Tertiary, My Dear Watson: Taking the Plunge

Contrary to this post’s title, I did not have the opportunity to jump off of any Mallorcan cliffs. Well, the only opportunity I had was diving to my death off the bluff that that overlooked this island, and I wasn’t feeling suicidal. But I’ve taken a metaphorical plunge into the crazy and exciting Spanish culture. Oh, and I swam in the Mediterranean—but you already knew that.

Matt & I with matching hair in Mallorca

The 8 day edu-vacation ended with a fair amount of free time in Mallorca. We spent a day at the beach, and I tried my hand at windsurfing, which is incredibly difficult. The fiberglass sail becomes exceedingly heavy, because it’s slightly submerged in the water; by the time you’ve summoned all of your strength getting it perpendicular to the sea, you find yourself falling into the very caldron of water you’ve been struggling against. Needless to say I’m determined to master the art someday. Such is the nature of a Gryffindor… or this Gryffindor, anyway.

Speaking of nerdiness defining my life—I went to Toledo yesterday, which is famous for its metallurgy (swords in particular) and ceramics. From what I can tell, they’re also trying to brand themselves as the Lord of the Rings capital of Spain. I found myself in front of a store devoted to this fantasy realm, and couldn’t resist taking a photo. I could, however, resist the 40 euro replica ring, especially considering I carry one with me at all times, anyway. I did like their necklace from the elf lady who’s in love with Aragorn, whose name has never been part of my vocabulary. Google says Arwen, which is a pretty name. She’s almost as cool as Eowyn.

"I am no man."

Back to reality, as boring as that is. Yesterday’s venture into Toledo was great. All of the American students were invited, so I got to hang out with people who didn’t go on the weeklong trip, like Ryan and Kevin and Alexa, and other people you don’t know.

Ryan & me in Toledo

A word about my classes: I’m taking Mediterranean Cinema instead of Med. Art History, because I tried them both out, and Art History seemed like it had a fair amount of review from my Renaissance Art History class, and the professor wasn’t my favorite. So I’m in Med. Cinema, a 6 credit Med. Seminar class, and Intensive Advanced Spanish I. Tomorrow, I will decide between Med. Literature and Med. Politics (they don’t call my program Madrid & the Mediterranean for nothing, folks). I look forward to hearing about what you all are taking; scheduling is an inexplicable passion of mine.

Lauren (who's got the prettiest red hair), Matt &me

Life here has been totally incredible. I miss my family and friends at times, certainly, but cest la vie whenever I’m away from home. Last week, there were a few days without internet access, which was frustrating, because I wanted to Skype my grandparents and pay my bills, post a blog on this one stupid site I'm a part of, etc. Otherwise, I can’t complain. The people here are incredibly nice, and my Spanish is coming along. It’s even cooled down some, thank goodness.

Every day, I find it easier to talk in Spanish with my host mom, Pilar. Every day, I have a packed lunch featuring two sandwiches (despite the fact that I always bring one home), fruit, and a juice box. Unless I marry a cook, this is probably the last time I will be spoiled in this way, so I eat each lunch with (metaphorical) relish. Yes, that was a condiment joke.

Sipping my juice boxes (and avoiding the tiny piece of aluminum that invariably falls in) makes me feel like a child in the best way possible. Every day, I leave my house smiling, purse slung across my body to ward off pickpockets, and, after boarding the metro, read Game of Thrones on my wonderfully short commute. I don’t nap every day, but I exist in a culture where doing so is culturally acceptable. Oh, naps. The Spanish don’t have a verb for napping, but Cole helped me invent one before I left: “sestar.”

If the downtown traffic stings my eyes on the way home, it only bothers me in passing. If I have awkward encounters in Spanish, they only bother me in the present and become hilarious stories to recount later. What I truly cannot live with is the cough I’ve picked up, because it kept me up all last night hacking. But I bought ginger today in the market, and Paula (the model) and I are going to make a tea out of it to solve our issues.

Oh, the fateful ginger buying. I had the worst supermarket experience of my life today, folks. Twenty-five minutes before class, I walk six blocks to this giant indoor market, Mercado Maravilles, the biggest in Europe. It’s closed. So I trudge over to the chain supermarket, because I prefer shopping at individual vendors, but what can you do. I enter and spy the ginger, feeling smug because I know it’s “jengibre” in Spanish, and get in line. This momentous occasion warrants two bags of candy, one for my host mom and one for me. Why not? I’ve done something to deserve it, surely.

I get to the front, nearly dancing with self-satisfaction. I’m going to have exact change, and the cashier lady will name her firstborn after me, and I will share the candy with my friends and we’ll have world peace down pat before the new year. However, when I get to the front, there’s something wrong with the ginger. The cashier asks if I want it, and starts to throw it away. “Wait,” I cry, “yes, I want it.” Then she asks me a question in rapid fire Spanish, which I can’t understand. I look around for help, and the man behind me in line tries to explain it. After the longest forty-five seconds ever, another cashier explains (in English) that I have to weigh the ginger myself. There’s no scale at the register. Oops. So, red-faced, tail between my legs, I weigh the ginger, print out a sticker with the weight, and get back in line.

If only that was the end of the story. This is a three paragraph story, folks. I get back to the front of the line, and come face-to-face with the English-speaking cashier. I apologize for the earlier confusion and she rings me up. Then she examines my ginger and says says, in Spanish, “this isn’t ginger.” I politely disagree. Then she points out the sticker, which reads “peach.” Apparently, I didn’t plug a code into the printer as I was supposed to, so I’m being charged for a peach instead of my actual product. Now I’m heartbroken and start to walk away, prepared to wait in line a third time, when she intervenes and says she’ll do it herself. So now I’m the dumb American that can’t even weigh a block of ginger.

My host mom and I roared with laughter at my retelling of the story. The whole experience gave me an excuse to sullenly eat too much of my watermelon candy on the way home. So long as the ginger works on my throat and that of “my model” (as I refer to her), I think I’ll call it even. I do feel bad for the cashiers. Hopefully they laugh at the memory, too, but they seemed more agitated than amused.

I take odd comfort in knowing I embarrass myself in English at least as often as in Spanish. Taking the plunge into the Spanish lifestyle, language, and culture may exhaust me at times, but the majority of the time, I find that (like the Mediterranean, which is saltier than the Pacific) I can float without too much difficulty.

Sorry the post is late; as I said before, I haven't had internet access.

-Rachael

P.S. Here are some shots from the oddest cathedral side chapel I've ever seen. The Mallorca cathedral is perfectly normal until you get to this section, which was completed in 2006 by a contemporary artist/ madman. Maybe you will see more value in it than I did. The theme is Jesus's miracle where he summons a whole bunch of bread & fish out of nowhere. Before we saw it, our professor told us it was controversial because Jesus appears naked in it. Well, that's not the first thing that popped into my mind when I saw it.

Of course, Gaudi's contemporaries hated a lot of his work. My professor pointed out that in 200 years, this may be worshipped as genius before its time. I will be forever marked as an old conservative who got everything wrong. There's a first time for everything, right?