Civilians in Seville, Italics in Italica

Back in Sevilla, Patty and Mom relaxed while Allison and I went for a three mile run around Parque María Luisa. Later, having worked up an appetite, we went closer to the Barrio Santa Cruz for some tapas and (Allison's new addiction), sangría. And after lunch, we walked around in Barrio Santa Cruz, stopping at a bar for some more sangría (sadly, we could only finish half the pitcher). Afterward we headed back to their hotel and later I went on to Alcalá to rest up a bit.

On Tuesday morning I met them in Sevilla around 11 AM. Unfortunately it was raining pretty hard, so we had to change the itinerary a bit. We took the metro to visit two malls (Nervion and then Los Arcos) for an indoor tour of Sevilla. They needed to buy some souvenirs and Spanish clothes/shoes anyway. I left them at Los Arcos with directions on how to get back to the hotel via bus when they were shopped-out. I took my own bus to Alcalá for class.

Wednesday was more of the same weather- rainy, but we went on a trip anyway. From the Plaza de Armas bus station we took a bus to Santiponce to visit Italica, a site of Roman ruins. The bus driver dropped us off right in front of the entrance because it was raining so hard. The man at the entrance to Italica gave us some brochures and told us that it was free to enter. (The brochure listed the price as 'According to currently applicable rates.') Believe it or not, we had the place to ourselves. Here's what some of what we saw:

Part of the Amphitheatre

Naturally, as soon as we left the rain subsided and the sun came out. The bus also did not show up at a convenient time. We probably spent more time waiting for the bus than we did in Italica. However, it did eventually come and we were able to make our way back to Sevilla. Here, it was time to say goodbye, since I had to get back to go to school and my little ducklings were leaving the next morning. They had just one night left in Spain so I gave them strict instructions (and directions) to visit the Catedral/Giralda tower, Plaza de España and Parque María Luisa. I warned them that should they miss out on these sites, their trip to Sevilla would be considered a complete failure (and I would be a complete failure as a tour guide).

Of course they heeded my warning (or at least they said they did).

Visitors, Valencia and Vino

Allison, Mom and Patty arrived in Sevilla on Thursday (the 10th).  I met them at the airport and we took the airport bus to their hotel, which was strategically located just three blocks from the bus stop.  I can say 'just' because I hadn't been traveling for 17 hours and wasn't lugging a full suitcase, bag, and jacket those three blocks. They checked in, but I couldn't stay with them as I had to get back to Alcalá for two grueling hours of work. After Allison packed an overnight bag, we headed for another bus stop and left our mothers to nap/fend for themselves.

It just so happened that we arrived in Alcalá with enough time for Allison to take a nap. And so that she could have total peace and quiet I graciously left to go for a short run. After taking showers, we headed to school.

Allison was lucky enough to get to sit in on my two classes (gracias José y Penélope!).  In fourth year they were discussing music and personalities with gerunds so we listened to four different songs from four different genres that used gerunds. (Sort of- I messed up a little, but whatever....the Beastie Boys Fight for Your Right (to Party), John Mayer Dreaming with a Broken Heart, Neil Sedaka Breaking Up Is Hard to Do and one other from Van Halen, I think.) The students listened and filled in the missing gerunds and then discussed what type of personality the person who likes that song might have. (Surprisingly not as torturous of a lesson as usual with that class. The Beastie Boys and Neil Sedaka in  must be a magical combination.) In second year they were working on using comparing words. They had to compare the housing, leisure activities, people, clothing, and food of the US and Spain. Yes, this group also thought we eat a lot of hamburgers, thatt we are very patriotic and that we live in wooden houses with gardens.

After class we walked back home made some risotto and talked a lot in English. Allison finally got a chance to lay her weary head down around 10. I think Megan and I finally went to bed at 2 AM.

Later Friday morning I got up to run a few miles (while Allison tried to adjust to the loss of 7 hours of sleep). We had to be ready by 10:30 to meet Patty and Roxy at the bus stop in Alcalá. Their mission was to walk to the bus stop in Sevilla, get on a bus to Alcalá and get off the bus in Alcalá when they saw us. It might sound sort of easy, but consider that they don't speak the language and have never ridden the bus to Alcalá so they really have no way to judge when they have arrived. Two buses came and went and they didn't show up. The next bus would come in 20 minutes. I decided that if they weren't on that bus we would have to think of a Plan B. To waste time Allison and I went to the grocery store near the bus stop to buy water. Back at the bus stop, another bus rounded the corner and stopped at the bus stop. Seated in the back and unaware that they had arrived were Patty and Roxy. I waved them off them bus.  Apparently the bus driver had locked his keys in the bus and had to call for reinforcement to get back in and start the route. Likely story.  

