Coming to Spain I knew one side trip I needed to budget in would be Morocco. It would be the first time traveling to the continent of Africa, an arab nation, and simply a country with a culture like no other. Plus one of the locations on the previous season of Amazing Race was Marrakesh, Morocco; so when I heard that other students from AIP wanted to go there as well I pounced on the opportunity and held them to it. My parents' condition for me to travel to Morocco was that I go with a group including a male, I fit the criteria and there was no looking back. Sure I was nervous to visit such a "foreign" land, especially after hearing the many stories in the media about trafficking, pickpocketors, unsanitary water and facilities, malaria, so on and so forth. However being the curious one that I am, Marrakesh seems to be a more tourist oriented town and I knew that if I didn't go now when else would I hav the opportunity?
We booked the flight and it was everything I could think about.
Only two more weeks!
Only one more week :)
Only four more day :D
Only two more days :/
WE LEAVE TOMORROW !!!
Then came Friday...
( one would think the 13th but no the 26th)
It was a day that arrived with much joy and excitement
Only to take a turn for the worst
I should have known it was going to be a day of misfortune when I woke up groggy and tired
But never the less, I made it to the train station at 10:30 am, the time my group had decided to meet, with my stuffed back pack and all sweaty ( after having to bike to the metro because all the bike spaces at the tram were full)
Then 10:47 rolls around and the first person from the rest of my group shows up 10:50 and the other two come
10:53 where's jack? He said he's been here waiting for 20 minutes...
Turns out he was at the wrong train station 10 minute walk up the road 😳
With our train leaving promptly at 11 everyone went into a moment of panic. We waited. We tried to call him. We sent him directions. What were we to do? We couldn't all miss the train.
10:58 four of us board the train
11:01 jack makes it on the train
11:02 we left headed for barcelona
"Phew, everything is good to go" I thought. On every trip there needs to be at least one thing that goes wrong. Better here then later on or in Morocco.
HA
How premature that thought was.
Next something was in my contact and severely irritated my eye.
2:20 we arrived at the train station in Barcelona. Next we were planning on taking a metro from the center of Barcelona to the outskirts of town to a city called Girona where we would fly out of. However there was no metro. There was a metro stop that was called Girona that must have popped up when we had previously searched, but no metro. -_-
The one thing I didn't double check.
So we checked the buses.
2:48 a lady assisted only to find the next bus was leaving at 2:50, impossible to make, and the bus after that at 3:15 was booked.
Crap.
To the taxi, or should I say to the taxi line.
It was then close to 3 with an hour and a half drive to Girona and the doors for our flight closed at 4:55.
That taxi ride will go down in history as the worst. No only was I already cringing because I was dreading the overpriced ride that would not for into my budget but also there was heavy traffic and no guarentee that we would make it .
No one talked
We were all staring at the clock
We thankfully arrived in time only for one of us to be pulled over by security and taken into the backroad for an intensive search.
Nevertheless we battled everything thrown our way, boarded the plane, and hoped for the best.
...
We finally set food on the continent of Africa.
Just when I should have enjoyed every second, now that we had finally arrived in Morocco, I experience my first mild undertaking of culture shock.
The first trigger was after we exited the plane and entered the airport. A young timid-looking girl from our flight (who seemed to be a local) came up and advised we put our phones away so they don't get taken. Instantaneously I because suspicious of everyone. Our phones would be stolen even from our hands? I'm glad she was kind enough to look out for our best interest but I was weery of everyone standing around us.
Second, at the exchange office the men were rude to some people in my group and almost wouldn't exchange some of our money.
Third, we we walked into the receiving area all the women were in full garb and the men in long robes. I was expecting this, however finally being mixed in with everyone I felt like an outsider that didn't belong.
