While shopping at the supermarket in Venezuela...

It was today while watching my Ata (grandmother) shop at the supermarket that I finally understood. Never again would I criticize my mother for the way she hoarded food (or really any other goods) at our house.

It was experience that had taught my mother to be this way. It was the everyday scarcity of food and basic goods that Venezuela and its people faced.

My grandmother stockpiled the things she could find, while shaking her head and saying "Es que ahora en este pais, no se consigue" towards the items that were no longer sold or had already run out.
In this country, you can't find anything.

No se consigue. How many times had I heard that phrase since I arrived 4 days ago?
It must have been close to a hundred by now.

When they had the extra large version of some item, for example laundry detergent or powdered milk, my grandmother quickly snatched it. Her rational… "Después no se consigue."
Later when we need it, we won't be able to find it.

Life had taught my grandmother, just as it had taught my mother, to save and stock up for the days when food was hard to find.
In Venezuela, it happens often and in recent years, that scarcity seems more pervasive than ever before.

In moving to the United States, a country where shortages of any good are virtually unheard of, it's hard  for my mother to shift a mentality that has been molded and learned over decades.

Save, stock pile, and conserve.
Porque después… no se consigue.

A picture of the front of El País newspaper today in Caracas.
The yellow portion across PAÍS reads "8 page edition due to the paper crisis."

A fascist uprising in Sevilla?

Since arriving in Sevilla…
A specific symbol has stood out. A certain reappearing word written on park benches and building walls.
Can you guess what it is? I'd be willing to bet that you won't.


The swastika.

"Nazi"


I felt confused the first time I saw a swastika drawn small on a park bench. I thought I was somehow looking at it wrong. I must have been getting my symbols mixed up.

But then there was a circle with a line drawn over it in a different color. Someone had come later to change its original intention.

There was no mistaking what I had seen - a swastika, an ancient and once benign symbol, that will forever bring to mind the atrocities of WWII after its adoption as an emblem by the Nazi Party during that time.

Swastika and Nazi graffiti in Sevilla is not nearly so pervasive as I make it seem, but the symbol and the word are written often enough to be noticed.

There is however a hopeful counterbalance to this.

Every time I have seen a swastika drawn, an unknown hero has drawn a "no symbol" over it.
Every time I have seen "Nazi" written, a "no" has been written above it.

Seen on the side of a building close to my house.

You are probably wondering the same things I was at this point...
What are these Nazi writings about? Are there Nazis today living in Sevilla, Spain?

I do not have a perfect answer but this past weekend I got closer to uncovering the truth.


Saturday evening, my roommate (Gabby) and I walked to the center of the city to meet our friend Josema. Josema was running late and called to apologize, saying that he could not get through one of the streets because of all the protesters.

We had no clue what he was talking about because we had not seen any protestors on our way over. Once Josema arrived, we asked him to explain, and instead, he showed us.

Just around the corner we saw a group of about 60 people visibly upset. They were chanting something over and over.

In front of the group there were policemen dressed to the nines in combat gear. More police continued to arrive and further up ahead seemed to be a separate crowd. The second group was still too far away for me to see clearly.

As I continued listening to the closest group's chants, their words became clearer.

FUERA FASCISTAS DE NUESTRA CALLE!
FASCISTS GET OUT OF OUR STREET!

I realized the crowd further ahead was not just any crowd, they were fascists.
And the police were readying themselves to break up a possible battle.

The atmosphere was picking up life. If the scene had been chaotic before, it was now frenzied. A highly trafficked tourist area had been taken over by two groups with polar opposite ideology. Neither willing to back down.

Spectators lined the now blocked off road and I had to get closer to the action.

I made my way through the crowds to see exactly who these fascists were and why they had manifested.

There were about 150 students to this group. That seems like a lot, but it's really very small in comparison to the hundreds of non-fascist students/teachers/families who marched a few days earlier.

The fascists' chants rang loud and clear. "Resignation, minister of education!"  "Dimisión, ministerio de educación!"

Their signs read "For Public Education," "Por La Educación Pública."

This group was also upset about the budget cuts to education. They were simply protesting 2 days after the rest of the country had.

They call themselves La Repuesta Estudiantil which translates as The Student Response.

Josema explained that La Repuesta Estudiantil  did not protest at the same time as the rest of the country because the other protestors would have turned on La Repuesta Estudiantil  for being fascist. Conflicts between the two groups had occurred before.