They also informed me that during their night on their own they broke two cardinal rules for travel abroad: 1. Never eat at a restaurant with pictures of the food posted on a poster/sign outside the restaurant (the nicer the pictures, the worse the food) and 2. Don't buy food/drink that you can get in the US. It just will not taste the same and you will be disappointed. It is best to find your favorite beverage/food from this country instead.

Anyway, we made the long trek from the bus stop to the school, making a short pit-stop at the piso to get the cake Megan's student had baked for her (She didn't mean to leave it there. She knows we can't be trusted with sweets). Through town and up the hill to school we went. Megan helped with a tour of the classrooms and we peeked into the office to meet the teachers and enjoy a piece of Megan's student's cake (it was quite delicious).

Then we walked around the castle area (by the school) a little bit before heading back to the piso. I packed for Valencia while Mom and Patty tried to turn the TV to the English mode and Allison tried to nap on my bed. When I was finally packed we walked to a restaurant in Alcalá for some tapas (el Pájaro Azul for those of you who know Alcalá). At some point we realized that the plane left at 5 PM instead of the 6 PM departure I had been planning for. So, we went into rush mode. After lunch we ran to the piso to pick up my suitcase and then ran to the bus stop.  In Sevilla we ran to the hotel, grabbed the rest of the suitcases and rushed to fetch a taxi. The taxi driver made a dramatic display to show us that our suitcases were too heavy and too big to all fit in the trunk of his taxi. (He used the word, 'joder' I remember that.)  So, we were forced to take two taxis (two taxis for the price of two!). We made it to the airport on time and even had time to sit and relax for a bit (because the plane was delayed; we weren't that early).

Eventually we got on the plane and arrived in Valencia after just one hour. In Valencia we obtained some maps from the Tourist office, conveniently located inside the airport itself. We decided to be brave (and frugal) and take the metro to the hotel- what could possibly go wrong?  I looked at the map of the metro and decided that the red line looked like our best bet. My little ducklings had complete faith in my decision. And so they followed me onto the red line train. We got off at the 'Colon' stop and walked the four blocks to the hotel. No, really, that is what actually happened. I have a degree in Urban Geography. I even took a course called Europe: A Geographic Perspective. Neither helped me find our way in Valencia, but they are interesting facts and it seemed like the right time to tell you them.

Now, after we checked in and settled a bit we headed out to the streets of Valencia in search of dinner.  We came upon this restaurant:

It was about 8:30 so the restaurant was packed. There was not one other group of guiris so I figured it must be a good place to eat. Although it was hard to tell if we could just sit down or if there was a host/hostess of some sort and we had a hard time getting anyone's attention, we did eventually get a table. Mom and Allison each ordered an Alhambra beer (and liked it!) while Patty and I went for the wine. Here are a few of the things we ate:

After dinner we called it a night.

The next morning I got up to run. On the map it looked as if there was a nice long boulevard on far from the hotel on which to run. I found it after three miles (most likely not the shortest route there). I was sure I could find the short route back to the hotel from there. Five miles later I found it.

The four of us exited the hotel at noon. Our first stop was the nearby tourist office. We picked up more maps and got some ideas of what to do on Sunday (because most things are closed on Sundays). Armed with an adequate amount of glossy paper to call ourselves tourists, we began our site-seeing journey.

The woman in the tourist office had suggested a moscato tasting that was going on on Quart street, so we headed in that direction. Along the way we found a place to eat lunch that was near Mercado Central.

View from our table of Mercado Central, the largest in Europe.

Course one- scrambled eggs with mushrooms.

Course two- paella with rabbit and chicken.

Continuing on our journey, we passed by the Lonja de Seda and stopped in and amazingly the entry fee was 0€. It is an example of gothic architecture and apparently has been declared a World Heritage Monument by UNESCO.

La Sala de Contratación, built starting in 1482.

Photo I took right before we got yelled at by
a security guard for hanging outside the wall.

And then we walked and walked and walked.

The Quart Towers

The moscato tasting wasn't as exciting as we thought it would be once we got there, so we went on our way. We went to one museum, but it was just closing. After walking a little further, we made it to the Institut Valenciá d'Art Modern and took a look around (for students like me the cost was just 1€). Next on our walking tour was a candy store and a tower.

