I Finally Went to a Bullfight

Bullfighting is a very Spanish, very cultural thing to see here. I've avoided going a long as possible. Whenever a fight is on TV, I have to change the channel because it grosses me out. However, we were given 4 free tickets to a bullfight last Sunday, and there were 4 adults so . . . I really didn't have a good excuse not to go.


The "picador" is the man on the horse who must stab the bull with his spear thingy.



Renae seemed to have no problem enjoying the "aminals" in the ring. No matter the bulls kept getting killed . . .



She even clapped each time the crowd did. "Yay a bull died!"



Yeah . . . Kristi and I weren't so sure how we felt about all of it.

This guy got gored in the leg!!! But he finished it and ended up doing such a good job that the master of ceremonies guy cut off one of the bull's ear and gave it to him. If a matador receives 1 ear, it means he's done very well. If he receives 2 ears, it means he's done an amazing job.

Two of our favorite people in the world. Seriously.

Cultural Tidbits from the Mercado

I said I was going to post more pics of Penni and Kevin's trip but . . . I'm just going to direct you to her blog instead. Now onto an interesting topic: buying your produce and meat, fresh!!

Spanish cities all over the country have fresh food markest. Some are indoors, some are open air markets. Mine is located just a few blocks away from our apartment so 1 day each week, I grab my shopping cart (a cloth thing on wheels that I pull behind me) and head up the street. I go to the same vendors each week so it's fun to build a relationship with each person over the course of time. Markets like these are in decline however as Spain has welcomed in the "Sams Club" era, as I call it. Supermarket chains have become very popular and thus the men who work in these fresh food markets say that their day is coming soon. The guy from whom I buy ham and cheese thinks that within the next 10 years, markets like the one I go to will be extinct. So sad! But for now, let me tell you about one of my favorite days of the week!


This is where I buy all of my veggies and fruit. Let me tell you, the strawberries and clementines I found this year have been AMAZING. At this booth, I tell the man how much I want of each thing. Usually I tell him how many kilos I need, but sometimes I just tell him numbers. (Like, "Give me 4 carrots, please.) The produce here is much more fresh than at the super market, and it's cheaper as well. Oh and 1 kilo=2.2 pounds. For a funny story on doing that conversion wrong, click here.


This guy cracks me up. He has been especially helpful with teaching me Spanish as he's the one who taught me that I should say "Give me ______" instead of "I would like________." At first it felt so demanding and rude, but it's what they say so I guess it's not! This is where I buy my cheddar cheese and ham. Who knew cheddar cheese was such an American thing! I couldn't find it for a long time in the super market, and when I did, it was VERY expensive. Here I can get it in bulk, at a cheaper price. It's still much more expensive than in the states, but I've become good at rationing my precious cheddar. Renae also LOVES the ham from this guy. Loves it.


And this is my favorite place. He's my "chicken" guy. He sells all chicken products, as well as skinned rabbits. Gross. And actually, I can get turkey from him when I need it (like on Thanksgiving.) Every Tuesday he gives a dozen eggs for each kilo of chicken breasts that you buy. I buy a kilo each week and it will last us the whole week. It's interesting to note that he slices about 3 full size chicken breasts up VERY VERY thin. I think because they are so thin, we actually eat less chickcn per meal then if we were in the states buying a frozen bag of chicken breasts from Sams. I love going to the market. I get to talk with 3 really nice guys who have greatly helped me with my Spanish. I made sure I gave them all a bunch of Christmas cookies at Christmas time. There is no better way to make friends then through food.

Ok, a few pics from Penni and Kevin's trip . . .



One tired little girl!



So sweet.

Cultural Tidbits from a Latin Wedding

Last night I attended my first non-American wedding. We received the invitation a few weeks ago from the bride who works at our local grocery store, and attends the same church as us. The bride's four names were listed as being the woman who would marry her fiance, who only had 3 names listed. Whew.

I called a family we know to see if they could baby-sit Renae as I didn't know what kind of wedding this would be. Would it be ultra formal like Spanish weddings? Or would it be like a middle class American wedding where kids are invited? I decided going with just Jesse sounded like the best idea.