Next, we had to negotiate long and hard for a taxi price to our hotel. It looked grim at moments especially after we battered with them for 20 minutes and then they walked away ( only to return 15 seconds later to agree on our fairly decent price of 225 dirham for 5 Americans to our hotel). Even though everyone was impressed with our skills I did not know if we all had the energy or will to do it throughout. ( also half way through I almost triggered an ugly scene when I forgot it was Ramadan and pleaded to the man that we were exhausted and thirsty 😳 oops - note to self check local holidays before traveling to a foreign land)
Finally, when we were driving to the hotel I was made aware of the true realities of Marrakesh. Everyone looked similar; there was no way that we would be able to blend in or manage to keep a lowprofile when walking around. Everyone starred at us even through the car we were tightly snuggled in. The streets were filled with many people in the later hours of the afternoon. There weren´t any marked lines on the road and all the donkeys and carts, motorcycles, bikes with motors, taxis, vans, pedestrians all zoomed around each other.
And then as we enter the city all the street were narrow with high walls, making it impossible to see the surrounding area. It seemed that all my plans had gone out the window once again, all the routes I had planned to walked to the different sights would now be impossible with the narrow , seemingly rowdy streets. I was frazzled and distrought.
And just as I thought we had found ourselves in a trap, we arrived at our riad to the coolest, friendliest, most-accommodating place I have ever stayed with the greatest staff. They walked us to the main square (Jemaa el- Fna) so we would know how to get back to the Riad; they said if we can find the square (imposible to miss) then we can find our way back to the riad. They had never lost any guests and they reassured us we wouldn´t be the first. Then they recommended a tour guide who could take us around the city, outside the city, or anywhere we wanted to go.
That was our best decision. With out our tour guide I don´t know what we would have done, or how we would have survived the heat.
Just when the road ahead looks bleak and unmanageable, there will be an opportunity to turn onto a path that will lead you into paradise.
Tuesday, July 14, 2015
Friday, July 10, 2015
Escuela Matinal
As a part of my internship for "La Fundación de la Justicia" (Foundation for Justice) I had the opportunity to volunteer at one of their Social Action projects, a before school morning care program.
The school is located in a neighborhood, located below the city port on the southeast part of town, that has suffered from economic despair. The Foundation started a program to provide a pre-school care program for families that did not have any one else to help look after their kids. This way their parent(s) can go to their jobs that may start earlier as well as leave their children in a well-monitored area that will properly feed the children nutritional food and encourage them to partake in beneficial activities. It is a diverse group of about 20 students, ranging from ages 4 to 12 years old.
Due to the timing of my internship and the end of the school year, I was only able to help for the last week of school. Nevertheless I was glad to at least give the help I could and bond with the kids in the time that I had.
From past experience and knowledge of families in low socioeconomic positions, I was quite prepared for what I might come to see. The children varied in skin tone, height, and behavior, but they were all similarly skin and bone; except for one girl that may be classified as obese, the rest all had cheekbones pocking through there skin, tiny waists, and sticks for legs.
I was quite surprise though when I had to help feed a five-year-old yogurt because she refused to eat. She was not the only student that didn't eat anything. Despite the plethora of options that they were given to eat and drink - banana, watermelon, pears, cereal, yogurt, orange juice, batidos (selected and freshly made by one of the students) - they did not have any desire to eat. Was eating such a unusual activity for them that they had no interest? Or maybe they were just still tired and didn't have an urge to eat at this hour. I´m glad the Fundation also made them lunches catered to what they asked for because this gave them another opportunity to nourish their body since most of the time they would be sent to school without any food or a rotten piece of fruit; hopefully they ate the lunch we prepared for them.
Nevertheless, may of the students were a pleasure to wake up to. Of course everyone has their difficulties or makes difficulties but in all it was a positive camaraderie; one girl even stayed inside to help us clean up, another would make batidos, and some would take turn toasting bread for the rest. This was one of my favorite activities I did on behalf of the Foundation. It´s a program that directly helps those in need and also I really enjoyed getting to meet the kids. I hope the sponsors continue to fund this program since breakfast (food in general) is such an imperative factor in contributing to these students ability to learn.
