Born and Raised in North Carolina!!!

The days since hiding out in Gibraltar haven't been too terribly exciting, hence why I haven't dazzled you with inspiring tales of me in a flamenco dress or Elliot being crowned the greatest matador in Spain. Also, we didn't do anything traveling last weekend, so I don't have as many zany stories to tell. Alas, I shall do my very best to make this past week as interesting as I can:

Wednesday: Clearly relishing in my "I am woman, hear me roar" sense of independence, I decided to drive into Sevilla for a day trip on my own. After surviving a "baptism by fire" type of introduction to DC driving (downtown through rush hour) and making my way through the streets of Boston at midnight, I figured I could handle any type of city driving from thereon out. So I put on my shades, turned up my European techo, and started cruising into Sevilla.

The drive there wasn't bad at all, only taking me 30 minutes with traffic. While on my way there, I was able to ponder the mysteries of Spanish radio and came up with these astute observations:

-The Spanish love saxophones in their songs. I'd say 1 out of every 3 songs played on the radio has some sort of saxophone or horn in it

-Announcers on Spanish radio love talking in the middle of songs; and they speak so fast, sometimes you think they're making words up

-Rihanna and Kylie Minogue are huge here

-There is a "light" English-speaking radio station, and they play all sorts of Cher and Bryan Adams. I've also heard "I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing" no less than three times since we've been here. It will forever remind me of Jordan serenading his fourth grade girlfriend with that song....

Elliot and I often find ourselves singing or yelling out the different catchphrases from the radio to each other: "Dos Cua-ren-taaaaaa" (sing songy voice) and "Punto! Maxima! Punto!" (said in a Spanish man voice) I still haven't figured out how to call into the radio, but I am determined to continue my streak of winning radio contests here in Espana.

Once I got to Sevilla, I parked the car on the Paseo de Cristobal Colon and walked over to Triana. I bought a couple framed tiles that have our last name and address in them. I also found a store that has giant barrels filled with different kinds of olives: large, small, with or without pits, stuffed with peppers, cheese, jalapenos, anchovies, garlic, almonds, pickled, peppered, any variety you can possible think of exists in this store. Unfortunately, it was too far of a walk to the car to lug a giant tub of olives, so I made a mental note of the store and went along my merry way. I walked over to the Plaza del Toro and was able to join an English speaking tour right as it was about to begin. We were able to go to the stands, throughout the two museums, and into the horse's stable. All of the information was very fascinating, and the pictures are posted on Facebook. Check out the wooden heads....

Thursday: Once again, I subbed at the school, except today was for the full day. The class was composed of 3 seventh graders and one 6th grader. This time, the plans were incredibly detailed and straight-forward, so I didn't have to make anything up on the fly. Once again, the kids did their work, and I was almost starting to feel bored being there. I would check over their work, help with with questions and problems, and give them additional information, but it was almost like the kids were teaching themselves. It was.... spooky. After lunch, one of the kids started complaining of a headache and apparently decided that they wanted to make my life difficult. Every other thing out of her mouth was about how she hated Science and Social Studies and when she read, she supplemented the textbook with "Duh, like I didn't know that" Needless to say, I was none too pleased with her 'tude, so I had to pull her aside and give her the ol' "I know your head hurts and you're upset, but it's not right to take it out on me or your classmates" speech. I got an icy glare in return, so I was more than willing to let her finish her work in the library when she asked. Besides those shenanigans, it was a great day, and I'm subbing again next Thursday. It's like I have a standing date.

Friday: Super low-key day and night. Our unaccompanied baggage came, so I have some more clothes, and we have more cooking stuff, a tv that doesn't work with the cable box, and the Wii with Guitar Hero. That night, we went to the local pizza place and got a thin-crust pizza with roquefort cheese, chorizo, and chicken. We also had the best garlic bread EVER; it was amazing, and we inhaled the entire loaf. Spent the night catching up on the first season of 24. All I gotta say is they really didn't hit their mojo until future seasons....

