Don't know much about geography

I told one of my private classes that the following week would be our last class together.

"And then you're going home?" Alvaro asked.

"Yes, that's right, to my country."

They looked puzzled.

"Which country are you from?" Juan Manuel asked, which disappointed me since he's also in my regular classes at school and it's the kind of thing I'd think he'd know by now.

"I'm from the United States. Do you guys know where that is?"

"Oh yeah! Right next to France!" Alvaro looked gleeful in his knowledge.

"Ummm, not next to France, no. You know how there's an ocean near Arcos? The Atlantic? I'm on the other side of the Atlantic."

The kids still looked confused. Then Alvaro spoke up again, "Okay, so not next to France but above France?"

I shook my head. Juan Manuel jumped out of his seat. "I know!" He picked up a marker and began to draw a crude outline of Spain and France on the whiteboard. "Okay, here's where we are, and here's where you live," he said, indicating approximately where the UK is.

"No, I'm not from England, I swear," I said, but Alvaro was already agreeing with Juan Manuel.

"Yep, yep, that's where teacher lives."

Finally I found a book on Christopher Columbus and showed them an egregiously out-dated map. I pointed at southern Spain, showed them England, and then showed them where Minnesota would be, relative to them. Their eyes widened.

"You live all the way over THERE? That's so far!"

"That's right," I said. "Nowhere near France."

Bluebloods

Relating to my last post: Wikipedia tells me that Andalucia (Al-Andalus) was once a place of notable racial tolerance, which was then replaced with extreme segregation and expulsion of racial and religious Others. Perhaps it has nothing to do with the current atmosphere, but I found the connection interesting all the same.

"Richard E. Nisbett has said that the question of racial superiority may go back at least a thousand years, to the time when the Umayyad Caliphate invaded Hispania, occupying most of the Iberian Peninsula for six centuries, where they founded the advanced civilization of Al-Andalus (711-1492). Al-Andalus coincided with La Convivencia, an era of religious tolerance, and with the Golden age of Jewish culture in Iberia. It was followed by a violent Reconquista under the Reyes Catolicos (Catholic Kings), Ferdinand V and Isabella I. The Catholic Spaniards then formulated the Cleanliness of blood doctrine. It was during this time in history that the Western concept of aristocratic "blue blood" emerged in a highly racialized and implicitly white supremacist context, as author Robert Lacey explains:

It was the Spaniards who gave the world the notion that an aristocrat's blood is not red but blue. A nobleman demonstrated his pedigree by holding up his sword arm to display the filigree of blue-blooded veins beneath his pale skin--proof that his birth had not been contaminated by the dark-skinned enemy. Sangre azul, blue blood, was thus a euphemism for being a white man--Spain's own particular reminder that the refined footsteps of the aristocracy through history carry the rather less refined spoor of racism."

Daily News and the Palace of Time

And now, dear readers, I must tell you about “Daily News” a.k.a. The Bane of My Existence for the Past Month. Basically, “Daily News” is a comedic play written in English. However, whether “Daily News” can be qualified as a play, a comedy, or written in English are all up for debate. I would say it’s none of the above.

I was introduced to this masterpiece [of idiocy and poor grammar] soon after I arrived at my school in October. At first I was excited, hearing that I would be going to a play in Jerez with the sixth-graders AND the play would be in English! However, as soon as we started explaining the plot and reading through it, I realized that the play, in a word, sucks. The following week, to my dismay, I found out the fifth-graders were going, too, so I would have to work on the play in THOSE classes as well. Just last week, as the fifth-grade teacher and I were listening to the last few scenes on the CD, she turned to me.

“This is really bad, isn’t it?” She said, shaking her head.
“Yes…it’s pretty awful. They obviously didn’t use a native speaker as an advisor.”
“And such a shame, considering how many plays they could have chosen.”
“Yeah…” (inside my head: OH MY GOD, OBVIOUSLY, AHHHHHH, I KNOW).
“Well, that’s the Spanish way. They just wrote it themselves and it turned out terribly.”

