Life....

So I only ever update this blog after travels or big events (i.e. fiestas and holidays) but there are so many more stories and tales to blog about that take place in this amazingly beautiful city known as Huelva. Excuse the boringness of this blog, as it is just an accumulation of random thoughts and observations I felt like sharing. If you find yourself bored while reading due to the lack of normal humor and/or sarcasm present and of course my entertaining exaggerations in my blogs there is a x in the upper right hand corner, feel free to click on it at any time, I won’t be offended...mostly because I will never know.

I'll start with my change of heart for Huelva. In all honesty I couldn't have been more disappointed with my placement when I first received my acceptance letter to this program. I knew I would be teaching in Andalucía and was very excited about the prospect of living in Granada, Seville, Malaga, Cadiz...etc (pretty much ANY city in Andalucía BUT Huelva). After dreaming about living in Granada for a year and receiving Huelva it was like dreaming of getting a Mercedes Benz decked out with flat screen TVs, voice activated texting devices, a cappuccino maker and personal driver for your 16 birthday but instead receiving a 1992 used Toyota Camry with broken windows, one functional door and tape to keep the headlight in place. My worst fears were realized when I arrived to Huelva in September. Unfortunately, my negative preconceived notions of my new home were true. If had to use three adjectives to describe Huelva I would say small, ugly and poor. Nine out of Ten Huelva’s will be the first person to tell you "Huelva es fea, verdad" (Huelva's ugly, isn’t it?) So I am not offending anyone with my statements, simply speaking the truth. Haven't you ever heard the expression, "the truth hurts." However, despite the lack of beauty in Huelva I have come to appreciate the advantages of a small city and happily call it my "home¨now, for these nine months at least.

My first couple months here were not as carefree and fun as I had hoped. Quite frankly, they were a huge disappointment. I was welcomed by rude Spaniards, even crazier men, the coldest winter in 50 years and the near impossible to understand Andalucía accent. However, my attitude has done a 360 and now the thought of coming home in just 12 short weeks is a little sad. Ironic how life works. Just when you feel settled, find you niche, friends and a set schedule, its time to leave. Well I still have three months left but time is starting to fly. Now that the sun is shining (yes, Seattlelites the sun does shine in other parts of the world) and doesn't set until 8, the atmosphere of Huelva has greatly changed. The streets are coming alive, buzzing with people and Huelva is starting to feel like the Spain I know and love from Granada. I am a regular at Punta Umbria (beautiful beach nearby) and determined to come home with a tan and stop the "eres blancita" (you're so white) comments. Who says that anyway? I frequently walk past people and think "how ugly!" but I certainly don't express these thoughts out loud and to the persons face. Oh the bluntness of Spaniards...if you can't beat them...join them. And believe me, I do. Now when people stare I stare back and say "boo" right as the walk past...my favorite is when people jump. Didn't their mom teach them not to stare?


People from southern Spain always claim to be so friendly and open but they must be confused as to what friendly and open really means, because welcoming they are not. Despite being as outgoing as possible I am still yet to meet a Spaniard which I would call a really good friend. Sure I have a ton of people who I hang out with, go for tapas or a drink, but they aren’t like friends from back home. I know many other auxiliaries in Huelva can relate to this....our experience here is NOT like a typical American studying abroad. There are NO I mean NO, yes that’s right, 0 Americans in this city besides the English teachers. Not to say the other auxiliaries aren't nice, but I didn't come to Spain to hangout with Americans. There are 350 million of them in the US so I am trying my hardest to meet locals and form friendships with Spaniards. This is proving to be a little harder than expected as there aren't many students because the University here is very small and many of the students don't even live in Huelva capital. Sure there is a bunch (maybe a hundred or so) or Erasmus students (EU study abroad students) here but peoples who main goal is getting drunk and laid seven nights out of the week aren't exactly the type of people I want to call friends. I guess I took the idea of friendship for granted and anticipated the act of making real genuine friendships much easier than it has proven to be. Any type of close relationship takes time, compromise and sacrifice and I've come to appreciate the friends I have back home. Their is a world of a difference between having ten friends who call you to go out for drinks versus having one good friend you can call at 4 am with a problem and know will always be there for you. None the less, I am definitely not lacking in people wanting to take me out in Huelva, so I guess it could be a lot worse ;)


I know one reason I am really starting to enjoy my lifestyle here is because I have completely changed my mentality. I arrived in Spain with the standard American mindset of the rushed, productive driven, city girl, where rest time is wasted time. While Americans value money and profits, Spanish value leisure and relaxation. What a concept. Can you imagine Wall Street shutting down from 2-6 for lunch and siesta? Please! You can stop laughing now. While the first month or so I found myself mind numbingly bored with my little work responsibilities I am now searching for beach time or a day where I can squeeze a siesta in. I guess that’s what happens to your social calendar when you actually have phone numbers in your cell, something I lacked when I first arrived. Whether its classes particulars, preparing for work, playing tennis, aerobics class, going to the gym, or just running errands, I am far from bored now, quite the contrary!