Fun with shadows. 

You'd be doing the same if you were
hanging off the side of the tower.

Once again my entry is getting wordy and picturey (not a real word, but it should be), so the abridged version will follow.  

On Sunday I found the another awesome running area.  This may have been what I was looking for in the first place. It was a path for running/biking/walking that ran for miles through the city, from the Science Museum past the towers and beyond.

As for site seeing, we used the metro to get us to the Mediterranean sea. In an attempt to take a more interesting photo of me and the sea, I decided that I was going to do a handstand on the shore. It has been several years since my gymnastics days, but I think we would all agree that doing a handstand is a lot like riding a bicycle; once you can do it, you can always do it, right?  I practiced on the beach to make sure I could do something that resembled a handstand. I think you know what happened when it came time for the actual photo shoot. Yes, I ate lunch with wet shoes, socks and pants.  But the photo is so much more interesting, so I think it was worth it. (*Photo coming soon)

The Mediterranean Sea

We ate lunch at a restaurant on the beach where we waited forever for rabbit and chicken paella (again). At least the poor service gave me a chance to practice my Spanish. We also made it to the Ciudad de Las Artes y Las Ciencias just before it closed. We had one half hour to check it out, but at least we can say we went to one of the iconic locations in Valencia.

The Ágora.

In front of the Hemisfèric (IMAX cinema and
digital projections) in my new 10€ coat.

We left Valencia on Monday morning to continue the tour of Spain in Sevilla. 

Dude, Where's My Name?

When I reference an Ashton Kutcher movie in the title of my blog entry, you know I'm going to have a good story. Here's the update on my Spanish classes:  if every student has to go through this much work to register for classes the classes must be filled with very motivated and/or stubborn people.  

The results of the placement test were released on Monday and sadly my name did not appear on the list. (Insert joke here about being in class of by myself.) I was told I had to return to the University of Sevilla the next day to hear a good explanation for why my name did not appear even though I follow all the steps and met all the deadlines (like all the good little Americans do).  

Not one to miss out an a good explanation, no matter the cost, I took the bus to Sevilla on Tuesday after class. From the bus stop I walked (a half hour) to the University. When I arrived, there was already a line forming to talk to a professor about the problems and/or changes people had with their registration. I counted fifteen people in line. Twice a professor walked by and said something to the effect of 'hoo- all these students have a problem with their registration for Spanish class?' I wondered (quietly to myself) what was special about this year's registration.

When it was my turn I sat down and the woman asked me what the problem was. I explained that I was registered, but I wasn't on the class list. She inquired as to when I took the placement test. I told her last Monday (the 14th) (the deadline was the 16th, by the way). She handed me a stapled sheet of about eight pages and asked if my name was on that list. I turned to the back pages and found my name (a step in the right direction, I think)!  She explained that there was a problem with the test and many people didn't get placement in time. She said that I would be placed with the next group. And if I had a problem with the class I was registered for, I could come back to the professor office hours (like this) from 10:30-12:30 AM this Thursday to make a change. I thanked her and left.  It took all of two minutes.

Ok.  Those are the facts.  Here are my questions, analysis and venting:

1.  Why couldn't a note be placed on the website stating that there was a problem with the placement test and that results would be delayed?
2.  Why couldn't that eight-page list be changed into a PDF and added to the department's website?
3.  Do I get a refund for the week of class that I will be missing due to circumstances beyond my control?
4.  Really?  I get to get up early, take the bus to Sevilla, walk another half hour (or take another bus) to the University and look for my registration. If I don't like it I get to wait in line again?  And then what will happen?  Will you give me a Darwin-type Award for stupidity? 'She was so determined to take Spanish classes that she went back and forth from Alcalá to the Language Institute for 15 years. Woefully, she never successfully registered and never learned Spanish.'
5.  Do I really want to take these classes?*

*This is the only question for which I know the answer (ooo...look at how well I can speak English):  YES.


My American Accent news:
1.  We say the words 'laugh' and 'live' with similar vowel sounds. The difference in sounds is easier to distinguish with a British accent. Go ahead- try it at home!
2.  The students in fourth year called me out today for my pronunciation of the letter 't' in words like 'party' and 'letter'. We say 'pardy' and 'ledder'. So do the Beastie Boys in their song 'You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party'.  They also taught the students the word 'jerk', 'busted' (TWO meanings) and 'to party'. Isn't their a saying that goes something like 'Everything I need to know I learned from a Beastie Boys Song?'