It is an odd situation since both groups are seemingly fighting for the same cause.

To understand this phenomenon, you need to understand Spain's history.
Spain lived under the repression of a fascist dictator for almost 40 years. General Francisco Franco ruled Spain from 1939 until his death in 1975. Today, almost 40 years later, memories from that period are still fresh and many wounds remain unhealed.

While most Spaniards adamantly reject the notion of fascism retaking its old central role, some outlying factions whisper for a return to Franco's Spain.

It's not hard to see why the majority becomes so agitated at the slightest mention of fascism in Spain, let alone at a manifestation of their presence.

Now, I'm going to ask you to scroll back up and take a closer look at the pictures of La Repuesta Estudiantil. 

What do you notice about the faces in the crowd?

The faces are almost exclusively those of young men.
It's even in their name - The Student Response.
They appeal to students, to the youth... and that is very frightening.

Spain is enduring a severe economic crisis, with youth unemployment reaching a record 56.1% in August this past year. (source)

My hope is that youth who are searching for something to believe in, or even just looking for something to do, will not be tricked into joining groups like this. Groups that hide behind a facade of virtuous ideals.

La Repuesta Estudiantil may look very attractive to someone who does not know any better.

And according to La Repuesta Estudiantil's website (http://www.respuestaestudiantil.org), their movement is growing. Referring to last Saturday they reported that several young people who saw their demonstration and heard their slogans joined their group in protest and wanted to learn more about the group's motives and mission.

"Varios jóvenes que vieron nuestra manifestación y oyeron nuestras consignas se unieron, muy interesados por los motivos y la puesta en escena de la misma." (source)

The situation is eerily similar to how the Nazis gained power in Germany. And while, I did not find the exact source of all the Nazi graffiti in Sevilla, I witnessed the battle incarnate between the forces of fascism and antifascism at work.



As a reflection, I want to say something to the effect that the whole experience has been eye-opening. And even though this is true, I think it has been more than that. It has expanded my understanding of the world and served to fuel my infinite curiosity.

I hope in reading this blog post, I may have been able to share a little bit of that feeling with you.

And now, I'd love to hear from you all about any experiences that have done this for you.

:)

Until next time,
& to many more adventures,

xx
Gaby

A protest in pictures... "Huelga General Educativa"

Throughout Spain yesterday, October 24, 2013, students and teachers alike left classrooms empty, taking to the streets as protestors.

Activists were responding to a controversial law that cut government spending on education and introduced several reforms to the Spanish educational system. 

The Ley Oragánica para la Mejora de la Calidad Educativa (Lomce), better know as "Wert's law," was introduced by Spain's Minister of Education, Culture, and Sport - José Ignacio Wert.

The law was then ratified by Spain's Congress of Deputies, controlled by the right-winged Popular Party (PP), in May of last year.

Protestors yesterday chanted "Que no queremos pagar su deuda con la salud y la educación!"

"We don't want to pay off your debt with health and education!"

Spain is (and has been) facing a serious economic crisis and Wert's cuts to funding for education as well as health care is in response to Spain's precarious financial situation.

The following are pictures I took in Sevilla, Spain.

The week before the strike. Outside Universidad Pablo de Olavide.
Huelga General Educativa "Educational General Strike"

EDUCATIONAL GENERAL STRIKE OCT 24
Demonstration (Rally) at 6:00 P..M. Parlamento - Plaza España 

Thursday, October 24, at 6:30 P.M.

Los jóvenes.
The youth. 

Así como los mayores. 

"En Defensa De Una Universidad Publica. No Al Recorte."
"In Defense of a Public University. Say No to Budget Cuts."

"Wert-e a la mierda."  a play on the spanish phrase "Vete a la mierda" which literally means go to shit, but better translated is closer to our "Go to hell!"
....."Go to hell Wert!"

"Fuera Fascistas De Nuestras Clases"
"Get out of our classrooms fascists!"

The green and white of Andalusia's flag can be seen everywhere in this picture.
 Luckily for these marchers in Sevilla,
green has been the chosen color for protestors against education cuts across the country.

All photos were taken on my iPhone, so forgive me for the quality!


Also, I thought I should mention that I know this post is different from most that I've done but I didn't feel like I could rightfully give my opinion on a subject I still know very little about.

I will say however that I am in full support of any group exercising their right to assemble and I'm so glad I was there to witness a little bit of Spain's ongoing history.