The school is located in a neighborhood, located below the city port on the southeast part of town, that has suffered from economic despair. The Foundation started a program to provide a pre-school care program for families that did not have any one else to help look after their kids. This way their parent(s) can go to their jobs that may start earlier as well as leave their children in a well-monitored area that will properly feed the children nutritional food and encourage them to partake in beneficial activities. It is a diverse group of about 20 students, ranging from ages 4 to 12 years old.
Due to the timing of my internship and the end of the school year, I was only able to help for the last week of school. Nevertheless I was glad to at least give the help I could and bond with the kids in the time that I had.
From past experience and knowledge of families in low socioeconomic positions, I was quite prepared for what I might come to see. The children varied in skin tone, height, and behavior, but they were all similarly skin and bone; except for one girl that may be classified as obese, the rest all had cheekbones pocking through there skin, tiny waists, and sticks for legs.
I was quite surprise though when I had to help feed a five-year-old yogurt because she refused to eat. She was not the only student that didn't eat anything. Despite the plethora of options that they were given to eat and drink - banana, watermelon, pears, cereal, yogurt, orange juice, batidos (selected and freshly made by one of the students) - they did not have any desire to eat. Was eating such a unusual activity for them that they had no interest? Or maybe they were just still tired and didn't have an urge to eat at this hour. I´m glad the Fundation also made them lunches catered to what they asked for because this gave them another opportunity to nourish their body since most of the time they would be sent to school without any food or a rotten piece of fruit; hopefully they ate the lunch we prepared for them.
Nevertheless, may of the students were a pleasure to wake up to. Of course everyone has their difficulties or makes difficulties but in all it was a positive camaraderie; one girl even stayed inside to help us clean up, another would make batidos, and some would take turn toasting bread for the rest. This was one of my favorite activities I did on behalf of the Foundation. It´s a program that directly helps those in need and also I really enjoyed getting to meet the kids. I hope the sponsors continue to fund this program since breakfast (food in general) is such an imperative factor in contributing to these students ability to learn.
 |
| ABOVE: The bread for the "bacadillos" that we prepared for their lunches based on their preferrences, to entice their appetite. BELOW: a normal morning scene at the morning care program: fellow American student preparing lunches, while kids, ranging from 12 to 4, eat breakfast or engage in conversation or prepared activities |
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Cultural Language
One cross culture observation I have witnessed in Spain is the way language is used in a country or certain area all depends on the culture.
bell hooks wrote this same reasoning when she was promoting the benefits of a "local language", meaning to allow ethnicities within the U.S. to preserve their variation of English. With the numerous provinces in Spain all having their own language adaptation, this is the perfect field to observe the interplay of language and culture. And more so, being a foreigner helps make the way in which their cultural standards manipulates a "standard" form of language more apparent. Therefore, language is molded by how people are trained to use it, and the training naturally fluctuates with the variance in culture.
One result of the inevitable variance is the mistranslations or phrases that just don't hold the same significance no matter how you say it in another language. This must be because of the implicit meaning that is molded around words of the language.
As I previously mentioned, some provinces of Spain have their own distinct form of Spanish -- most well known is the Catalan of the Catalonian Providence of Spain - while they are able to communicate with Spaniards from other regions there have their own phrases of greeting. The (full) meaning doesn´t carry over. Qué guay in Madrid doesn´t produce the same response as it may in Valencia.
In regards to the cross-Atlantic transcomunication, of Spanish and English there is an apparent difference in the vocabulary and grammar. Moreover there is also a difference in the "attitude" of the language. One example of this would be how our culture in the US has taught us to confront a situation by "beating around the bus" ( a cultural phrase that does not hold the same meaning when translated cross culturally). We were taught it is rude to directly tell a person you have a problem with them or they upset you or you don't like there solution. Where as in Spanish you know when someone has a problem.
It is very apparent in the many phone calls that my supervisor answers at work. If she didn't agree with them her tone stiffens and the speed of her sentences increases to that of a bullet train. But then five minutes later after they resolve their difference it becomes very friendly again with usually departure of vale! Gracias y hasta luego!
