Living the Dream

Spanish University Classes, Or Lack Thereof

It started like every other first day of school in my life.

I woke up early, showered, put on nice-ish clothes, made sure I had all of my needed supplies and headed for my first class at the University of Sevilla.

I arrived at the classroom seven minutes early, double-checked to make sure I was in the right place and nervously waited for the teacher and other students to arrive. I waited…and I waited.

Twenty minutes later, I accepted the fact that the class wasn’t happening. It turns out that the dean of the department this class is in decided that classes in his department weren’t going to start until a two days after everybody else—a decision apparently made the night before and completely unannounced but somehow known to all but me.

Later that day, I attended a class in another university department. This time the students showed up, but the professor didn’t. We were eventually told that he had accidentally been scheduled to teach two classes at the same time.

That nightmare of a first day was a week and a half ago, and I’m still trying to figure out what classes I’m going to take.

My biggest worry about taking regular classes at a Spanish university was that I wouldn’t be able to understand the professors. That fear has come true, but it’s far from the most frustrating thing about my first 10 days as a student here. The “most frustrating” prize goes to dealing with the system, which is very different than in the Unites States.

To start, Spanish students don’t register to classes before they attend them. Instead, students receive various class schedules, attend as many classes as they want and personally let the professor know if they’re taking the class by the second or third week…or whenever. It’s very relaxed and kind of nice, but also a bit unorganized.

Then there are the classes themselves, which are apparently mandatory for students but optional for professors. When the professor does show up, he/she doesn’t show up on time, so classes ALWAYS start late (by 5-10 min) and usually end early too. Oh yeah, and for classes longer than an hour, there’s a five minute break after each hour. I know, I know, it’s pretty sweet.

Finally, there’s the system of evaluation. None of the classes I’ve been to (and I went to a lot in trying to figure out my schedules) have homework. Instead, there’s one make-or-break final at the end of the semester. That applies to us Americans too. Again, kind of nice but a little unnerving.

On the bright side, no class on Fridays!

My (still) tentative schedule:

Spanish Art Seminar

Literature and the Spanish Civil War

The Image of Spain from the Cinema

Modern History of Spain

I will be blogging my adventures in Spain on the195.com, a multimedia site by Northwestern students studying abroad. Please follow me there.

My First Bullfight

As the large dark brown beast bolted into the arena at full speed and headed straight for a man holding a yellow cape, a crowd of more than 10,000 jumped to their feet and shrieked in excitement.

I shrieked with them. The bullfight was underway.

Now I don’t know how you feel about slaughtering animals for human enjoyment and I’m not really sure how I feel about it either, but I can tell you this: I’ve taken in Chicago Cubs games from box seats, cheered in the student section during Northwestern football games and watched NBA games from the nosebleed seats, and I’ve never experienced anything like I felt when that first bull entered the arena.

I’m not going to describe the fight in detail because I don’t think it’d be that interesting. But I thought I would use this space to briefly tell you about the process of the sport, which is very structured due to tradition.

Bullfights feature six bulls and three bullfighters, each supported by six assistants. The bulls are fought one at a time by one fighter and his team of helpers (each team fights two bulls). Each fight lasts about 30 minutes.

After the bull enters, the bullfighter observes as two assistants enter the arena on horseback and eventually stab the bull twice with a large lance before departing.

Next, three more assistants enter with pointed flags. Each of these assistants sticks two flags in the bull, attempting to get as close as possible to the location of the other wounds.

In the third and final stage, the bullfighter enters the arena alone with a dark red cape and a sword. The bullfighter uses the cape to attract the bull, trying to get as close as possible to show his control over the bull. Finally, the bullfighter maneuvers the bull into the right position and stabs it with the sword. If he does his job right, it should only take one jab to kill.

If the bullfighter is especially impressive, he will win not only cheers and flowers from the crowd, but one or both of the bull’s ears.

This happened twice at the nearly sold-out bullfight I attended on Sunday, the last fight of the season. Sevilla’s own Daniel Luque won the most praise after showing ridiculous control over one of his bulls and then killing it with one motion.

All in all, it was an exciting three hours. More importantly, it was an interesting glimpse into Spanish culture.

Three Weeks In, Still Fighting To Feel Like A Local

A few days ago, I was walking to class when I encountered an elderly man lying on the sidewalk with blood gushing from his head.