Saturday morning rolled around and Renae woke up with a fever. Darn it. That meant one of us would be going to the wedding. Alone. We had already missed another Latin wedding at the same church and were grilled with questions as to why we didn't come. Oops. Jesse stayed home with our sick little girl while I dressed up, and headed out to the wedding. We had no idea what was expected for a gift (there are no Target's here to register at) so Jesse sent me with money, and a blank card to write in.

I arrived about 10 minutes late which I assumed would be ok since the bride is from Ecuador, and the groom is from Colombia. I guess since the pastor running the show is Spanish, the wedding started at 6:00 p.m punto. Oops again.

I was pleased to find that I'd dressed appropriately. Some people had more formal attire than one would wear to an American wedding, but most were in nice dresses if they were women, or collared shirts and ties or suits for men. The bride and groom sat at the front on a decorative bench for most of the time. I was sitting near the back so I was able to observe the many poeple who came in late after me. I guess the Latin Americans who came late were assuming the wedding would start late too. So I was half right, right?

The ceremony lasted longer than I had expected. The pastor talked for a LONG time. During this time I tried to focus on understanding what he was saying, but I was slightly distracted by the Spanish man who came in mid-way to drop off some clothes for the churches clothing distribution. He walked to the middle aisle to see what was going on. When he discovered a wedding taking place, he went to tell his wife who tried to get him to leave. The man felt the need to talk to someone about his "sizable annonymous donation" (Return to Me anyone?) so he chose me. Talking with the older Spanish generation is usually difficult, but when another man is speaking in Spanish in a microphone at the same time it gets even trickier. I realized he just wanted to tell me that he was leaving a bunch of stuff for their clothing distribution, he was leaving a LOT, and he had talked with a woman named Edith, and when would this wedding be over? Meanwhile, his wife was in the background trying to get him to stop talking! I think I communicated to him that I would make sure the donation made it into the right hands. (Who knew I'd sat in the wedding coordinators seat?)

Perhaps the funniest part of the wedding was towards the end, during the vows. You know how Asians have the sterotype of being camera crazy? I think we need to reassign that sterotype to Latin Americans. Oh. My. Word. At one point I think I counted 10-12 different people standing up all over the room (some on stage, some right next to the pair) taking thousands of pictures. One guy even had his video camera AND his camera going at the same time. And he was seated in the very back. Darn it-why didn't I take MY camera? I could have at least taken a picture of the camera crazies.

(P.S. The vows were fun to hear as the bride had to say, "I, Maria-Jose Guitierez Lopez Santiago de la Montaña . . . ." I made that name up. You get the point.)

The reception took place in the basement of the church. People had brought different appetizer type things and everyone just kind of jumped in the circular buffet with plastic plates to get what they wanted. Soon after, the dance begun. This is when it got fun. First of all, at times it felt like Junior High dances all over again. I was dateless so I sat on a chair by the wall and hoped no one would come ask me to dance out of pity. Second, did I mention that the room was full of Latin Americans?? There were Columbians, Peruvians, Dominicans, Brazilians, Ecuadorians and a few Spaniards too. It was a wee bit intimidating to even try and dance merengue when everyone in the room was born shaking their hips in perfect rhythm. Yes, there was a congo line. Somehow it seemed cooler since everyone was not a white American trying to dance like a Latino.

I was eventually asked to dance by a kind middle age man from Ecuador. Usually when you dance with your uncles at weddings you feel cooler because of course you can dance better than them. But, like I said. I was the white girl surrounded by a bunch of Latinos. They ALL danced better than me. Even the kids.

It was a fun night and I'm glad I went even though I felt slightly out of place most of the night. And by the way, I discovered that the way they do gifts is a plate is passed around and people just put money in it. I'm so glad I didn't arrive with a toaster!

Cultural Tidbits from the Repair Man (Men)

I have a story to tell with no illustrations. I hope the ones I do have will suffice.



Last week, I received an email from our landlord. It said Urgent! (But it was in Spanish so it said Urgente!-some tricky stuff eh?) She told me that the man who's business is below us saw water dripping from our apartment. Susana, my landlord was of course worried that our piso was flooded. I quickly checked each corner and found no standing water. Whew. So I called Susana, told her I saw no water, but that I would speak with the man downstairs about the supposed water coming from our apartment.