Photos of Alcalá that you haven't seen yet:

Fishing in Agua de Sevilla (province)

Another great Alcalá (running route) view.

A Spanish horse (but a horse is a horse, of course, of course)

Me Talk Spanish One Day

Funny story:  the 'autosave' feature of this blog program autosaved right after I accidentally deleted what I had taken three hours to write and was about to publish. I'd like to laugh about it someday, but it can't be today, as today has been set aside for swearing.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  So here goes...

I started another process recently:  the process of registering for a Spanish class. Here are the steps:

1.  Read the steps
2.  Download/Print/Fill out the registration forms from the university's website.
3.  Go to the University of Sevilla in person during the designated registration dates/times with your registration forms and a copy of your passport. (M-F from 9 AM to 2 PM and Tuesday and Wednesday from 4-5:30 PM. The registration dates are February 1-15.)
4.  Wait in line for your turn to hand in your registration forms and a copy of your passport. You will receive the tuition forms that you take to the bank and a postcard that you hand in to your professor on the first day of class. You will be registered for level one (times and days TBD).
5.  Take the online placement exam.
6.  Go to the bank and pay tuition.
7.  On the 21st of February, go to the University and check the results of your placement exam and the days/times that you have been assigned classes. (Classes start February 22.)
8.  Now you will sort of choose your own adventure.  If you are happy with the days/times you have been assigned, you just go to class. If you are not happy with the days/times, you must contact the professor of displeasing class and tell him/her you would like to change. Contact the professor of pleasing class to request permission to switch. If permission is granted, buy the appropriate books and attend pleasing class.

I know what you are probably thinking, 'How much is tuition?' Well, it was 265,15€ (as of today, approximately $360.00 for 3.75 months of class). You might also be thinking (as I am) 'Why do you have to go all the way to the University of Sevilla to find out what class you are in?' The answer is simple: because it is easier to print out a sheet of paper and post it on a bulletin board than it is to send out hundreds of e-mails to the people that took the placement test. And really, who uses that 'e-mail' thing these days anyway?

Yet another important question is, 'Why can't you sign up for the class time/days that you prefer right from the get-go?' I haven't figured out the answer to this question yet.

So far I have completed steps 1-6. I took the bus to Sevilla last Tuesday (after morning class) and turned in my forms/passport copy at the Instituto de Idiomas at the University of Sevilla. When it was my turn, I walked up to the window, handed the woman my forms and said, 'Quiero...' (I want...) and the woman finished my sentence with 'to register for Spanish classes' (she said it in perfect Spanish though). Obviously I am making the right move if, after barely uttering one word in Spanish, she could tell I needed help.

In related news, after one week of speaking English (with Mom, Patty and Allison) I am completely inept at understanding and/or speaking Spanish. I don't know what happened. When I went to the bank to pay my tuition, I froze when the lady asked me if I had another copy of the form. And when I went to the other bank to (finally) show them my TIE card (to avoid paying a non-Spanish resident/foreigner fee), I reverted to cavewoman talk when trying to explain that I was just there to show them my card and nothing else. And what happened on Family Matters (yes, that Family Matters) when Clarisse and Jose laughed?  I have no idea because I couldn't understand what the dubbed voices were saying. Not to mention the fact that I had no idea what Jose and Clarisse were saying to each other.  I'll say it again, as I've said it before: I am jealous (and proud) of Clarisse for becoming quite the little Spanish speaker. I am embarrassed at my lack of Spanish abilities. I tell myself that if, after 20 years of trying to achieve something, you are unable to do it, it might be best to move on to something else.  The students in the language school are given 5 years (or maybe its 8) to learn English and if they don't pass after that, they are out of luck. Perhaps I just wasn't meant to speak Spanish. I should use my frustration as a motivation, but right now I prefer to have this pity party. These Spanish classes will make me feel better, right?

On a happier note, and without further ado, I would like to unveil the view from my room. Please, do not adjust your set(tings). There are screens on our windows (contrary to whatever they might tell you in the US):

The direction I look to see if I'll need sunglasses today.

Our neighors airing their (clean) laundry.
Our laundry (garbage, gas, broom and mop)
 can be found behind the other windows.

Now you can quit e-mailing me requesting to see what I see every morning. From now on please print out your your suggestions/comments/complaints and post them on a bulletin board at a designated location within your favorite town. It's all the rage here.

Got it?

