We Americans do not like to see where our food comes from. At least, no one I know does. In Spain, it's exactly the opposite. It seems like the more eyes, bones, skin, hooves, suckers, whatever, the better. It takes some getting used to. I must say, however, that the above dish was delicious. I imagine the whole pig legs shown here would be a little tougher to eat, though:
Another comment about food: the Spanish eat sugar for breakfast. I literally have cookies with hot chocolate every day. Eggs are a lunch or dinner food here. Also, I've noticed that Ángeles peels the skin of all fruit before eating it (kiwis- definitely, apples- maybe, but pears? peaches?).
On a different note, I love my classes! I have a lot of essays to write (including a 10 page analysis of a painting of my choice), but I don't really mind. I think the art class will be my favorite, though all of them are interesting. I've continued with my tradition of nicknaming professors: the art one I call Professor Trelawey (as in Harry Potter). She kind of reminds me of a bat with huge glasses and a huge mop of hair. She wears a speaker that looks like a fanny pack with a 70's style headpiece. Her class is incredible, though. Another, I call the Gumdrop, as he's shaped like one. My philosophy professor especially is... different, to say the least. Enthusiastic would be an understatement. I haven't really thought of a good nickname for him yet, but I think his favorite phrase is "¡Joder! ¡Que pregunta!" We watched a civil -war-era film (written by Franco himself) in my cinema class yesterday, and it kind of reminded my of the Godfather (except incredibly cheesy with a Fascist message). It revolved around a family with three sons and a daughter, and the first scene if the adult children is at the daughter's wedding (during which the best friend/bridesmaid of the sister hits on one of the brothers, though it's all very idealized and platonic in conservative Francoist Spain). One of the brothers is shot by the enemy around midway through, and another is totally the Fredo of the bunch- the useless weakling with republican sympathies (again, in a fascist country). He dies, too. The third is pretty much his father reincarnate and the "ideal" character. Yeah. Other than that, we're reading a lot of Julio Cortázar in my narrative class. He's got to be one of my favorite authors. It's so nice to enjoy all of my classes for once, instead of just one or two.
I had my first intercambio today! It was with the woman from the grocery store. She and her friend (also from the store- it's apparently the place to be) and I chatted in Spanish for an hour or so and I helped her with some English vocabulary and pronunciation. It was a good experience overall. It was nice to be the more linguistically skilled one for once. Speaking of intercambios (and the lack of linguistic skills on my part), I visited the gelato place today and the Italian guy and I are now doing an unofficial intercambio. I'm pretty excited; hopefully I won't start out next semester quite as silently as this one. Ah, language. People always assume I'm Spanish at first and talk to me, ask me directions and about bus lines, etc. When I respond, though, my American accent is apparently obvious. It drives me nuts when people assume I can't understand them and try to either say things very, very simply, slowly, and loudly, or speak the few English words they know. A lady at the bus stop did that the other day. I wanted to say, "Yes, I have an accent, but my Spanish is better than your English, and I understand more than I speak." When a couple asked me if bus line 8.1 stopped there and I said that I didn't know (I only concern myself with 6.1 and 6.2), the aforementioned woman said "She's English". The couple then automatically assumed I had no idea what they had said. I was like, "Yes, I speak English, but I understand you. I just don't happen to know if the bus stops here!" ¡Joder!
The other day, I did some more wandering about Toledo.
I found a place where I could climb up and actually walk on top of the city walls...
... and what has got to be the best hobo shelter I've ever seen down by the river. This picture doesn't really do it justice. Good times, though.
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