I wanted desperately to help the man, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying, I didn’t know how to call an ambulance and I wasn’t strong enough to lift him from the ground. So I stood there, almost breaking into tears myself, as blood continued to flow from this man’s head.

Luckily, a Spaniard came along a moment later and took control of the situation. It turns out the man, a 78-year-old named Antonio Angel Rodriguez, had drunk a few too many beers and hit his head on a lamp post. He was fine.

Yesterday marked three weeks in Spain, but it’s experiences like encountering that man that still make me still feel like a “guiri” (tourist).

I like to think I’m becoming more integrated here each day. My Chicago Cubs hat and striped polo shirts still scream “American,” but I think my accent is a little better and my skin is a little darker, at least.

At this point, it’s hard to tell. I know my Spanish has improved, but that doesn’t really go that far to making me into a Sevillano.

There have been positive signs. A few days ago, we met some Spaniards while hanging out by the river. After one of the guys introduced himself, he asked if I was Spanish. I laughed and said no, but it was probably one of the greatest moments of my life.

But there have also been negative ones. Earlier this week a woman approached my roommate Gabe and I on the street and started asking us something in Spanish. At least we think she was asking us something, because we honestly had no idea what she was saying. But clearly this woman thought we could help her with something because after talking for about a minute she leaned toward us and paused expectedly.

Gabe and I glanced at each other dumbly before, assuming the woman needed directions, Gabe asked “buscas algo?” (are you looking for something?). That’s actually a correct Spanish phrase, but I swear to God, as soon as the words left Gabe’s mouth, the woman straightened up, muttered “excuse me” and walked away.

As for the incident with Mr. Angel Rodriguez, it’s true that I couldn’t help a man laying on the ground bleeding until another Spaniard arrived. But when that Spaniard, who was visiting Sevilla from Northern Spain and thus unfamiliar with the area, didn’t know where to tell the ambulance to come to, I told him where we were.

That’s something, right?

I will be blogging my adventures in Spain on the195.com, a multimedia site by Northwestern students studying abroad. Please follow me there.

Reno Wrap Up

Loyal LtD readers probably noticed that I stopped posting links to my articles around Aug. 1. I apologize for this - my last few weeks in Reno, my 1.5-day, 2,200-mile drive from Reno to West Lafayette, my four days at home and my first few weeks in Sevilla have all been incredibly busy.

You won’t be able to read the articles now - RGJ articles are only visible for a month before they become archives and you have to pay for see them. Still, I wanted to post headlines for the rest of my articles, as well as do a quick recap of my time in Reno.

I spent 11.5 weeks in the biggest little city in the world, and they were some of the best weeks of my life. I wrote 91 articles for the Gazette-Journal, including 37 that ran on the front page. More importantly, I gained an incredible amount of experience by working alongside some amazing reporters. Thanks to my coworkers and my hosts, I also had a very fun summer, complete with visiting San Francisco and Lake Tahoe and going to four Triple-A baseball games.

The remaining headlines (in chronological order)

“Reno fire officials say water reduced to hydrants before Alexander arson”

“Veteran BLM ranger to retire with adopted horse”

“Westerners feel younger and healthier, study finds”

“NHP identifies victims of fatal I-80 crash”

“Angora fire response manager accused of embezzling donations”

“School flu plan urges against alarm”

“Reno airport welcomes burners with party”

“Cruisin’ Classics take final spin as annual car festival shifts down”

“Haze to remain in Reno until Thursday”

“Reno gathering rallies for clean energy”

“Cities face off in peanut butter drive”

“Budget cuts increase waiting at Northern Nev. DMV offices”

“Drug tests expand to all athletes at 3 Washoe high schools”

“Project Compassion to turn foreclosures into homes for disabled veterans”

“Sparks police chief Asher resigns”

“Pioneer fire-fighting equipment to parade Saturday in Virginia City”

“Reno gay pride festival celebrates new state law”

“Officials: Most Washoe school construction projects are on time, under budget”

“Crooners sing blues at music festival”

“Residents celebrate gay pride during festival”

“Teamsters picket Granite Construction sites”

“Food program feeds 2,000 more”

“Delay in vaccine production won’t alter Washoe swine flu plans”

“Teamsters end Granite pickets but remain way from work”

“Pilot, feline passenger unhurt after plane crash at Stead”

“Granite hires Sparks replacements, plans no negotiations with Teamsters”