Do you know what the magic verb is in English?  It's 'got'.  If a Spanish student doesn't know the verb for the thing they want to say, they should just use 'got' because chances are it will work.  I bet this morning you got up, got out of bed, got in the shower, got your clothes on, got online, got an e-mail (or two), got a cold, got the paper and a cup of coffee, got some change (from the barista), got stopped by a cop for speeding, got a speeding ticket, and finally got to work (and maybe got drunk afterwards).  The word 'got' can mean: entered, put, took, received, bought, obtained, became and arrived.  It's very useful.  (As a matter of fact I am IMing with Allison right now and she just said, 'I need to get my hair cut and I have some shopping that needs to get done. And I said, 'Don't you need to get an appointment for a haircut?')  Count how many times you use it in a day.  I think you'll be surprised.

And what about close (the door), close (to my heart), clothes?  How confusing. Two of them sound the same but are spelled differently.  The ones that are spelled the same are pronounced differently.  I'm surprised anyone attempts to learn our crazy language.

The other day one of the English teachers said that she had a question for me. She said a student asked her about a word in a movie he/she watched in English. The student heard the word 'Shocker' as one of the lines in the movie and didn't understand it.  For some reason it struck me as funny.  I think because it is a slang expression that you are used to hearing from teenagers rather than from my generation (or older). I imagine a student doing a speaking activity during English class and using the expression:

                       Student A:  I like to go to the movies, play video games and read.
                       Student B:  Shocker.

Or:                 Student A:  When I was younger I used to walk to school by myself.
                      Student B:   Shocker.

The rest of the week was pretty boring. I had to rest up after the trip to Morocco and before Mom, Allison and Patty arrive this coming Thursday. I did, however, try to cook a couple of things:  spaghetti with garlic and grape tomatoes (which I will forever remember because I have a burn the size of a dime on my wrist that is sure to leave a scar. We don't have an ice pack so I carefully reviewed of the contents of the freezer for something that could be used as such. Ultimately I decided frozen meat or fish on an open wound would be worse than ending up with a scar. Henceforth I will be reminded of Spain when I look at my right wrist. Actually, it is sort of in the shape of Spain too.), an omelette with onions, potatoes and canned mussels (my stomach is still churning) and today I made a spaghetti sauce with mushrooms, onions, garlic, artichokes and crushed tomatoes.

BURNED!  (I got a burn, you might say)

This past Thursday I hung out with Megan, Jose and (for a little while) Cedric, the French conversation assistant at the school the past three years.  (Clarisse went to Portugal this past weekend and we needed a French friend, so he was the stand-in.)  Cedric wanted to practice English at one point, so Megan asked him questions.  A few times he didn't understand when Megan or Jose asked the question but for some reason understood when I asked the question.  I guess that proves the Minnesota and Wisconsin accents are different (Megan is from Minnesota).

Well, I've got to get going.

You say Morocco, I say Maraca.

I left for Morocco on Friday afternoon.  I wasn't really planning on going to Africa this year, but the stars were too well aligned not to go: the flight to Marrakesh is one hour, I could fly Ryanair (cheap, cheap), I had a travel companion and I no longer have to work on Fridays (that's right, people, I have 4 day weekends, every weekend). Top all that off with a half marathon and you've got yourself a tourist!  It's like one of my favorite sayings goes:  Opportunity does not knock and then knock again and then leave a note saying, 'Sorry I missed you'.  And so I went with two main purposes: to run a half marathon and to go to another continent.  I really knew nothing about the city of Marrakesh or the country of Morocco, except what I've heard from Spaniards. They told me that although Marrakesh was a touristy city, it was beautiful and a great place to visit.  They also joked that I should be careful of men trying to trade me for camels.

Me or the camels?  Which would you prefer?

They await your call.

My journey started on Friday morning.  Since a taxi to the airport costs 50€ and the buses to get there cost 3,40€,  I chose to take the buses and a little more time to get there (I'm on a budget).  So I left my house about 9 AM, walked through town to the bus stop.  Took the bus with my suitcase to Sevilla.  Walked about 10 minutes to the airport bus stop.  Got on the airport bus and got to the airport about 10:30.  I was a little early, but at least I know now how long it takes to get from Alcalá to the airport.