I peaked in his shop and told him I lived upstairs, and had heard there was water coming from our place. He quickly showed me a spot on the bottom of an extended part of our piso. It was in between Renae's room and the "office." I could tell the spot was wet and the floor was cracking. I thanked the man, and went on my way. As I walked, I thought, "Oh great . . now we have water problems and this will probably take forever to fix!"



As it turned out, I was very wrong. I talked with our truly awesome landlords that day and they sent someone later on in the day to check it out! When he arrived, I couldn't believe someone was there to fix it already!

As it turned out, I was very wrong. Again. You see, here is what I've learned through this process: (the answer is at the bottom in case you're in a hurry) This particular man who came the first day came to look at the wall where water was supposedly coming out. Then he busted a hole in our wall to get a GOOD look. After doing that, he told us what was wrong and that it needed fixed, then he left.

So the next day, we had to check the pipe inside the wall and see if it was wet. Yep, it was.
So then we called that same guy.
The first guy then called our landlord.
Then our landlord called their insurance company.
The insurance company called someone to come look at the bad pipe and determine that what the 1st man said was true. It was.
So our landlord called a repair man. (I'm not sure what the first guy was-demolition?)
He came earlier this week and fixed the pipe.I thought surely this would be the end of the hole in the wall.

As it turned out, again, I was very wrong.

When the repair man had finished fixing the pipe (and creating a bigger hole in the wall) he picked up his mess, said Adios, then headed out. I wanted to follow him and ask, "But aren't you going to fix that hole in my wall?"

After a few days of peaking in on Renae's room through the hole in the living room wall, we wondered if anyone was going to fix the hole. Finally, yesterday, a 4th man came. Yes, that's right, I said 4th man. Wait,that's not right. I forgot about the OTHER guy that came twice. Let's review:

1st man-demolition. "You've got a bad pipe. Needs replaced."

2nd man-insurance- "You've got a bad pipe. Needs replaced."

3rd man-heat on/off switch guy-"I'm here to turn off the heat."

4th man-pipe repair- "You've got a bad pipe. I'm here to fix the pipe and nothing else."

5th man-heat on/off switch guy. "I'm here to turn your heat back on."

6th man-wall repair guy-"I'm here to put the wall back together."

You're wondering if there is a 7th man aren't you? Well we are sure he exists. The 7th man is the paint guy. He comes after the wall guy's repair is dry enough to paint. It's scheduled to be dry the day my parents arrive. Which means we are trying to get that sucker dry so the paint man can come paint the wall white, so we can paint it the correct color before my parents get here. I guess that makes us the 8th and 9th "men."

So we learned that a problem will be fixed quickly. But it will take several men all doing their very (VERY) specialized task before it's completely fixed.

Coming to a jmasson.blogspot.com near you TOMORROW: Renae draws on herself and some on the piece of paper.

Cultural Tidbits from the Public Bathroom

Let's look at a few bathroom customs around the world. The Bathroom Diaries was most helpful in adding to the intellectual part of my post. I mean, peeing is a serious thing. And if you want to be culturally appropriate, you'd better learn how to do it in context.



For example, when in China, you may find babies with open bottom pants and no diapers. Why? Because their mothers teach them to pee on command. They hold the baby over some kind of opening (street sewer, empty bucket . . .) and make a certain noise. The baby pees. If you are a baby looking to visit China, you now know how to pee in public there.

If you are an adult visiting China, I'd recommend you NOT wear open bottom pants and pee when people whistle. Find a public restroom. It may be a squatty potty, it may be a hole in the ground, but DON'T pee as a baby does. That's gross.



Not let's move to Turkey. There, you will also find a squatty potty. Even your hotel and apartment will have one. Since Turkey is an Islamic country, you won't find women peeing in public. You may however find men peeing in public. Americans do this too: when they are drunk, when they think no one is looking, or when they have to go really really bad and a bathroom is nowhere in sight. In this instant they say: "Well, I'm a guy and men all over the world pee in public, so I will too."