“Today is last Sparks farmers market of summer”

“Reno sets 90-year-old heat record”

“Reno flirts with another heat record”

“New tool to fight neglected lawns: paint”

“Small art center has big plans”

“Stimulus Money Quadruples Agency Budget To Help Jobseekers”

“Fallon Project Could Make Water Drinkable”

The Real Impact Of The Economic Stimulus

Over the weekend, the Reno Gazette-Journal published a big package on the impact of federal stimulus money on Nevada. The package included two articles written by me -  the last articles I wrote in Reno and some of the most difficult/most important. While my colleague and role model Anjeanette Damon conducted an analysis of where the early stimulus money is heading, I picked a couple specific projects to show the real impact of the money.

Read “Fallon Project Could Make Water Drinkable” here. Read “Stimulus Money Quadruples Agency Budget To Help Jobseekers” here. A “Meet the Team” page of people that worked on the package - including me - is here. The package home page is here.

On Attempting (Unsuccessfully) To Meet Spanish Girls

We’ve been told repeatedly that we need to make Spanish friends to truly experience the culture here. Naturally, I think this would best be done by hitting on Spanish chicks. But after a week of trying, I must report that it’s easier said than done.

First, girls don’t really shake hands here. Instead, when you meet a girl you have to do this double-cheek kiss thing that looks cool but is actually pretty unnerving if you’re not used to it. Already, I’ve had several introductions where they’ve gone in for the kiss while I’ve simply outstretched my hand. The worst is when the greeting ends with nothing more than us staring dumbly at each other from a foot apart and mumbling “hola.” A great start to the interaction, right?

Anyway, despite the fact that we haven’t really mastered how to make a great first impression, my friends and I decided a couple of days ago to see if we could meet some Spanish chicas. So we took our culture teacher’s advice and headed to a “botellon,” which is basically a bunch of kids gathering in public to drink large amounts of alcohol.

After a few minutes of just standing around in the midst of the chaos, two of my friends made the bold decision to approach two very attractive Spanish girls who appeared to be alone.

What followed was one of the more awkward experiences I’ve ever seen. Somehow they managed to pull off the cheek kisses—barely (and not without some giggling)—but then the trouble began. My friend Josh Brower is one of the most socially adept people I know, but it took him about 45 seconds to conjugate the verb “to be” so he could say we were from the United States.

Josh also managed to say we were students and the girls said they were students too—kind of. My friend Gabe Haack pressed further, asking how old the girls were, and we learned the hilariously horrifying truth: they were 16 years old.

As Gabe pondered later, “is it even legal to talk to people that young in public?”

The awkwardness of the age difference pretty much ended the conversation, and the girls kind of slid back to their group of friends without saying goodbye.

Attempting to regroup, us Americans made a mental note for future reference: Spanish girls look older than they are.

As for the rest of night, there was no a second attempt. My friends and I cut our losses and headed for our favorite American bar in Sevilla. It was exactly what we’re not supposed to be doing, but hey, there’s only so much you can take in one night.

Hopefully next time goes a little better.

On Joe Wilson

A little late on this one (give me a break; I’m in another continent), but a quick thought now that Mr. Wilson has received more than $1 million in campaign contributions in the couple days after his little outburst in Congress:

Isn’t this such a perfect symbol of what this whole health care debate, and indeed the politics of this country, have become?

There should be a legitimate debate going on across the country about whether expanding health care to those that can’t afford it is worth its cost (and further, how to go about doing the expansion). Instead, we are given sideshows like ridiculously wrong yet persistent myths, cries of “Fascism!” and “Communism!”, assault weapons being brought to town hall meetings, and now childlike interruptions during a speech by the president of the United States of America before a joint session of the Congress of the United States of America and a television audience of 32 million American citizens.

I’m moderate, but can the Republican Partly honestly look at themselves right now and think they are engaging in an intelligent and honest conversation? More importantly, when did we stop having respect and legitimate political debate in this country and decide to turn it all into a circus?

Most importantly, how long are we to be expected to be put up with this?

Looks Like I Have To Step Up My Game

danielroger:

My Tumblr feed makes it seem like we have an old-fashioned, European blogging showdown between Rosenthal in Spain and Salyer in France.

Based on the first posts, round one goes to Kirstin. Step it up, Bry Guy. This ain’t Reno anymore.