Needless to say, I wasn’t too keen on going. The other day during lunch-break, however, I was talking to the principal about it. “Well,” she said, “You could go with the sixth-graders; they’re going to the Alcazar of Jerez afterward.” My eyes lit up. “Or,” she continued, “You could go with the fifth-graders. They’re going to a…how do you say…a museum. With clocks. There are a lot of clocks! Some old…some new.” I think she could see how fast my smile faded. “Maybe you would like the Alcazar better,” she said, and I nodded with relief.

Even with the prospect of seeing another alcazar (the word for fortress; though some are more famous, like the Alcazar of Sevilla, they are prevalent throughout Andalucia), I still was a little apprehensive about the horror of sitting through “Daily News.” At least, I reminded myself, after today I would never have to hear about it again.

After a bus ride to Jerez filled with excitement (which I gauged by the amount of screaming and picture taking done by the kids), we got to the theater, which was really just a school hosting the play for several bilingual classes. We got seated and the lights went down. There was so much screaming that they waited a few extra minutes for the students to calm down before starting the play; when they realized the kids wouldn’t stop screaming, they just started the play anyway. An unexpected dance routine opened the act, which made me hopeful. Then a sign was brought out, reading “Daily New,” and I lost hope. Retrospectively, I think there was once an ‘s’ on that sign, but it fell or broke off, and they figured the Spanish schoolchildren wouldn’t know or care about the difference.

As the play went along, I found myself actually entertained. This was a mixture of enjoying random songs, dances, and fight scenes that the actors added (definitely not in the entertainment-is-low-on-my-priority-list script) and just witnessing the general ridiculousness of the play live. Permit me to give you the briefest of summaries: there are 4 characters who work at a news station. The boss, Alfie, is in love with Chloe and thus has given her the job of chief news presenter, thereby taking the job away from Rupert (described as a “talented immigrant”), who is jealous. Chaos and comedy ensue! Oh, and the fourth character? An amorphous assistant named Jack, so amorphous that the director of today’s version changed this character to Jacqueline without having to make any further changes to the play.

Afterward, the kids asked me who my favorite character was and I said Chloe, mainly because the actress was the only native English speaker (in a play where the characters all criticize Rupert for his “terrible English”—pot kettle black?) and thus she was the most natural with the dialogue. The kids all agreed and one little boy told me he was in love with her, which was unsurprising given that the actress was tall, blonde, and very pretty (a moment of vanity: one of the girls said I looked like her. I definitely do not, but maybe to a young, undiscerning Spanish girl, all American blondes look the same). Also, the actress wore a very tight dress with slits up the side and pranced around in very high heels (and—could it get any campier?—at one point she walked slo-mo across the stage with a fan blowing her hair back…and then she did it again). Consequences: At least one eleven-year-old fell in love; several Spanish teachers deemed the play “inappropriate.”

We walked through the streets of Jerez to the Alcazar, a 12th century fortress built by the ruling Muslims of the day. We saw the Mezquita (the chapel), the gardens, the Arab baths. It was a fine Alcazar, but I guess I’ve just become an Alcazar snob. After visiting the one in Sevilla, anyone would be. There was one cool part, though. The guide brought us to the front entrance of the fortress, which was, as expected, a ginormous arched opening where once a huge wooden door hung. BUT, that wasn’t the door to the exterior. No. A fairly narrow winding corridor led to the outside door. Would-be conquerors would first have to get through that door; if they used a battering ram it would run into stone just a few feet beyond the opening, and if they tried to charge in on horses afterward, the horses would be similarly smashed against stone. Defenders had plenty of opportunities to pour boiling liquids, rocks, or arrows on their heads once they were in the corridor. Also, the entire fortress and city of Jerez was surrounded by a high wall made out of local rock. This being fairly arid land, the wall blended in to its environment well, and most conquering armies wouldn’t have realized a city was there until the defenders were already well aware of their presence (and firing arrows). Thus, the Alcazar was a stronghold for many centuries.

