Oh Dear Cordoba

Cordoba is a small town and to be honest the first 24 hours have been a pain in the ass. In minds eye, it's like the entire city is tapping their feet in a small confined space and if you know me well you know how tapping drives me batty. It has been a series of small issues one after the other. No one is out right trying to be annoying but its the little things that add up. For example, I went to the bank today to withdraw money. The first thing I ask is for them not to give me big bills. No ones accepts them and it makes things difficult. The woman looks at my passport a million times, makes a 3 copies of it and finally approves me for the withdraw. She hands me 2 bills, both 500 and 5 bills of 200. I ask her, " don't you have anything smaller?" She replies, "Well, no." I look at her a second and say, "But you're the bank, if you don't have change who else will?" She rolls her eyes at me and gives me a stack of fifties. It's those little things that have been fairly consistent through the first day or so, but the tides did turn when I found this Tourist shack thing in the middle of a plaza. The guy there was so helpful that even though he was unattractive and much older than I, I still want to marry him. I bought tickets to several different events all at the same place at the same time.

Other than that, we saw Harry Potter last night and it's true that everything is funnier in Spanish. The movie was a hit with the students and with me. I can't help it. I admit it freely, I love Harry Potter.

We also found a local pool that we are going to check out this afternoon which will be nice because the heat is fairly significant. We found out at some point that Spain has some wacky time change thing, so solar time is actually 2 hours off. Therefore, when it is 7PM here and the sun is beaming down upon us it's really 5PM in traditional non-daylight savings time. I don't know the reasons but it is what it is.

Bull Fight

Witnessing the slaughtering of 4 bulls is quite an impact on the psyche. At first I was doing pretty well distancing myself from the battle on the perfectly circular yellow sand. My banter distracted me from the violence. When in doubt always make funny voices and pretend to be the bull or another tactic is mocking the Easter egg colored super tight outfits (there is no way these people are wearing any underwear) with sparkles that the idiot waving the red flag at the big ass bull wears. Both equally successful.

There was the one bullfighter while I was there that was flipped upside down by the bull. He couldn't get on his feet. The bull was charging for him but the team of folks that dress up and taunt the bull first jump in to help. The guy wobbled to his feet and decided to continue fighting. Idiot. Occasionally you could see him rubbing his eyes, I am assuming because he was trying to focus. (There may be a video added to this part. The flip was impressive.)

The last run that I witnessed before getting my fill of this spectacle, the bullfighter just sucked. When it came down time to kill the bull, he just couldn't do it. The bull would fall. The fighter couldn't hit the spot. It was awful. After being repeatedly pierced, the bull slowly walked along the wall of the ring. He went to his knees. He put his head down. It was over.

Cadiz

My boyz here in Sevilla encouraged me to take a day off and go to Cadiz where my good friend Shelli is working her ass off. Cadiz is the small coastal city where I spent all of last summer and its quaint nature provides a strong feeling of home. I woke up early in the morning and arrived a short two hours later. Shelli and I spent a great day catching up and chatting with persons that are working with other programs. We were being oddly watched by pigeons for a long time. Apparently the pigeon community is not particularly happy with Shelli because of some traumatic issues in Manhattan and the ones in Cadiz have gotten word.

We had a lush dinner with the president of the company, the web designer and one of the new program directors. The visit was great. I decided to stay the night and leave very early the next morning to be in Sevilla before 10am.

I set the alarm for 6:30 am. It gave me enough time to roll out of bed, call a taxi and brush my teeth with my finger and toothpaste since I hadn't originally anticipated staying the night. I made it to the train station and hopped the 7:40 train to Sevilla. I love the train. I think it is the best way to travel in this country. It is easy, smooth and dependable. You don't have to do much. There are beautiful landscapes to gaze off to in southern Spain.
I read for about 2 seconds and fell asleep warmly in the fetal position in my seat and the one adjacent to me. The train jolted a bit and I was awakened. I glanced up and just as if I was in a bad movie I look out the window and see the sign that says "Sevilla, Santa Justa" fading before me. I asked the woman behind me, "Was this THE Sevilla stop?" She nodds. I curse. In both languages. A lot. I call my buddy to tell him what happened and I was about to lose it. He just laughed at me which made me feel infinitely better.

At first I thought that the next stop would be Madrid, which is pretty freaking far but luckily it was Cordoba which is only 45 minutes away. I arrived in Cordoba bought a ticket on the next train back to Sevilla. I managed to run into a tourist office which was handy because we will be there for two weeks as of Sunday, had a coffee and headed to my original destination managing to be very alert the entire trip.

Grrrr Portuguese!!!

We are living in a university dorm which is luxurious to traditional Spain standards because there is air conditioning and television in every room. It is divine. All of the adults are in rooms next to each other on the top floor and the students are randomly placed on lower levels. We have the Spanish version of Ralph Kramden as the night watchman which means there is no way these kids are sneaking out. The meals have been great (this evening there was a yellow theme to the meal: eggs, french fries, rice mixed with corn.) The only negative thing is the Portuguese.

Since we are sharing this building with college students there is a small group of Portuguese people that must seriously be the loudest individuals to walk in the streets of Sevilla. They sit and smoke in the marble stairwell and the sound echoes up and down the building. Now my Spanish blood gets a little annoyed at the fact that this occurs during siesta, because damn it is a necessary and sacred ritual as far as I am concerned, but nevertheless it is the middle of the day and there is little that can be done. At three, four, or five in the morning when they arrive from "la marcha" there is a literal vein in my neck that explodes except I hate confrontation and I am way to lazy to get up and complain or bitch at them. So I lay there and pray to the sleep angels to make it go away.

My room is pitch dark but around the Portuguese arrival time, there is a slight glow that comes though the shade and curtain that blocks my window. Last night, I popped up and I saw Ralph pacing the center corridor of the building; ready to pounce on any Portuguese college student that dares threaten the peace of the Santa Ana residence.

There are many other descriptions of these folks that I could provide but some would be derogatory and I refuse to further any stereotypes of slurred speech smelly Portuguese young adults.

We did manage to take the kids to the most amazing Flamenco show that I have ever seen in all my life. It was unreal. I am not really a huge fan. I just can't usually get behind the singing. The guitar is great. The clapping thing I can take or leave. But tonight it literally was an unbelievable narrative played out between a female and then male dancer took you into another world. The Portuguese don't have anything that noteworthy.

Overseas Chaos

Overseas programs suffer sometimes because no matter how hard the administrative offices work there are a few crazies that sneak through the multi-level interview process and background checks. This summer is not any different and it seems that the Spain programs are the ones that are feeling the hit.

An instructor for Barcelona apparently lost her marbles when she arrived at the airport. She was stopped by the "guardia civil" (which is like the national police) and she refused to show them her passport. She then tried to kiss them and finished off the show by dancing on a pile of her clothes. She is now in a mental institution in northern Spain and her parents aren't coming to get the young (23 year old) co-ed. The director of this program, who has a PhD in Spanish refuses to teach the class that is missing an instructor. She really can't be bothered. (Who are these people?)

The coordinator of another program ended up being the dictator of the program and after a ton of conversation and interventions, she was fired for her inability to be a team player. Not to mention that in the same program, another teacher fell down a flight of stairs and broke her arm, she admitted later that she is very accident prone and has frequently broken bones.

Luckily, our program is solid as a rock (knock on wood, pull your ear, whatever superstitious ritual you would like to do to help the cause.) Major props go out to my girl that is coordinating the entire country because it has certainly been one thing after another.