Until next time
& to many more adventures,

Gaby

"Los ricos, los viejos o los extranjeros"

Bullfighting.

I've heard over and over since I've been in Spain what an important event this is culturally for the Spanish.
Bullfighting is ingrained in Spanish culture... a stereotype emitted just as frequently as the importance of flamenco, and tapas.

The problem with this theory is that from what I have seen, bullfighting is not nearly so important to the Spanish culturally as we think. The Spanish themselves will say how important it is to Spain culturally, as if this were a phrase they practiced reciting since elementary school, but actions speak louder than words.

When asked about bullfighting, the stock answer I have gotten from Spaniards is almost always the same... "I went one time but never after that." They then typically make a hesitant face and shrug their shoulders saying, "It's really not for me."

So then, if most Spaniards I have talked to have only gone to a bullfight once in their life, how is this "cultural event" able to survive? And maybe a more poignant question – Is bullfighting even still relevant to Spanish culture?

First.
How is this practice able to survive?
I've gotten varied answers from different people.
A professor of mine proclaimed the cultural importance of bullfighting to Spain in class, but then he was quick to say that he had only ever gone to one event in his life. He said the one time he went the vast majority of the people at the spectacle were tourists all there taking photos.
I asked him why bullfighting was considered of such cultural importance if those actually participating in and patronizing the event were not Spanish.

He sat there and thought for a bit but then responded that the truth was bullfighting was probably on its way out. The youth, and he pointed to us in the class, are not very interested in it, and more and more the practice is on the decline. For example, he said, bullfighting is banned in Catalonia and Barcelona.

A girl in class spoke up and said that one of her Spanish friends told her that only "los ricos, los viejos, o los extranjeros" ("the rich, the old or the foreigners") go to bullfights.

"Los extranjeros"
This confirms a sad reality I had already seen on my own. Tourists in Spain believe that to have really experienced Spanish culture before leaving Spain they have to go to a bullfight. A phrase I’ve heard a disappointing number of times reiterates the sentiment: "How can I say I studied abroad for 4 months in Spain, and never saw a bullfight?"

The truth is, there really is this invisible but tangible pull to see a bullfight in Spain. I too have felt the attraction though I’ve promised myself I’ll never succumb to it. I think it’s mainly curiosity but there is also this strong association foreigners attach to Spain with bullfighting, so that if you don’t see one you feel as if you are missing out on something.

I'm here to tell you...you are not missing out on anything. There are so many more worthy and beautiful things that are much more representative of Spanish culture to be spending your time on.

So what about "Los viejos" and "Los ricos"?
When talking with my host mom, Loli, she confirmed there was definitely a bigger audience for bullfighting with the older crowds. And it sounds like its specifically older men.
As for the rich, I can't say definitively from any of my own personal experiences but bullfighting is an expensive sport, so it also makes sense to me that it would also draw a wealthier crowd.

So at this point, you may be wondering why I'm making such a big hullabaloo about bullfighting, or what exactly bullfighting is....
and if you have never looked into what really happens at a bullfight, I would highly recommend taking the time to look at these two websites:

http://www.stopbullfighting.org.uk/facts.htm
&
http://www.bullfightingfreeeurope.org

“The bull has wet newspapers stuffed into his ears; vaseline is rubbed into his eyes to blur his vision; cotton is stuffed up his nostrils to cut off his respiration and a needle is stuck into his genitals… He is kept in a dark box for a couple of days before he faces the ring: the purpose of this is to disorientate him.” (StopBullFighting.Org) *a quote regarding the bull's pre-fight treatment*


Bullfighting kills an animal for show.
That might be fairly obvious to some of you but I know others may have never realized the bull is actually killed in a bullfight.

As naive as it sounds, before my first time in Spain, I never knew the bull was killed in a bullfight. In fact, until earlier this afternoon, I didn’t know that the bulls from the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona actually got killed after their run too.

The images we are shown when we are younger, if any of bullfighting, are filled with pretty colored flags and movements that almost look like a dance, it would be odd to immediately equate that with death. But death for the bull it is. And there's really no "fight" about it, because it is death for the bull every time.

A logical question to be asking now would be, "How is bullfighting different than killing any other animal we eat for food?"
I would argue that the answer is not in the result; rather it is in the intention -
One act kills with the intent to provide nourishment as food, while the other act kills with the intent to provide entertainment.