So what do Spaniards do? They use public bathrooms. But once again . . . you are more likely to find men peeing in public than you would in the states. However, Spain is still different. Imagine you are walking with your 3 year old. She says, "Mommy, Mommy I have to go NOW!" What do you do? In the states, you would tell your husband, "We have got to find a McDonalds NOW. I didn't bring a change of clothes and I don't want to carry a wet child around." Nope. Not here. It's much easier. When your child cries, "Mama, Mama . . ." You simply find a tree, or a sewer, pull the child's pants down and help them squat. Ya esta. Oh-and then you pull toilet paper from your purse to clean up the child because you expected your child will need to pee in public. I have to say this is one custom I won't be adapting. Unless it's an emergency. And I can't find a McDonalds.



I'd also like to take the time to do a little confessing. One summer when I was young (think lower elementary age), I was at a church softball game. Yes. A church softball game. I was playing with some friends behind the outfield. I had to go to the bathroom REALLY bad. The bathroom was WAY over by the pool. I didn't want to walk all the way over there and miss out on the fun. So, I noticed there was a nice row of trees between the outfield and the highway. Yes, I said highway. So what did I do? I decided to urinate (I can't say pee-it makes me sound even more gross) quickly behind the tree. None of my friends saw, and I hoped no one on the highway (which I somehow failed to notice was there) saw. All was good until I went back to the bleachers. You know how they say Mothers see everything that goes on in their children's lives? Well my mother has binoculars for eyes. Oh yeah, she saw everything. She saw me playing with friends, then contemplate whether I would walk to the bathroom or not. I'm sure her heart dropped as she watched me make the stupid decision to pee behind the tree. Obviously I wasn't that well hidden since she saw me . . .

So the lesson here is that no matter where you are in the world, you can pee in public. But you never know who is watching and what strange conclusions they might draw about you.

Cultural Tidbits from the Post Office

Have we mentioned how much we like getting packages? Because we do! Have we mentioned what a joy going to the post office is? Because it's not! OK, in actuality I LOVE going there because it means I have a package to pick up! But, each time I experience some kind of culture stress that makes me grit my teeth just a tad.

Today I made the trip to the post office again. This time I went in before they closed for the August summer hours, and this time the package really was for me. Well, it was for Renae but my name was on the golden ticket!

I have to divulge just a little bit of a cultural insight here. You see, in the states, we really are a me-centered society. However, we usually pretend to be nice and to actually care about the other person. Here, there is no pretending. It really is all about you here. It's not rare to have someone cut you off when you are walking in the street, and it's not likely you will find someone who will help a young woman carrying a stroller (with baby in it!) down 2 flights of stairs to pick up her package. Now, I have had help on various occasions, but I don't assume I will receive help in times like these. So today I entered the post office and squeezed Renae in between the line of people and the wall. I made it to the flight of stairs, and hoisted Renae and her stroller up so I could carry her down the stairs. An older man was going down ahead of me. He turned and saw me and then started to go back up the stairs. "Hallelujah! Maybe he will help me!" But no. He had forgotten something upstairs and was returning to get it. Oh well. I do appreciate the muscle tone I'm getting from lifting Renae up and down various places.

Once I'd received my package (from Scott and Julie! Thank you!!!) I placed it in a sack, and headed back up the stairs. Keep in mind, today was a busy day at the post office and there were 2 very long lines of people both upstairs and downstairs. To go back up, I had to pass people waiting on the stairs. I approached the beginning of the steps and wondered, "Will one of these people offer to help?" Because like I said, it does happen. By the time I'd climbed the first few steps I knew the answer was no. Oh well. Once at the top of the stairs, I attempted to put the front wheels of the stroller down on the landing. However, the bag with the package in it was in that hand and it kept getting in the way. I tried multiple times to fix it. As I did, there was a bench full of people watching. And watching. I was tempted to say, "No no, don't worry about it. I've got it." But alas I held my tongue.

Ahh the joys of living in another country. It's times like this that I just have to laugh. So the next time you see an international walking by him or herself laughing, know that they may have just enjoyed some culture stress from your very own culture. Then go up to them, introduce yourself and invite them to your house for supper. It will make everything all better.

Oh . . . and incase you were wondering why I used the stroller and didn't just put Renae in my sling, it's because it's really hot here, and my little peanut is almost a year! I can only have her chubby legs in my sling for so long before my back starts to feel it.

Renae plays with said stroller.