For the longest time I never understood when Spanish people would tell me they busy....busy with what I thought?? You don't work, you're not in school and you live at home--what could you possibly be busy with? After living here for five months and truly immersing myself into the culture I finally realized what "busy meant....translation--I'm meeting people for coffee--its just they do this with four different people in any given afternoon...you can't walk down a block and not pass at least three cafes. And to think I thought I lived in the coffee capital of the world-Starbuck faithfuls' have nothing on Spaniards. Cafe con leche y Espana are synonomous.

After not touching a tennis racket for 3 months (I cannot believe I am about to say this but...) I kinda started to miss tennis, just a little. Huelva is home to the oldest tennis club in all of Spain. The club has hosted tournaments in which Nadal and Moya have both won. It is your typical country club, complete with a nice lounge, restaurant and patio to enjoy drinks while watching players play. The setting is very nice with four sunken red clay courts in a stadium set-up. Clearly I couldn’t afford the members dues nor starting fee but several members kept inviting me to play and soon enough the President allowed me to be a member for only 30 euro a month! Oh the advantages of being a pretty blonde :) If you disagree with this statement please take your time to delete this address from your toolbar and don’t feel the need to return to read any further blogs, I prefer readers with good taste (I am joking, of course!) Joining the club has been great! Not only am I meeting lots of people but for the first time in my life I am playing tennis just to play, for fun. Rather than trudge down the steps of the athletic department dreding the next four hours of my life at tennis practice, now I have a bounce in my step when I walk to the club and look forward to playing. Tennis is so much more fun and enjoyable when it’s for pleasure. Moreover, I love walking into the club and being greeted by smiling faces and men eager to play with me. Not to mention, the tennis club has been the first place I have met people I wouldn't be embarrassed to talk to in the states. In this I mean the members of the clubs are composed of educated, cultured and professional working people. A far cry from the rest of the population of Huelva I have met in discotecas. Also, everyone I have met in the club has been so friendly, another stark contrast from my previous encounters with the locals.

I have less than three months left in Huelva and plan on enjoying my time abroad as much as possible! For all my Seattle readers the weather is beautiful and our doors are always open for you! :)

Besos,
Ally

CARNAVAL

First let me start this post by saying no words can justify or explain the experience I am about to write about. Even with gifted story telling abilities, exaggerations and flat out lies, there are simply no words capable of bringing the feeling of of celebrating Carnaval in Cadiz, Spain to life for my readers. That being said, I will do my best to recount and do some justice to the craziness that is Carnaval. Bare with me as the night is a little hard to remember as memories are easily blurred after a bottle of tequilla...thank goodness for photos and videos, I am only joking, of course ;) How could someone with a face as angelic as this would ever partake anything but good deeds such as: studying, helping the elderly, and volunteering. I mean, I don't even know how to party.

I don't know what was better, Carnaval itself or being able to say that this night was technically "work." The night started out in Sevilla. Ngoc and I are now working for a travel agency of sorts, "We Love Spain," which offers vacations within Spain and to Morocco for foreigners. Above is a photo with the owner and our boss, David, best boss ever! We are the sales representatives for Huelva and promote vacations to the erasmus, American, and Spanish student population here. The company had several party buses from Seville to Cadiz and I was one of the "coordinators," for the buses. In other words I facilitated partying, dispersed shots and what have you--use your imagination, if you're an older reader, you were young once and I'm sure you remember what its like to have a good time. The party bus was a lot of fun and we arrived in Cadiz around midnight. Cadiz, which lies on the Mediterranean Sea, plays home to the third largest carnaval in the world. If you didn't already know, no one knows how to party like a Spaniard, especially the Andaluz's...where else do they call it a night at 9 AM? Of all fiestas and holidays in Spain, Carnaval in Cadiz has to be one of, if not the biggest, party of the year. I don't even know how to explain it. Millions of people drinking on the street? In short, it's a good time. Then again, what isn't a good time when in that state of mind. I am of course just imagining how everyone was feeling.