How anyone can derive pleasure from an other creature's pain is beyond me, and it's part of the reason I've taken such a strong stance against this practice. As an animal, the bull has absolutely no say in what's happening to him, he has no option left but to fight the unfair fight for his life against the matador.

So, is bullfighting still relevant to Spanish culture?
My answer has to be no. Thankfully, there seems to be little interest in the practice among most Spanish nowadays. But tourists retain the misconception that there is and so continue to patronize the sport.

If you come to Spain enjoy...
the calmer pace of life,
the mid-day siestas,
the balance between work and play,
musicians on the street,
the tapas with friends late at night before spending the rest of the night with them in the city,
if you're in Andalusia go see a flamenco espectáculo (sooo worth it!),
walk EVERYWHERE,
laugh until your stomach hurts and your eyes are lined with tears,
then look around at where you are and smile because you are there....

But don't be tricked into going to a bullfight to find spanish "culture."

You'll find what I argue is a more authentic and beautiful spanish culture, just about everywhere else.

I've given a whole lot of my opinion on this blog post, so don't let me be the only one gabbing, please let me know your own thoughts!!

To new experiences and many thoughts,
xx
Gaby

"If you just said coquillage...."

Before I go into what I really wanted to write about today. I'm going to apologize for not writing sooner. I've been fairly sick the last few days and have not been up for doing much of anything. I also wanted to mention that being sick and being cooped up inside all day had made me extremely homesick. It was the most homesick I have been thus far on the trip. It's hard to remember homesickness when you've got so many different activities going on, but when it's just you, alone in a room for hours on end.... feeling slighting delirious from a fever in the night.... you will really really miss home. Or at least I did. Oof! Constant daydreams of laying in my bed with my dogs at home and getting spoiled by my mom.

The good news is I think that was the worst of the homesickness I will experience while abroad. Feeling much better health wise today and not nearly as home sick :)

Now, what I had initially wanted to write about! International friends! And ramblings that came from my head after conversations with said international friends.

It was a weekend of meeting new people (referring to last weekend of course, not this one since I've been sick), and I think I will go more or less in chronological order.

First... the SPANISH!

My roommate Gabby and I both have very similar ideas about what we want to get out of studying abroad. One of the big things we have wanted to do is make friends with locals! Up until this past weekend, we hadn't quite succeeded on that end. But now I think we can officially say we have!

It was Thursday night (a big night for university students to go out on the town) and Gabby and I did not have any plans. Thankfully, our friend Bryce invited us to go meet up with him and we accepted! Bryce is a super friendly guy and by the time we got to the bar, he had already made friends with a group of about 12 or so spaniards.

We were so excited because this was our chance to finally talk to locals! The group was surprisingly welcoming to us 3 americans. One guy, named Ricardo was particularly excited to practice his English with Gabby and me. So the entire night he spoke to us in English, while we responded in Spanish. Ricardo's English was so good the entire night, I thought he must have studied at some point either in England or in the U.S. but he said he never had. It was simply that his dad had always spoken in English with him since he was a child. I asked then if his dad was american and he said "Oh no! He's from here." Needless to say, I was very impressed.

We've kept in contact with Ricardo since that night and I can genuinely say he is one of the nicest, most down to earth people I have met.

He's got an attitude that like most Sevillans I have met while here, is focused on all the positive in life. His abounding optimism is refreshing.

Part II to International amigos.
"The IRISH are coming! The IRISH are coming!"

Lorcan, Pierce and Emma.

Just fantastic people.

The first night Gabby and I only had the pleasure of meeting Lorcan and Pierce, but the next night we invited them to come out and they made the party that much merrier by bringing Emma along.

With them, we tried on all sorts of different accents. It became an outright battle of the accents between the Americans and the Irish.

Please for a moment, close your eyes and imagine an Irishman speaking in his very best Chinese accent.

You will be banished from my blog if you did not crack even the slightest smile at that! haha :p

They taught us Irish phrases like "What's the crack?"

And I'll let you in on a secret, its not only Leperchauns that have dancing fever in Ireland,

we got to witness Pierce's modern dance moves on the discotheque dance floor,
as well as Emma's amazing Irish dancing, while we were at a pub!