I took Ryanair and they don't have assigned seating, so it was good to be there early so I could get a window seat.  The boarding process took an hour (or so it seemed).  The people that sat next to me were Spanish and were talking/arguing the whole flight.  Their incessant bickering made for a longer flight.  There must have been a momentary silence though, because I remember drifting off and then a second later the phrase 'I wanted the window seat.' cut through the silence.  I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling the trophy wife beside me that: A. I was trying to sleep B. I could understand her when she whined in Spanish and C. if she wanted the window seat she should have gotten on the plane earlier or used her husband's money to buy a ticket on another airline where she could choose her seat instead of spending the money on collagen in her lips.  But I tried to look at the bright side: I could understand her.  If she were speaking in German or Arabic or Chinese her words would have been just sounds and I wouldn't have been annoyed at all, right?  It feels like a redneck-style joke:  You might be on the verge of becoming bilingual if people can annoy you in two languages.

When we got off the plane in Marrakesh, we all had to fill out a customs form stating basic information like your name, date of birth, country of residence, passport number and hotel/address in Morocco. People were spread out in the 'lobby' filling out the cards.  It was pretty chaotic.  I couldn't tell who was waiting in line or where the lines were.  I got in what I thought was a line, but soon realized was just a group of people filling out the form, I finally found where there was a person inside a booth stamping passports and got in line.  But I got in the wrong line again because this line had a group of Spaniards near the front.  One of them was at front of the line ('holding the place') while the other five were filling out their cards next to him. As the other five finished up their cards, they stepped into the front of the line.  Meanwhile, the line was growing behind them.  After the 4th person butted I had to say something, so I said, 'Pardon me, but there's a line.'   The most recent butter said, 'Yes, but we are all together.'  I said, 'Well, you all have to wait in line like the rest of us.' She restated that they were all together and trying to get their passports stamped together. Again I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying exactly what I was thinking which was that if they wanted to get through the line together, they should all fill out their cards and then proceed to the BACK of the line.  Their 'one person fills out the card and holds up the line while the rest finish their cards' idea was NOT an appropriate approach to getting through customs without a black eye.  I was already annoyed by the non-stop talkers on the plane and this situation was adding fuel to the fire.  The lady ended up letting me (the loca American) go in front of her and re-entering the line just behind me.  I know that if they hadn't been Spanish I wouldn't have said anything, but since they were I felt comfortable imposing the 'American Rules to Waiting in Line' on them. And, as I said, I was fired up from Lucy and Ricky bickering the entire flight.

So I got through customs, got my suitcase and went to get some Euros changed to Dirham.  The line wasn't too long, but my 'friends' were causing a ruckus with one of the tellers there too.  I got in another line.  I really didn't want to be arrested in the airport.  

Then karma came back to bite me (for being so crabby) because my transportation from the airport to the hotel was nowhere to be found.  I paced around the (small) airport lobby and saw no one related to my tour group.  I asked at information and they said, 'Oh, look over there.' (referring to the people standing by the exit door holding up signs with people's names).  I insisted no one was there for me, and so she told me to wait, that someone would be there.  No one came.  I asked someone else and they told me to go to information.  Information told me someone would be coming.  After an hour and a half I asked again.  One person at the desk told me to call.  I explained that I didn't have a phone.  She said something about outside.  I didn't understand.  The other person at the desk said, 'upstairs'.  So I got the idea that a payphone was either outside or upstairs, but I couldn't see it in either location.  So I kept waiting.  I knew that Mary's flight was getting in at 4:30 (and mine had arrived at 1:30), so if I waited long enough someone might show up.  After pacing for 2 hours three representatives from the tour group finally showed up.  The man asked where I had been because my flight was supposed to get in at 1:30.  He said there were two other girls on my flight that came out but I never did.  I wanted to blame the Spaniards, but I didn't.  I bit my tongue again and was just thankful that I would be getting to the hotel soon.

The hotel was quite close to the airport- maybe 10 or 15 minutes driving.  I checked in, dropped off my bags and waited for Mary to get in.  She ended up never coming in that night.  But the time I got the e-mail from my parents saying that her flight was cancelled, it was too dark to leave the hotel.  So I caught up on some sleep.

The next morning, I enjoyed the (free) continental breakfast, where I dined on lukewarm boiled potatoes, lukewarm hard-boiled eggs and hot water (I wasn't sure if I could drink the tap water or not). Then I headed to the market/city center.  I'm not sure exactly what time it was, but I think it might have been 9 AM when I was there this day.  There weren't very many people around quite yet and compared with the afternoon it was a ghost town.  

The market- bright and early before the crowds arrived.

The Atlas Mountains are in the photo- look closely.

