tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74341767125960936832011-10-11T14:45:43.874-07:00Left the skyscrapers of Chicago for the olive groves of Andalucia three years ago...and I'm still here.Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.comBlogger2051100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-36553193144425458172011-10-03T22:18:00.000-07:002011-10-04T22:22:33.822-07:00

Hey. Remember me? Did you think I went dormant on you? Nah, I just moved all of my stuff over to wordpress, bought my own domain, and am setting up camping at http://sunshinesandsiestas.com/ . There, you'll find all of my old posts (and a LOT of new ones), cooler gadgets and a contest! Update your bookmarks and blogrolls, visit my new site and subscribe to win! Simply by signing up to receieve

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-1472882712369391012011-08-08T19:34:00.001-07:002011-08-09T13:42:02.803-07:00

I've moved back into my teenage bedroom for the month, and now I've moved every single blog entry worth saving over to Wordpress. I am really serious about using it now, so please update your bookmarks, sign up for updates and visit me on my more streamlined site.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-75825093937884337292011-08-04T11:45:00.000-07:002011-08-04T11:45:20.930-07:00

Landing on a runway in Chicago, and I'm grounding all my dreams of ever really seeing California cuz I know what's in between - lyrics from fellow Chicagoans Fall Out Boy, "Homesick at Spacecamp" with permission from noticiasdeayer.blogspot.com From my mother, I take my gift of gab and my neuroticism. From my father, a good sense of direction and a heightened need for adventure. My mother balks

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-7707617767421539442011-08-02T08:55:00.000-07:002011-08-02T08:55:26.170-07:00

Oooh, goody! A challenge to write a post! I like when this stuff happens, and I've been waiting for someone to mention me, so mil gracias, Kaley & Mas! (And, afterthought, This Blonde) Here's how it works: Someone nominates you to uncover some of your older, maybe forgotten blog posts. I sometimes think about what my outlook on life was a few months ago or when I first came, how I've improved as

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-40792993922971290122011-07-24T11:03:00.000-07:002011-07-24T11:03:50.095-07:00

I promise I haven't left you. It's just, well, I've been really busy these days. So busy, in fact, that I went to bed on July 3rd and now am waking up three weeks later. I'm in La Coruna, the northerly capital of the wild corner of Spain that rests above Portugal. For the past three summers, I've worked for a summer camp company, surviving a "TEFL boot camp" and giving class for several hours a

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-61719897450738381972011-07-16T16:54:00.000-07:002011-07-16T16:54:37.007-07:00

I never had one of those "I dropped my phone into a full glass of whiskey/toilet/other how-electronics-and-liquids-don't-mix" stories. Then, I took my Ts out in Coruna. In a desperate dash to use the toilet, I didn't notice that I'd put my camera - newly repaired after six agonizing months of waiting - in my back pocket. It fell in the toilet. I did what I went to do. Then I flushed. Someone

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-3658216418507798052011-07-10T14:50:00.000-07:002011-07-10T14:50:40.562-07:00

This is Plaza Maria Pita, the central square of La Coruna, the city I'm residing in this month. When showing my teachers around the town today, we stopped in the plaza to marvel at the grandiose town hall, the collonades and patrons the bars finishing their pulpo a la feira. A beautiful, open space that channels right out to the port on this seaside city. But I remember it like this: One

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-74974364544960577342011-07-04T23:19:00.000-07:002011-07-04T23:19:30.121-07:00

Author's Note: This post seemed fitting today, considering my first experience with the dreaded papeleo started on July 3rd, 2007, when I applied for my student visa to come to Spain. Likewise, I just picked up my five-year residence card on Friday. On my first trip to Sevilla, six years ago nearly to the day, I was breathless at the site of the half-moon, collonaded Plaza de España, nestled

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-86331971496188906322011-06-30T06:57:00.000-07:002011-06-30T06:57:06.100-07:00

I may have been a bit preliminary in already talking about my first year of preschool, as it is now, officially, over. We got out late, true to Spanish form, but I got a good review: "We're very happy with you, both Don J and I. We give you a task and you complete it, and you do it well. Thanks." A compliment ten months in the making. Yes, this is the first comnpliment I've gotten from my boss.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-8109365375055747192011-06-25T05:20:00.000-07:002011-06-25T05:20:41.156-07:00

I once made a promise to myself to run along the paths that stretch out along the Big River, past the graffiti and skate park. I did it for a while, telling myself that I wasn't just doing it for the endorphin release or to counteract the fried food my fellow sevillanos love so much. I did it because when it cooled off at 9pm, the sun was setting over the Aljarafe and it turned everything golden.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-89241238487181552102011-06-22T08:26:00.000-07:002011-06-23T00:54:21.752-07:00

Thomas the Tank Engine is creeping back from my childhood, and not because he's the 2001 version of Tickle Me Elmo. That's my daily affirmation that I can push through these last few days of baby school and get through directing a summer camp. I'm beat, I'm spent, I'm a card house waiting for someone to just blow. I think I can, I think I can... This first year of preschool has seen its share of

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-78585713872832268162011-06-18T11:26:00.000-07:002011-06-18T11:40:34.297-07:00

I suppose you could blame Geoff, my Rough Guides editor. When he sent me my assignment, I ripped open the envelope to find highlighted nightlife, listins, shopping and flamenco. Barf.In college, when given an open assignment, I often chose to write about flamenco in my Spanish writing courses. I didn't exactly like flamenco, but there was a ton of information on it, making the research process

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-42985715386182595132011-06-13T05:41:00.000-07:002011-06-13T05:41:53.985-07:00