What a treat! :)

Anyways, "The Irish are coming the Irish are coming!" is something Gabby said when we found out that L.P&E would be joining us one night. Obviously in reference to Paul Revere's "The British are coming, the British are coming!" But then I thought... Would they get that reference if we said it to them? Probably not right? That's not their history.


TIME TO FIND OUT!

Max, Craig and Felix

A day or so later, Gabby, Malika (our other apartment mate), and I took a trip to a beach in Portugal.

The conversation about whether or not an Irish person or even a British person would get the reference "The British are coming, the British are coming!" had still not been settled.

Suddenly I hear something and say to Gabby..."Do you hear that?? Is that a british accent?" I point behind me and mouth silently "Should I ask?" She responds "Why not!"
And so I whip around and say "Hey! Are you by any chance British?"

and Max responds "We are!" *motioning towards himself and a friend sitting next to him* and then correcting himself "or well I am! I'm from England..."
Craig, his friend to the right, pipes in, "I'm from Scotland."

Max: "and he's from Germany!" *pointing to Felix*

So we ask them if they would get the reference and Max understood the quote through context. It's not a quote he had ever heard before but knowing British and American history a bit he guessed where it came from. They all agreed though that it wouldn't be a particularly common quote for someone in Ireland to know.

Our conversation didn't stop there though, we talked about all sorts of things that afternoon on the beach, but one thing that somehow came up was royalty.

Why are we Americans obsessed with royalty...?
Or to put it more accurately: Why are american girls obsessed with royalty?
And someone might try and argue with me on this one, but think back to the times there has been a royal british wedding, or a royal baby, and I'm certain you'll remember seeing their faces all over TV, in our newspapers and in our magazines.

But I thought to myself, how weird is that?
America... a country that fought a WAR against Britain for their independence from a monarch, has grown to have such a fascination and/or fondness for all things royal.

I was reminded of how excited I felt when I met a duke just a couple of weeks ago. I can't exactly tell you why that was so exciting.
The conclusion I came to though was this:
Americans like royalty because we don't have our own royalty.
Royalty appeals to us more than in just the nostalgic sense of fairytale endings, or something from childhood storybooks. It is an institution that's strange and exotic to us americans. A concept that is intertwined with a history now so far removed from our own memory, that there is a magic to anything surrounding it.

PART III. The FRENCH and Belgians who speak French :)

Sophie and Malika

Sophie happened to sit next to me on the bus ride over to Portugal. She's a French grad student, who like so many of us internationals in Sevilla, is studying here for a semester or two (can't remember exactly how many now). She was very sweet and a good companion to have for our trip.

I think I briefly mentioned above that our other apartment mate, Malika is Belgian, and her native language is French. As Sophie and Malika were on the beach later talking to each other in French I was trying desperately to make out words and figure out what they were saying to each other. Even though I've never taken a single class of French, I'm always interested in learning more languages and picking up new words where I can. I started asking the two what different words were in French. Since we were at the beach I asked Malika how to say seashell. She told me it is "la coquillage." So I repeated, like a parrot.. "la coquillage" Her face looked so surprised! She told me, "That was perfect! If you just said coquillage, I would think you were French!"

I must say, a small feat but I was very pleased with myself ;)

Anyways: a question for you all...
Why is it so much easier to make friends with other internationals than actual Spaniards here?

Do you have any ideas? I've rambled more than enough for today, so I think I'll let you have a turn :)

Wishing you all a very happy start to your week!

Until next time
& to many more adventures,

xx
Gaby

Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Falls Church anymore....

It's officially been two weeks since my arrival in Sevilla.

And since I have now been here for 14 days, I think I can write with a bit of authority about some of the differences between back home and Sevilla, Spain.

Also, I thought that instead of giving you all some more obvious differences that I think you can probably read about elsewhere (e.g. siesta time, smoking, eating times, etc.), I would give you some less conventional differences.


Number 1.
I want to talk about pigeons. Or rather, I want to talk about Sevilla's lack of pigeons. The birds here are beautiful white creatures known as doves, NOT pigeons! They are all over the place and beg for food, and generally act like pigeons but they are so pretty, I can't imagine people really mind them. In fact, as far as I know, in spanish there is no word to differentiate a pigeon from a dove - they are all "palomas."

One of the usual suspects.

Number 2.
There are Catholic churches ALL over the place in Sevilla. It is not unusual to see 3 or 4 churches on the same street, all within a couple hundred yards of each other. They are kind of like 7-11's back home, you see them on every corner, the only difference is that one has been there for hundreds of years and the other hasn't, and one sells cheap food and one is a church and well... actually they're not really anything alike. But! They are both ubiquitous throughout their respective city!

