yelling "BETIIIIS!" and motorcyclists with one hand carrying a Betis flag and the other on the handlebars.  ...Alas, if only Braves fans were as fanatical about their sport.
I've been lost for so long, Now I'm stuck in the middle, And I don't know what to do - Mama's Love 

Note about the blog: I got pretty bored during siesta (because when I mentioned early siesta above after failing to buy soccer tickets, that means I slept from 11:00 until my 14:00 lunch, and after lunch I couldn't go back to sleep) and fiddled with some new features.  I still have not seen them up on the blog yet, but you should be able to click on a "reaction" link just to give an immediate response.  If there is anything else you would like to hear, you should be able to post a comment so you can ask me a question or request more information about anything.  I'm still getting used to this too, but feel free to leave feedback

Me Llamo Pepe

To say "Jorge" (my Sevilla roommate's name) was never a problem.  However, when I introduced myself to "mi madre" Carmen y su hija Patricia as Harrison, they jokingly said, "Oye no, no lo voy a recordar, te llama Pepe, como el jugador de fútbol" (There's no way I will remember that, I'll call you Pepe like the soccer player).  And so it is, en España me llamo Pepe.
My host family is great.  Carmen is a sweet lady that is probably in her late 60s.  Living with her are her two children, Alfonso and Patricia who are in their mid 30s.  In Sevilla, it is very common for children to live at home throughout their young adult lives - presumably until they are seriously dating someone or until they get married.  From my understanding, this is just a product of having a bunch of people in a city that lacks housing.  We are staying in a small apartment that is a short walk to the escuela, but requires a pretty good trek to get to the river / city center.
It feels great to finally be in Sevilla.  We took the bullet train from Madrid 2 days ago and met the entire group of 66 UNC + 2 Tampa University students at the Hotel Alcazar.  Then yesterday, after meeting my host family and converting my name, we finally got to explore the city.  My Rick Steves book explains to me how in the early 90s Sevilla changed a lot of its most busy streets that cut straight through the city into walkways so that it would be easier to navigate on foot and because the streets were "cutting the city in half."  When I read that, I could only imagine what would happen if Times Square or Peachtree St. were blocked off to cars to make it easier for pedestrians. Though I can not compare it to Sevilla in the early 90s, I can attest that the city is very walker / bike friendly.  Our small group meandered through the streets and when the hot hot heat finally got to us we stopped at a tapas bar for a quick snack and glass of sangria.
I am continuously impressed by how beautiful this city is.  There are dozens of large gardens and fountains and statues and plazas scattered throughout the city - the only American city I can think of that comes close to comparing is Charleston.  Another perk is siesta.  I honestly do not understand how it is permissible.  If I want anything from a supermarket or cafe or any store at 14:01, I better wait until 17:00.  In Atlanta I always ask myself, "how much money could Chickfila make if they simply opened their doors on Sunday?"  Here, I wonder how businesses survive when they take 3 hours out of their day to rest.  I'm by no means complaining, if I could I would bring siesta back to America with me, it is just almost too good to be true.  I will say, it is almost unbearably hot, but all things considered I'm excited for the next 6 weeks I have here.  I have met a lot of new people and I know this will be a summer to remember.
say my name, say my name wear it out, its getting hot, crack a window, air it out - Drake

¿Que día es?

Tuesday May 10 (give or take one day),
I can't believe I am already sitting in a hostel (http://bit.ly/jQo8SJ) right next to el Puerta del Sol.  Just three (I think) days ago, I made the red-eye car ride from Chapel Hill after my last exam so I could spend as much time in Atlanta as possible.  Ten hours in the air, a misguided cab ride and aimless wondering through the streets of Spain later, we reached the lovely Hostal RC Miguel Angel.
A little before 1300 (they use military time here; I'm adapting), I met Jorge in Hartsfield Jackson International Airport.  The flight to Newark was a quick one and the connection over to the international gate was frighteningly easy.  If only Spain were as easy to navigate as the airport moving sidewalks were...  Jorge and I told the cab driver, "¿Señor, conoce el Hostal Miguel Angel?" ("do you know the Miguel Angel Hostel?), "o si si, lo conoce bien," he confidently responded.  Twenty euros later, our cab stood before a 5-star hotel.  This couldn't be right.  Turns out, the Occidental Miguel Angel is by no means the RC Miguel Angel and not a soul around knew how to help us - perhaps because our desired hostel was on the other side of the city.  We were able to hop on the Metro without much trouble and eventually found our hostel fairly simply.  Although the quarters are a bit clustered, they in no way resemble the mental image I had formed after hearing mom's near apocalyptic descriptions.  The sheets are clean, the bathroom is small but manageable, and we have a lovely view overlooking the calle.   We met up with Shannon, Hillary and Colin, ate a light lunch, bought our first Spanish jamón and then enjoyed a nice siesta nap.  It is currently 1900 local time, although I would not be surprised at all if someone told me it was Wednesday or Thursday afternoon.  I look forward to seeing what Madrid has to offer before we catch the train to Sevilla!
More from me later.
"And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong / I'm right where I belong" - The Beatles