Saturday: After running a couple errands together and going on separate runs (Elliot is way faster, and I get distracted by things around me), we had a heck of a feast for dinner. Elliot baked then grilled a rack of bbq ribs, and we had those with oven-baked potatoes and mini corn on the cob. The ribs were absolutely delicious for being his first time making them, and the potatoes were simple to make, yet tasty. The corn, on the other hand, wasn't anything like the corn we have in the Midwest. It claimed to be "sweet corn", but it tasted more like plastic to me. I took one bite, and that was the end of my European corn experience. How I took for granted the opportunity to go to college in Iowa... Needless to say, I shall mow down on some corn when I had back to the States in May for Annie Mitch's wedding. (*Editor's Note: At the time of publication, the blogger's husband had just got home, announcing that he bought frozen corn from America. How's that for timing?*)

Will had just gotten back from Germany the night before and wanted to get dinner and drinks in Sevilla on Saturday. He had met a Danish girl on the plane ride over and wanted to do a double-date with us. He picked us up at our place and drove us to the train station, parking his car in the lot overnight (it's free). We took the train into Sevilla and met his lady friend, Annamette, at the fountain by the Cathedral. I was apparently inspired by the Guitar Hero I was playing earlier, because my outfit and hairdo resembled one of the cartoon guitarists. I also decided to go against reason and wear my 3 inch stiletto heels out. I was under the impression that we were going to get tapas at one place and then drinks at another bar, ultimately not doing a lot of walking. Yeah, I was wrong. We ended up going on a bar crawl of sorts, through the main streets and side alleys of Sevilla. My feet eventually started throbbing, and at one point I took off my shoes and walked barefoot on the cobblestone streets, not giving a second thought to the tetanus or gonorrhea that I may be stepping in. I was offered piggy back rides by Elliot and Will, but the thought of them face-planting under my weight was enough for me to decline. After that bbq rib dinner, I was feeling like Jabba The Hut in rock star clothing, and I was in no mood to break anyone's vertebrae. As a result of my walking like Sofia from The Golden Girls, we ended up at quite a few random places: The Irish bar by the Cathedral, a bar that was decorated with mannequin parts (upon entering, I immediately texted BJ and my cousin, Tiff, b/c they would have loved that place; it was like a horror movie), a dessert bar at 1am where we had an assortment of pastries-clearly not helping my "lead singer from Blues Traveler" situation, a Texas bar, and back to the Irish pub.

At the Texas bar, Elliot and I started chatting with an American who goes to college at Providence. He was a very nice guy, but then got distracted by his friends who ran up and started spinning some yarn about how they "toooootally ran from the cops" and "the cop asked if I had drugs, and I was like "Druuuuuuugs? Uh drugs?" and "You should have seen it, bra!" There was a lot of high-fiving, chest-bumping, and "No way, bra!"'s flying, and Elliot and I seem to have been forgotten amidst the cyclone of gelled hair and Abercrombie shirts. We made a swift exit and went back to the Irish pub, P. Flaherty's.

At this point, Annamette had gone back to her hotel, and Will was scoping out the group of American girls sitting next to us at the bar. They had made friends with the bartender, so like typical creepy old people, we eavesdropped on their conversation whilst having out own. A skinny American kid joined the group, and I heard him telling the bartender that he was "Born and raised in North Carolina!" after the group took a shot. We got bored with the group's antics and started talking amongst ourselves about the US. A few minutes later, the skinny kid interrupted us and asked Elliot how tall he was. Elliot said he was 6 feet tall, to which the boy replied, "I'm taller than you! Born and raised in North Carolina!" and turned back to his group of friends. We were left bewildered and unsure if that's normal behavior for one from North Carolina. I have, however, begun to use that in my responses to Elliot. "Yeah, jambalaya for dinner sounds good. BORN AND RAISED IN NORTH CAROLINA!"

RANDOM SPANISH OBSERVATIONS:

-There are stray cats and dogs that just wander the streets of Utrera and Moron, most of which are abandoned. There is a shelter at Moron, but that is poorly kept and not all the animals get brought there. There really isn't a pet licensing system in this area, although they do require that all animals have a tracking chip implanted. It's pretty sad to see some of the really skinny Greyhounds, clearly discarded after their racing days end

-The Spanish pronounce our last name as "Broo-say" It makes me laugh. Still no improvement on my first name

-Elliot and I are amused by the Americans who have selective pronunciation of Spanish words while speaking English. The most common one is Utrera. The English pronunciation is "Yoo-trera", and the Spanish one is "Ooo-trera". You could be having a conversation with an American, and they'll all of a sudden roll their r's for certain words. I'm an all or nothing type of person.

-My car has officially been Eurotrashed and nicknamed: European license plates and "Alors on Danse", the clubby French song that I've become obsessed with