La Iglesia de Santa Ana

Number 3.
This is a kind of a weird one to put after the churches, but nudity on TV is a-okay in Spain. Not complete nudity!! But I've seen a fair amount of exposed boobs and even some mens rears while watching TV with my host mom. These aren't racy TV channels either, just the basic cable channels that will play the news later on in the day. 

Number 4.
Electricity is expensive. Maybe a more obvious one but I wanted to mention exactly how different it is here from back home. I can't tell you the exact price difference but I can tell you what we do to conserve energy.

We never ever use artificial lighting during the day. We use the natural lights from the windows. The only exception to this is if you're in the bathroom or somewhere else without a window. Even during class at school we rely on the light from the windows. And its not that we don't have lights in the classroom to use, it's that we don't turn them on.

I have to say I haven't minded this at all, which I'm a little surprised by. It's made me realize just how EXTREMELY wasteful I am back home.

At home I keep my lights on all the time, and there's absolutely no reason for it.

Other things somewhat related... no dryer - just line dry our clothes. And no AC in our bedroom - just use a ceiling fan.

Number 5.

Dogs walk without leashes right next to their owners.

I was pretty confused by this at first and thought there were all these lost dogs running around with collars. I was ready to save them all from the streets and then I realized they all had owners. The dog might wander a bit, but as soon as their owner calls them, they go right back to their side.

Now, if the dog is not off their leash, the dog is probably on a super short leash.

Talk about opposites.

(Sorry for the blurry pictures! I was trying to casually take pictures of people's dogs without being creepy)

Number 6.
The street signs aren't like back home!

Oh hello Calle Duarte!

Number 7.
It is hot here! At least right now it is. There is really low humidity here too so what we end up with is a very dry heat that I had honestly never experienced.

Back in Virginia we suffer from heat and high humidity - not a fun combination. The low humidity in Sevilla means using lots of lotion and chapstick!

Along with the heat, there is not much rain and so, not much grass either. I mean I literally never see any grass at all in the city. Going to the outskirts of the city on my way to school, you will see something that looks like it may have once hoped to have been grass but it died of a heatstroke before it got there.

And finally,

Number 8.
The Spanish don't believe in hand soap, or washing their hands...

Okay that's a lie... but it's a lie that is not completely untrue. Does that make sense?

About 90% of the time that I have used a public restroom (this includes the bathrooms at school), there has been no hand soap. You might think that's because everyone is using it all up before I get to it, but nope. Normally there is not even a dispenser.

In addition to this, the few times that there actually is hand soap available, I would say that the vast majority of ladies I have seen leaving the restroom do not bother even looking at the sink.

It could be that they're all just assuming there isn't going to be any soap available but I'm not too sure.

I'll have to ask someone about this phenomenon - it's probably a cultural difference.

I simply happen to like washing my hands. I also like hand sanitizer -- something else I don't think they have here.



Because there are a lot more things I have noticed, and I'm guessing a lot more I will notice before my trip is up, I've decided that there will be a part 2 to this blog post. But this is a good start :)


Until next time
& to many more adventures,

xx
Gaby

My first bad day

So I think today I had my first seriously tough day in Sevilla. I kind of didn't want to write anything about it because I honestly felt so awful when I got home. At the same time I feel like its good to write a reflection and I also wanted to send a shout out to anyone else having a bad day-- remember everyone has sucky days, and tomorrow will probably be much better.

My first day of classes at UPO (Universidad Pablo de Olavide) started out really good. I didn't get lost going to class (yay!) and I was pleasantly surprised to find my roommate and another friend from the MundoLengua Group in my first class (Pragmatics). I really like the Professor for that class and felt confident when speaking to him in Spanish.

After class, Gabby and I went to the CUI (el Centro Universitario Internacional) office to get our student ID cards and also to sign up for the Intercambio program. The Intercambio program is a program that sets up a sort of buddy system between Spaniards studying at the university and international students who would like to get to know Spaniards. Both students benefit from the exchange, learning more about each others distinct cultures and hopefully making friends!