Anyway, this post is getting longer than I anticipated so I'll try to paraphrase the rest of the trip.  Mary arrived on Saturday and we went back to the city to buy bottled water (which, by the way, costs 13 Dh in the main market (1,30€) and only 7 Dh (70 cents) just a block off the main square) and walk through the market more.  She bought a copper plate at one of the shops.  We had to haggle with the man about the price, but she finally settled on 200 Dh (20€) and my pen.  The man said he wanted my pen 'for his children'.  I'm not sure how he knew I had a pen in my purse or why his children wanted it, but it was part of the deal, so we went with it.

That night we went out to dinner at a restaurant on a main street where I had a butternut squash soup and a vegetable omelette.  We ate outside and it was a little chilly, but not unbearable.  Then we went back to the hotel to rest up for our big races on Sunday.

The races started at 8:30.  The start line was less than a half mile from our hotel, so we didn't have to leave extremely early.  This was especially good because there were no port-o-potties or other bathroom facilities available at the start.  And it never fails that I soon as I am behind the start line I have to go. By the time I returned there were so many people packed behind the starting line that I couldn't get on the street much less find Mary again.  We were packed in like sardines and since it had rained the night before there were giant puddles on the street and thus even fewer places to stand.

The weather was perfect- about 50 I think and the course was nice and flat.  The half marathoners and full marathoners ran together the first seven miles and then split at a fork in the road.  We ran back through the city (the first part was more parks and back roads, as I remember). I remember running through intersections that were just packed with people in cars and trucks and motorcycles.  There was no honking though.  They were just sitting quietly.  The crowd of spectators was also very well-behaved.  For the most part they just observed the race.  I heard little clapping or shouting and they were very respectful of the runners by staying on the sidewalk rather than crossing in front of us.  At one point (mile 10 or 11 if I remember correctly) there was a concrete divider in the road. We were running to the left of it and a man with a donkey hitched to a cart was standing to the right of it.  He appeared to be just watching but for some reason a police officer on our side of the divider was yelling at him.  I would say that perhaps the police officer was concerned for the safety of the runners, but that would assume that this was the first and only donkey on the course.  That is just not true (and I'm not making a joke about some runners/spectators being asses here, I'm truly saying that that wasn't the first donkey (animal) on the course). 

After what felt like forever, I finally finished the race (in an average time for me) and proceeded through the finish area to pick up my medal and water/oranges/dates.  Once again I found myself in the role of Canned Sardine #344.  There was a lot of pushing and shoving to get to the front of the line to get the goodies.  When I finally made it to the front of the line, I got my water and food and turned to let others in.  Instead of easily sliding out of the pack, I met up with the force of a hundred sweaty, smelly, thirsty, hungry runners pushing me backwards, into the medal fence dividing us from the people handing out the food.  I started panicking a little bit and feeling quite clostrophobic.  I didn't want to be the girl that finished the race but tragically never got a chance to rehydrate.  So I did what our ancient ancestors would have done: I made a growling noise and pushed my way through the crowd.

Happy to be alive and hydrated after the half marathon.

Safely out of the crowd and back at the hotel, I freshened up and went back to the start line to watch Mary finish the full marathon.  As 3.5 hours turned into 4.5 and then 5.15, I began to get worried.  I thought maybe I missed her (since I was partially distracted by a Moroccan man who wanted to be my penpal), so I went back to the hotel to find her.  She wasn't in the room, but on my way out of the hotel, I could see her coming down the street (the race ran right in front of our hotel).  I booked it towards the finish line to take my place as the photographer.  Apparently somewhere along the course there was another split and Mary didn't notice this second one, so she ended up running an extra 4.4 miles.  That is what took her so long.  It is now a question I pose to you:  What would you do if you were running a marathon in Africa and you went 2.2 miles out of your way before you realized your mistake?  Would you run back to where you took the wrong turn, would you quit, or would you just cut it short and run to the finish line from where you were?  Remember, there are donkeys on the course.

After she finished, she still had energy so we walked around the old town.  We went to the souks, some tombs and to see the old city wall.  For dinner we went to a restaurant called Red House that was recommended by the hotel.  It wasn't Moroccan food, but it was delicious.  I had chicken with a coconut milk curry sauce and white rice.

The tombs.

I bought two postcards at a store in the market area.  I then tried to find a place that sold stamps.  Impossible.  The post office only had envelopes (it was Saturday so maybe there were just limited supplies).  The shop in the hotel had stamps, but the store clerk refused to sell us stamps unless we bought postcards in her store.  Since we already had the postcards we declined her proposal.  However, when we could find no other store or post office that would sell us stamps either, we were forced to make a deal with her.  Mary bought two postcards and got two stamps and requested that she didn't put the stamps on the postcards she bought there.  The clerk agreed and finally I was able to send the postcards.  I don't want to ruin the surprise, but if you have lived in the same house since 1947 (or even December of 1946) you might find a Moroccan postcard in your mailbox sometime soon.