After arriving in Cadiz we spent the next five hours wandering the streets, admiring the amazing and creative costumes and meeting just about everyone and their uncle, plus aunt, grandparents, newphews, second cousins, sisters friends boyfriends 2nd brother....please remember I'm living in Spain where people live with their extended family until age 35 so if you didn't laugh at the above joke you can now take the time to realize the humor :) Every two feet we encountered a group of men just bubbling with happiness and eager to chat. Only in Spain do random people ask to take a photo with you and then decide to give you besos...if only Ngoc and I could charge men for this, we wouldn't need to teach English for money!

You can't imagine the sheer amount of people that filled the streets of Cadiz. If you were to look down, you couldn't even see the street, just millions of feet. It wasn't even like you were walking, more like hovering above the ground, being pushed and shoved by the masses of people trying to make their way through the narrow alleys to the nearest plaza. Fortunately we found a bench to sit down for a bit because the main plazas were just too much. It has to one the greatest displays of drunken debauchery. At times it was just uncomfortable and almost scary. With so many people mob mentality can break out at any given second. We heard far too many ambulances and saw a man crack his head open--the oozing blood from his head was an alert that caution needed to be taken!

I knew that people got dressed up for Carnaval but I had no idea to what extent the Spanish meant when they said people wore costumes. They do not joke or play when it comes to Carnaval. In American girls are just sl*ts for Halloween and wear as little clothing as possible, well this is standard going out attire for any night in America, oh the class so many woman lack, but here people wore truly creative and thoughtful costumes. You couldn't help but laugh sometimes or just admire the work that went into many of the hand made costumes. I had so many favorites....but especially enjoyed those which gave no thought to political correctness, an idea that rarely crosses the mind of many Spaniards...although funny at times also very sad. I am always amazed at the lack of cultural awareness I have encountered over here....for example "what language do Americans speak," "where is America?" I won't even begin to discuss more serious issues such as ignorance and naivete to issues relating to racial equality in such a light hearted post...but lets just say their were some humurous costumes.

After seeing all these creative costumes I almost slightly embarassed to admit that Ngoc and I weak sauced it up on the costumes aka we were a) too lazy and b) too cheap to come up with a great idea...she went as a Hawaiian and I was a plus size version of Anna Kournikova (I'm sorry Anna, I know I do you NO justice....I really only had the braid part down). I did run into quite a few tennis players and some very good Nadals and I have to say their costumes put me to shame : (Nonetheless, everyone was far too drunk to take notice of our pathetic costumes. I know now for next year!

After five long hours of partying with the worlds best partyers we headed back home. We didn't arrive in Huelva until noon the next day and sleep was in order. For a country famous for siestas I never feel like I get a lot of sleep. Don't ask me what I do, because I only work 12 hours a week, but I'm not wasting my limited time in Spain on sleep. Ngoc is off to the United States and I am off to visit my father in Munich Germany. I will do my best to update more often but the weather is now in the 70s and beautiful beaches are only minutes away so why don't you come over for a visit instead?! Vamos! If you need a little encouragment or help, this is what I call my "backyard."

You are always welcome at Roque Barcia!

Besos
Ally

I knew I forgot something....

Back in September, when I arrived in Spain, with everything I own and the kitchen sink, I was complaining about lugging over one hundred pounds of luggage through Madrid. Not only did I bring enough tank tops for the entire city but also enough for surrounding pueblos. In addition to an absurd amount of clothes I also felt the need to bring enough cosmetics, accessories, lotions, jewelry, you name it--I packed it, for years on end. However, despite over packing by say, fifty pounds, I did manage to forget to pack one very crucial item...my helmet.