At the CUI office, we had to talk to the 3 CUI student interns (all Spaniards of course) about signing up for the program. One of the interns, Javi, asked me where I was from because my Spanish was very good. I told him that I was from the U.S. but I have a Venezuelan mother, so if anything my Spanish should be better than it is! He joked with me that I was cheating! He also told me he liked my accent, which apparently does not sound like it's from the United States. I know it's not a Venezuelan accent either though so if anyone can guess where in the world my accent when I speak in Spanish is from that would be great, definitely much appreciated.

It's always nice to get that compliment, that my Spanish is really good, but I have to be honest and say that I always feel a little bad when people here do tell me that. I feel like if they knew that my mom is Venezuelan, then they would probably think my Spanish is bad.

I don't know, I could just be thinking that way right now because I've had this bad day so take everything I say in this post with a grain of salt.

It's kind of weird though because since I've been here, there have been several occasions when someone actually mistakes me for a native Spaniard. I have to explain that two of those times it was by foreigners, but one time it was actually by a local! The time it was by a local was pretty cool but I know if we had continued in conversation for longer my accent would have come out more or I would have forgotten some word and stumbled trying to say something.

Anyways, after visiting the CUI office, Gabby and I stopped by the Copesteria to pick up a packet we needed for our class. Then Gabby left for the metro to go back home for lunch and I just kind of hung out by myself in this studying hall waiting for my next class to start.

This next class was the site of my misery today.

It is a class that is called Latinamerican politics through film and media. The professor began going through the syllabus and started going down the list of countries we would be talking about this semester. He got down the list to Venezuela and asked the class whether we thought Chavez had been a dictator or president. Without any hesitation I spoke up and said Chavez was a dictator. He then began to tell the class that this was the same answer he received from students last semester before watching the film La Revolucion no sera transmitida. After watching the film, apparently many students had changed their mind. I spoke up again and said that maybe many other students would change their mind, but for me it was not a question, Chavez was a dictator.

I suppose maybe at this point I should have kept my mouth shut, it would have been so much easier. But anyone who knows me at all knows that Venezuela is a country I care deeply about and it is something that in English, I can talk about for hours.

He asked me why I thought he was a dictator, which is a very logical question after my forthrightness. My problem was that I couldn't speak in English to him about it, I had to try and explain in Spanish about this. Ordinarily that wouldn't be so awful, I think I could still coherently explain reason by reason I have for holding this belief.

But it was my first day of class, everyone was staring at me. And it was clear to me that the professor had a different opinion than me.

I honestly could not get a coherent sentence out. At least from what I remember I couldn't. It's very odd because now, all I can really remember from those few minutes was the fact that I could feel my heart pounding. I felt each and every time that it beat. I felt tightness in my chest and a fog in my brain that I still can't describe.

I think it came from the frustration I felt for not being able to express how I felt. I never told him that my mom was Venezuelan, or that almost all of my mother's side of my family still lives there. I didn't tell him anything about how personal this was for me.

If I had told him that, I'm not even sure he would have believed me, that was honestly how awful my Spanish was.

Its just weird to me how worlds apart my Spanish can be. If I'm in a calm state, talking with someone I know, or even talking with someone I don't know about something that isn't such an agitator to me.... vs...... well versus what happened in that classroom.

I had really wanted to try to take one class that is with native Spanish students. Actually enroll in a normal class at UPO instead of taking all international classes. Arantza and Antonio, two of the directors at our host program MundoLengua really encouraged me to do it, but I feel right now like that was the most absurd idea I've ever had. There's no way I could possibly survive doing that. I would probably implode.

I tried my best to keep it together for the rest of class but really what I wanted to do was go home and cry.

I made it all the way back to my apartment without crying and was really hoping I could just sneak off to my room and bury my head in my pillow but my host mom, wouldn't allow it. Loli asked me how my day was and I really couldn't hide that it hadn't gone well. She let me vent to her for a while, offering her advice and then told me to stay at the table because she was going to go make me some warm food. I ate and then I went to my room, not to cry, but to sleep.

Its funny how a good meal and a nap can make a world of difference. I feel a lot better already and I'm feeling so grateful I'm in a home stay. There are some things only a mom can understand how fix. (e.g. food and hugs)

I'm rereading over this post now and want to say that please don't think I'm letting this get me down! I know that even though today was not great, tomorrow will probably be much better!

If this is the worst I face (which is really not very bad at all), then I think I'll be alright :)

In the words of Dory from Finding Nemo: "Just keep swimming"

Until next time
& to many more adventures,

xx
Gaby