I got up early and ran a few miles in Morocco while I had the chance.  As I was in Africa I headed out in shorts and a t-shirt.  During my 4-mile run, I realized that I was freezing.  Then I saw the temperature displayed:  6°C (43°F).  I guess I haven't lost my Midwestern/Northern toughness after all.

I made it to the airport nice and early, checked my bag, traded in my Dirham for Euros, went through security and waited to leave.  There was a group of Americans in line to board the plane who were in Spain living at the army base with their husbands.  They had also come to Morocco for the weekend to run the half marathon.  We were talking for awhile and I heard the Spaniards behind me say, 'Why are there so many English people on this flight?'.  Not long after one of the Americans came back to the line and told us that the flight was delayed 2 hours.  We left the line and I heard the Spaniards saying, 'What's going on?'  One of them left to check the flight board.  I told them that the flight was delayed 2 hours.  They thanked me and also sat down to wait.

When we finally did board, I saw my friends from the previous flight (Lucy and Ricky) and I decided that I would do everything in my power to make sure they did not sit next to me.  When two younger people sat down next to me I breathed a sigh of relief.  And when they reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a six-pack of Heineken I knew it was going to be a great (one hour) flight.  The man offered me one, but I declined.  He asked me (in English) how I liked Morocco.  I said, 'I'm glad to be going back to Spain.  And you?'  'I'm from Morocco.' He responded. (Once again karma slaps me in the face.)  It ended up that he is a Moroccan that now lives in Spain and owns a store in Barrio Santa Cruz (super touristy area near the famous Catedral in Sevilla).  He gave me the name of his store and told me to stop by sometime.

When we got off the plane I saw something I don't usually see at baggage claim: my suitcase.  It brought a tear to my eye.  I wiped it away and went to the bus stop to make the two-bus trip back to Alcalá. 

A Goodbye, a Birthday, a Fiesta and a Trap Door

Today (well, actually last Wednesday) was my last day of class with Sergio.  I've had class with him three mornings a week since October (plus one class very two weeks at school). He is a professor at a university here and got a grant to do research in Germany for a few months.  It was sad to say goodbye.  I learned a lot about how a Spanish speaker learns English, a lot about Spain and a lot about his math class at the University.  I also had a reason to get up before 9 AM.  The search is on for new students.

Wednesday was also my roommate's (José) birthday.  We didn't have a big celebration but Clarisse and I each gave him a gift (a book and some Starbucks mocha drinks I brought from the US) and we ate lunch together.  You should never eat lunch alone on your birthday.

I've taken to cooking lately.  I have a lot of food in the house, so I'm trying to mix and match and see what I can make without buying anything at the grocery store.  So far I've made a cod dish with a roasted tomato and white beans (I made up the recipe) and a garbanzo bean and artichoke stew (I used a recipe from that Interweb thing all the kids are talking about).  Both were amazing.  Then Thursday was a big Fajita Fiesta.  After work Shaelyn, Megan, Clarisse, José and I went back to our piso and I made chicken fajitas complete with chopped tomatoes, and avacadoes and salsa and chips.  And to drink: a bottle for wine.  We ate (and drank) EVERYTHING.  It was absolutely delicious (if I do say so myself).

 
On a completely different subject, for some reason the two purses that I have purchased in Spain have acquired holes in the pockets. (The purses were 20€ and 8€, so they were fairly cheap, but still...) The holes are exciting because they are like trap doors.  I'll throw some change in one of the pockets one day and reach into the pocket to use it the next day and it will be gone!  Or I'll need my nail clippers and I'll swear I put it in the inside pocket of my purse.  I'll be able to hear the jangling, but I can't get to the clippers.  Trap door!  The other day I felt some coins in the lining of my purse.  I located the trap door in the pocket and carefully dug out the coins.  I retrieved two (US) dimes and one 10 cent Euro piece.  I put the Euro coin safely in my wallet.  I'm not sure where I tossed the dimes.  I treated them like they had the word CANADA on them or something.  (It is worthy to note that the current exchange rate is  $1 US to .99 Canadian. Perhaps you should check your coin purse for stowaway coins with the word CANADA on them and toss aside your dimes as well.)