This past weekend we went to Trigueros, a nearby pueblo, for a local festival honoring a Saint. Get this, they celebrate by throwing bread and ham from windows, no joke. I wanted to go just to see this event because I couldn't believe that people would really throw food from their windows in order to honor a Saint. We arrived in Trigueros around noon and it didn't look like any type of festival was going on. Rather, it appeared like your typical Sunday afternoon in Spain...people dressed to the nines, standing around in a plaza and going to cafes for a coffee. Life doesn't get any more exciting than an afternoon in a Spanish pueblo. However, locals assured us that the festival would take place on the main road shortly. We started to see people gathering around one house and figured it was about to start. I couldn't understand why grown men were on platforms nor why they had five or six friends around them with large bags. Ngoc and I made our way down the street and quickly found ourselves surounded by thousands of people. This tiny cobblestone street had room for all of about 3 people width wise but the people were determined to pack it full in order to catch some bread. After some fireworks the festival began....that is....Trigueros was raining bread. I would have preferred some better looking men but beggars can't be choosers. People were jumping up and down, elbows were flailing around in the air just waiting to cause some black eyes and caution and reason were thrown out the window. I could only laugh at the fact that people were going nuts to catch some bread when mind you, bread costs all of 18 cents at the grocery store and there is NO shortage of bread here. You can't walk down any given street and not find a few bread shops. You would've thought that people had never seen nor eaten bread in their life. This is not to say that Ngoc and I didn't join in the tradition and go nuts to catch as many loaves as we could. We were very disappointed after all the bread had been thrown out and we were still empty haded. However, our spirits quickly brightened when we learned there were ten more houses which would be participating.

I was enjoying the festival very much until the injury occurred. From the very beginning I thought this was dangerous due to the sheer number of people in such a small place and the potential of being hit by the flying objects. Moreover, the people are up high, chucking bread down and by the time it reaches you the bread has gained momentum and is traveling pretty fast. Haven't they ever heard of the word, "loft," a simple toss would've have been apprecaited. While jumping up to grab a loaf of bread I got nailed in the right cheek, right underneath my eye. I immediately felt a sharp pain on my right cheek and could feel blood start to trickle down my cheek. Now, I have to say this is a first for me, being hit in the face by a loaf a bread, much less, having it break the skin. I turned to Ngoc with teary eyes and quivering lips but all she said was "suck it up" in a tone that would have made the toughest drill sergeant proud. I decided to turn to someone else, hoping for sympathy, and justifying some tears, because my cheek really hurt. A man next to me took pity and started handing us everything he was catching...although nice, it didn't make my poor cheek feel any better. Ngoc was also hit in the head by bread and sustained a substantial sized raspberry. I guess it was for the best though, we wouldn't have wanted to go and not been able to truly experience the real feel of the Trigueros festival.

I proudly wore my battle wound to work the following Tuesday to which all the other teachers asked how I managed to have cuts under my eye. I proudly told the story of Trigueros, with embellishments, like always, and assured them I was not in an abusive relationship....although they should have known because who am I going to be in a relation with....I'm in Spain afterall.

Besos

Ally :)

Not quite the NBA.....futbol anyone??

I have always failed to understand the Souths obsession with Nascar racing, middle America's football fanatics or East coast crazed hockey fans....that is until I moved to Spain and experienced die hard futbol fans. Coming from Seattle, a fairly large city with plenty to do, I never understood how some people could be so involved and/interested in the outcome of a game in which they had no connection. It has always bothered me when people say "we won or we lost." No. You didn't win or lose, in fact, you did nothing, you didn't spend countless hours training for the game, attend six am practices, sweat out blood and tears or endure long days with a coach who made the devil seem nice. The team you support might have won or lost but "we" implies you had something to do with the outcome and simply put, you had nothing to do with the result of the game. Now that I´m living in Huelva, population 10, with all of nothing to do, I understand how people develop an attachment for their sports team. When there is nothing going on that means that anything going on is something going on. I´m at the point where going to exhibits on the digestive system of an Earthworm seem interesting. For crying out loud I have already read over 15 books...more than I read in 4 years of college.

Luckily for us Huelva does have a basketball and soccer team which we can support and go to their games. We met the basketball team out one night only due to the fact that you can´t miss them. Given the average height of Spanish men is 5'5'', 5'6'' if there hair is jelled, anyone above 6 foot much less 6´7´´ stands out in a bar...kinda like a blonde american in huelva. We were excited to be able to watch some sports so we are now regulars at their games on Friday nights. In fact, Ngoc is their number one fan and most definitely the loudest. She has already established herself in the crowd and amongst the other regulars...while she might not tower over other fans while standing and screaming at the ref...her voice most definitley carries throughout the stadium. Thank goodness the refs don't understad English because we would most defnitely not be allowed back after Ngoc gives the ref a piece of her mind. The only person crazier than Ngoc at the game is the coach. I've experience some intense coaches in my day but no one like this guy. He isn't afraid to scream, get in your face, or throw temper tantrums. However, my all time favorite move is his the leath release of the clipboard in the direction of the bench for some innocent sub sitting aimlessy to take in the head.Only slightly dangerous.