Even for an Alcazar snob like me, I was impressed by the history we were surrounded by. I thought of those poor fifth-graders who were surrounded by…clocks. Back on the bus and leaving Jerez, though, a saw a sign for the “Museo de Relojes” (Clock Museum), and in bigger script above that, another title: “El Palacio del Tiempo.” Literal translation: The Palace of Time. Sure of their own mastery, Spaniards write plays in languages they might not fully know, and give the most grandiose of titles of the most banal of places. The truth is, it’s easy to understand why they are so proud, with all the ingenious architecture and beauty that covers the landscape, where the idea behind single door is both revolutionarily brilliant yet utterly simple in construction. If only they weren’t too proud to put on Tennessee Williams plays…

Halloween at the Cathedral of Peter, the Mother of God

Patra and I went to a concert tonight held at once of the two main cathedrals, La Catedral de San Pedro. We tried to convince Erika, Patra’s friend who has been visiting this past week, to go with us.

“What kind of concert is it?” Erika asked.
“We don’t know,” we responded.
“Oh…then why do you want to go?”
“Because it’s a concert! And it’s happening here! An event in Arcos AT NIGHT!”

She wasn’t convinced. Patra and I shrugged our shoulders. We were still extremely excited that something was going on in our own little town and, what’s more, it was happening five minutes from our apartment (no hike to the side of town for us!) We wandered over to the cathedral in the light rain, orange light brightening up the dark old buildings; the town was certainly Halloween-atmospheric.

Inside the cathedral, Patra and I recognized at least a dozen people. Teachers from both of our schools had showed up, and the other English language-assistants in town were there. After waving and giving double-kisses all around, we felt suddenly that Arcos was indeed our town, that we were no longer foreigners. We took our seats and gazed up at the ornate ornamentation of the nave, this being the first time we’d been inside the cathedral. Inside gold-leaf embellishments were paintings of saints and angels. Near the ceiling a statue of Jesus stood helping a small child. Below this statue, and directly above the altar, was a statue of Peter, looking perhaps somewhat perplexed and abashed at his central location in this cathedral. I’ve heard that the two cathedrals in Arcos once asked the Vatican which would be recognized as the official cathedral of the town. The Vatican sent its response: La Catedral de Santa Maria. The parishioners of San Pedro were so upset that they removed any signs of Mary from their own cathedral (contemplate that for a second: Catholics without Mary!) and to this day they pray to Peter, the Mother of God.

The concert, to my disappointment, had nothing to do with Halloween. Of course, this shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise, but I was hoping the music might be in a more minor key. The good news, though, is that it turned out to be a choral mass, mostly Mozart, which meant that I had sung at least one of the pieces before. I talked to the director afterward and he invited me to join the choir right away, overjoyed at the thought of one more alto. I happily accepted; while Arcos was masquerading on Halloween as a happening town, and Saint Peter stood uncomfortable in his eternal costume as the Mother of God, I was finally able to imagine myself in a role I’m already familiar with: a singer. So, if you’re in Arcos on the night of December 16th, hit up the choir concert! It’s gonna be hopping…

I've got friends in high places

From www.casacampana.com:

“Local legend has it that Arcos de la Frontera was founded around the time of the great biblical flood and was built originally by King Briga, Noah's grandson, some 2000 years before Christ.

On the same site the Romans later founded the town of Arcobriga, a name which derives from the Latin word 'Arx-Arcis', meaning high fortress.

Following the Roman age, the Moorish period is considered the most important in the history of Arcos de la Frontera (the Moors called it Medina Ar-Kosch) during which the town was incorporated into a kingdom of Spain called the Caliphate of Córdoba.

During the 13th century the site occupied a decisive and dangerous position on the border between the Moors and the Christians, hence the suffix 'de la Frontera' ('of the Frontier'). Ferdinand III, who was then the King of León and Castille, took control of the town and changed its name from Medina Ar-Kosch to Arcos de la Frontera, a name it has kept since then.”

As you can see from this historical information, everyone wants to be in Arcos. And why do they want to be in Arcos? Because of it’s strategic location of being perched high on a cliff. And what does that mean for me? Sore leg muscles. I have yet to find a horizontal street in town. Good for defending territory against the Moors, bad for flip-flops.