If I were to use the same tone and direct words that she uses, in an office in the United States, I would be the hated coworker that eats lunch alone.
It's quite strange for me to hear her conversations because it always sounds like she is getting in a fight with whomever is constantly calling. But that's just it, its not a fight at all, they are just directly resolving an issue. I suppose this is much more effective. Why must we make confrontation such a game in the US?
I was also previously made aware of this difference when I was taking classes in at AIP in Valencia. We had the same discussion. "If you are upset/ disinterested with someone do you tell them?"
The answer was unanimous, yes of course ... Except for the three Americans in the room that disorientedly replied no? Usually, you don´t just come out and say it.
I never really had to analyze my interaction before, but now that it was brought to my attention I realized how true it was. Even with my friends at home, if someone is on my last nerve I usually notice my tone of voice change with them and then I try to distance myself from them for some time. Then they get the hint.
After I explained this in the class our instructor was distraught? "Es la verdad?"
"Yes of course," I responsed.
And yes of course was the response of the Italian girl sitting next to me about directly (and immediately) telling her friends when she has a problem with them.
We can both use language to solve a problem but we use it very differently.
My spanish instructor's conclusion was that we are all really good actors in the U.S.
And Yeah I guess that's true.
Her valid point made me realize how manipulative we can be. But I have been trained to think this is polite.
Perspective.
Attitude.
Language.
bell hooks wrote this same reasoning when she was promoting the benefits of a "local language", meaning to allow ethnicities within the U.S. to preserve their variation of English. With the numerous provinces in Spain all having their own language adaptation, this is the perfect field to observe the interplay of language and culture. And more so, being a foreigner helps make the way in which their cultural standards manipulates a "standard" form of language more apparent. Therefore, language is molded by how people are trained to use it, and the training naturally fluctuates with the variance in culture.
One result of the inevitable variance is the mistranslations or phrases that just don't hold the same significance no matter how you say it in another language. This must be because of the implicit meaning that is molded around words of the language.
As I previously mentioned, some provinces of Spain have their own distinct form of Spanish -- most well known is the Catalan of the Catalonian Providence of Spain - while they are able to communicate with Spaniards from other regions there have their own phrases of greeting. The (full) meaning doesn´t carry over. Qué guay in Madrid doesn´t produce the same response as it may in Valencia.
In regards to the cross-Atlantic transcomunication, of Spanish and English there is an apparent difference in the vocabulary and grammar. Moreover there is also a difference in the "attitude" of the language. One example of this would be how our culture in the US has taught us to confront a situation by "beating around the bus" ( a cultural phrase that does not hold the same meaning when translated cross culturally). We were taught it is rude to directly tell a person you have a problem with them or they upset you or you don't like there solution. Where as in Spanish you know when someone has a problem.
It is very apparent in the many phone calls that my supervisor answers at work. If she didn't agree with them her tone stiffens and the speed of her sentences increases to that of a bullet train. But then five minutes later after they resolve their difference it becomes very friendly again with usually departure of vale! Gracias y hasta luego!
If I were to use the same tone and direct words that she uses, in an office in the United States, I would be the hated coworker that eats lunch alone.
It's quite strange for me to hear her conversations because it always sounds like she is getting in a fight with whomever is constantly calling. But that's just it, its not a fight at all, they are just directly resolving an issue. I suppose this is much more effective. Why must we make confrontation such a game in the US?
I was also previously made aware of this difference when I was taking classes in at AIP in Valencia. We had the same discussion. "If you are upset/ disinterested with someone do you tell them?"
The answer was unanimous, yes of course ... Except for the three Americans in the room that disorientedly replied no? Usually, you don´t just come out and say it.
I never really had to analyze my interaction before, but now that it was brought to my attention I realized how true it was. Even with my friends at home, if someone is on my last nerve I usually notice my tone of voice change with them and then I try to distance myself from them for some time. Then they get the hint.