The last couple of futbol games we have gone to we sat in the front row and heckled the other teams subs during their warms up. Well, let me rephrase that, Ngoc heckled the subs, and I admired the hotties running up and down the sideline yelling our address so they could stop by after the game.....must not have spoken English, or maybe my directions weren't clear, what a shame because they are some of the best looking people in Huelva. The highlight of the game is admiring the futbol players themselves, obviously. I do miss American football and Husky football games. While the futbol stadium here doesn't have the capacity to hold nearly as many people as Husky stadium....their is no comparsion in terms of level of craziness/dedication among fans. People live for futbol here. You cannot walk past a bar on the weekend and not see a room full of men yelling at TV (because the players can really hear you). At the games to say people "go nuts" is an understatement, you have to go to a game to appreciate the atmosphere, it's something else. I'm looking forward to many more Sunday afternoons admiring Huelva's finest selection of men, I mean, cheering on Recre!

Besos
Ally

Which is your team?

Everyone knows that outside of the US, football means something totally different. There's no pads, no really big guys slamming each other, and definitely no "un necessary roughness" calls. I miss football, (here it's known as futbol americano). However Ally and I might have found something to fill the void on Sundays... our new team.. Recre. Thanks to our friend, Fernando, we have been able to go and see a few games. Like many people know, I'm a volleyball player, and futbol isn't really my thing... However, to my credit I did play one season of futbol in the 8th grade... that was about 10 quality games playing defense and running the least amount as possible. I have also watched my fair share of world cups, and attended a few high school futbol games. Either way, I don't like soccer as much... BUT I do like futbol players, and I think that's enough motivation to go to the games. Of course there's Cristiano Ronaldo from Portugal, David Beckham (who doesn't find him attractive?). Then of course to show my support of my current country of residence, Fernando Torres and David Villa.
When you're in Spain, the question is never "what's your sign?", my students always ask me "which is your team?" At first the only teams that came to mind were Real Madrid or Barcelona, because they are pretty famous, but when a little kid dressed in a green and white sweat suit asks you this question... he's expecting you to say "Betis". Either way, my time here in Spain has taught me a lot about soccer... it's not a sport it's more of a religion. They live, eat, sleep and breath soccer.
Today, Ally and I went to see Recre play Betis. For those who aren't up on the latest rivals in Spanish soccer, it's a big deal, because Betis is from Sevilla, and Huelva doesn't really like Sevilla. I don't really remember the reason for the animosity between the two cities, but all I gotta say is increase the peace. But either way, the stadium was packed. It felt like all the men in Huelva showed up to the game and I guess that's better for us. In the stadium is the only time I don't feel like an outsider, usually as a sports fan people find me loud and some even say scary. I often get lots of crazy looks and many people are surprised that my voice is as loud as it is coming from my 5'0'' body. Amongst the crazy Spanish people, I come across as tame. These people chant, do the "wave", jump up and down the whole game, wave their little scarves around. They say more bad words than I do, and there are little tiny kids around. The kids are also saying these words, but I guess if you can't beat them join them...??? I've picked up a few expressions that I would never ever say in front of my mother (luckily she doesn't speak Spanish).
The game was a great game. The atmosphere was intense, everyone had on their colors. The Betis crowd was small but loud. Their green and white was noticeable amongst the sea of blue and white. There were many opportunities and in the end Recre came out on top 1-0 with an amazing goal by someone, I don't remember who... and it was a header... (I always wanted to score a goal like that, but i couldn't risk messing up this beautiful face, so we'll just leave that type of stuff to the professionals. :) When the goal was scored, the stadium went bananas... I went bananas, jumping, yelling, hi-5ing everyone around us... I think I might have scared a few people, but that's all in a days work. It was a great game and it made it even better because our friend Fernando from Granada is a Betis fan and all we have to say to him is "TOMA!!!!"
The soccer games are a way for us to get involved and something to do on our lazy Sundays. But I guess spending 3 hours or so looking at nicely built men, running around after a ball isn't a bad way to pass the time. Heck, I think we have space for a few of them in our piso. So for future reference, if anyone wants to know what my team is... the answer is the one with all the good looking men.
Hope everyone is healthy, happy and not missing us too much.

Besitos,
Ngoc :)