After I explained this in the class our instructor was distraught? "Es la verdad?"
"Yes of course," I responsed.
And yes of course was the response of the Italian girl sitting next to me about directly (and immediately) telling her friends when she has a problem with them.
We can both use language to solve a problem but we use it very differently.
My spanish instructor's conclusion was that we are all really good actors in the U.S.
And Yeah I guess that's true.
Her valid point made me realize how manipulative we can be. But I have been trained to think this is polite.
Perspective.
Attitude.
Language.
Live with a Host Family
Living with a host family was something I was most nervous about before I left for Spain. I was pleased to have the opportunity to be live with locals and force myself to assimilate into the culture, however I was weerly about the amount of time. Two weeks seemed to be an awfully long time to akwardly attempt to assimilate and communicate with them, yet not long enough where both parties know they have to make this work. It is most likely that I felt this way because I didn´t know much about the family and hadn´t been able to contact them before hand. Nevertheless my time living with a host family flew by and now I wish I was still living with them. In all, I highly recommend living with a host family, yes there is that slight possibility that things could go terribly wrong, but it is a great way to transition into a new culture and make a new home in a foreign land.
In addition to their support and understanding, the mother was an excellent cook. It may have been from her Italian background but man o man could she whip up a delicious bowl of gazpacho and tortilla (two very traditional spanish dishes). I was really fortunate to have such nutritional and delicious home-cooked meals, especially since I hear of other students complaining that they never had enough food o it was a sorry attempt to cook something America .
Another perk of living with this young family was their two-year-old adorable monkey(since he liked to climb everything) son, Raúl. It was really nice to have someone as the center of attention and someone who was willing to provide entertainment in the awkward moments of silence. Also, I saw a great connection between my younger brother and him; it was the ultimate alinate to avoid feeling homesickness
Before arriving, all I knew were their names, their occupation, and their address.
Once I arrived, I showed up at their door step ... and stared at the doorbell. I needed to build the courage to put myself in such an uncomfortable and foreign position. I knew a first impression would be important and set the mood for the rest of our time together. My goal was to interact and learn from them as much as I could. So to ensure that our conversations went smoothly I wanted to have some prepared sentences in my head as a backup. One would think the 10 hours of a plane ride would be enough, however, when the time came to finally introduce myself I froze.
Nevertheless I built up the courage, held my breath, and managed to spit out my name when my host mother answered over the intercom of the doorbell.
After that, it only took me about 10 minutes to realize I really lucked out on the family I was parred with. On the very first day they explained everything I needed to know. Their Valencia Guide 101 included how to get to class, to get downtown, to make friends at school, and how to take advantage of what the city has to offer. In fact, at one time they were both foreigners to the city themselves -- the mother having moved here from Italy and the father having moved here from Peru -- they knew what it was like to come to Valencia for the first time.
Nevertheless, even with my prepared sentences I made many mistakes in our conversation (one of which saying that I had a son - which brought a very shocked expression) (another was when I called cherries beer, which brought some jolly laughter). Nevertheless they kindly corrected me and we shared some giggles.
In addition to their support and understanding, the mother was an excellent cook. It may have been from her Italian background but man o man could she whip up a delicious bowl of gazpacho and tortilla (two very traditional spanish dishes). I was really fortunate to have such nutritional and delicious home-cooked meals, especially since I hear of other students complaining that they never had enough food o it was a sorry attempt to cook something America .
Another perk of living with this young family was their two-year-old adorable monkey(since he liked to climb everything) son, Raúl. It was really nice to have someone as the center of attention and someone who was willing to provide entertainment in the awkward moments of silence. Also, I saw a great connection between my younger brother and him; it was the ultimate alinate to avoid feeling homesickness
Now it is too quiet. I can't hear Raul little voice down the hall as he chases after the ball or Emanualeza and Miguel as they exchange what happen in their day. Now it feels like there is something missing. Even though I only spent a couple of hours with them a dau, I still miss being part of a family and having people have a nice spanish conversation with over dinner.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)