And I know I should be home. I discovered Fall Out Boy my freshman year of college when meeting another band put them on while cruising around the Chicago suburbs one night. I was drinking and loved the punk feel that night. Their song, Chicago is So Two Years Ago, was played on repeat the last week of my freshman year.I was burnt out from school and partying, ready for a little break and to

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-40140988346752449552011-06-07T05:25:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:29:46.306-07:00

I complained once of Kike to the mosquito bites that would spread out along my legs, elbows and, most uncomfrotably, fingers and toes. He asked his doctor at the base for a remedy. "You have the American girlfriend, right? Well, it's simple: she probably doesn't eat enough garlic." Oh, right, the same way I catch cold from my love of being barefoot and am strange for not wearing scarves when

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-35544830276663614832011-05-30T13:23:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:30:08.218-07:00

Seriusly, click here because blogger won't let me embed it now I'm just going to put it out there: I'm a really bad journalist. While the young people of Spain, los indignaos, stormed plazas and camped out, calling for reforms to the electoral system, education and labor laws, I needed something for my sweet tooth. I should have grabbed my camera, some paper and a pen and gotten out there to

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-6842309486858719032011-05-26T04:46:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:30:29.788-07:00

Olivares, the village where I worked for three years, is exactly 16 kilometers away from my old house in the Triana neighborhood. This meant a 40-minute bus ride (barring cows and tractors in the two-lane highway) or a 25-minute trip with a coworker. I soon found out that this was equivalent to 10 miles to metric system-challenged Americans like me. And then, one day, I walked 16 kilometers. I

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-1817279133127316632011-05-20T13:57:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:32:28.896-07:00

I was a freshman in college when Friends went off the air. We all gathered in Katie and Afton's room to watch the finale, where they were shocked to know that I only watch the sitcom when nothing else was on: I didn't know the name of Rachel's baby, or Ross's profession or how Monica and Chandler got together. Nevertheless, when the ever-so-frequent fire alarms went off in Burge, we risked fines

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-51010923027533165292011-05-16T04:16:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:32:49.526-07:00

They say there are three great fútbol afficions in Europe: Barça, Real Madrid and Betis. The azulgrana is mighty, Madrid a heavy hitter and, um, Betis isn't even in the premiere league. Until tonight. After a rough week, my friend Kim called to invite me to a game. Based on a points system (I swear these people must be economists), Spaniards make predictions on who will ascend to or, worse, be

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-78885572045283531802011-05-10T05:34:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:33:00.820-07:00

On St. Patrick's Day, I had one of those overwhelming chuche cravings. I need sweet, tangy gummies or I likely would lose my dinner appetite. Stopping by the nearest gummy wonderland, I lost my ganas upon seeing a plastic plane with a dog and gumdrops inside. A perfect little gift, really, for my pilot boyfriend whom I call Puppy. I dropped my bag of candy and checked out. Five minutes later, I

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-43144473830072031302011-04-26T06:55:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:33:19.508-07:00

The customs agent scoffed upon reading my boarding pass. He thumbed through a few pages of my passport (which recently turned five) and gave me a puzzled look. "I guess if you've been everywhere else, the only destination left is Romania," he said, adding a fresh Barajas stamp to my documentation. Spaniards have an aversion for Romanians, even when the better part of their gypsy population (

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-52452201321285214312011-04-15T10:31:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:34:13.264-07:00

They say a little work goes a long way. After spending the entire work week wrapped up in Semana Santa, It was time for the Brotherhood of the Sweet Name of Mary (poorly translated from the Hermandad del Dulce Nombre de María) to hit the streets.  Costaleros, those who carry the floats  Monaguillos, dressed like priests with baskets of candy Mantillas, ladies in mourning who dress this way

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-55843594253405939682011-04-13T13:29:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:34:38.616-07:00

Journalism school is overwhelming. People are constantly fighting for clips, being pretencious is taught in the basic reporting class and the DI newsroom just always looked...so....full of frazzled people (which I came to find out when I worked there one semester). I found solace in a few classes where the teachers were experienced and invested, and where new worlds opened up. I love that my

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-55810760771859316572011-04-08T07:57:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:34:56.341-07:00

Mariquilla, my boss's daughter, came flouncing into my office. "Miss Cat, IIIIIIII need the, um, capirote." Huh? I asked her what it was, or to describe it, thinking it could be one of the two things in the preschool workroom. A powder blue nazareno robe or a pointed nazareno hat. She indicated the hat and it hit me: We're already in Holy Week. Seven short days from now, I'll be wheeling a

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-12231569308272221832011-03-29T13:20:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:35:58.070-07:00

"Oh, yeah, amigdalitis isn't strep, Cat, it's tonsilitis." Immediately visions of guy Rimbey's tonsil operation in the fourth grade had me queasy again. I asked Kelly what to do. "So you just need to heat a glass of water in the microwave and then..." Stop right there, chiquilla. I don't have a microwave. Come to think of it, I have very few appliances, save my olla express, miniprimer hand

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-37677954217636580562011-03-28T10:57:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:36:21.009-07:00

"Cat, you haven't missed a day of school yet, have you?" Almudena asked me while we all sat and had lunch on thursday at school. "You must be a really healthy kid!" I said yes, despite the lingering germs around the school. Being a preschool teacher means more tissues purchased, more trips to the dry cleaners and, generally, more sick days than anyone else in the building. Then, on Saturday,

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-43745467387798716022011-03-24T05:14:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:36:38.650-07:00

My dentist, Dr. Clinton, is the type that has pictures of his kids right in front of the chair, so I get cavities filled looking at all of them. There's no shortage of years-old People magazines that one can enjoy while listening to Muzak, and Carol, the hygienist, chats you up while sticking instruments in your mouth. The only reason I don't dread the dentist's office is because of Dr.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-3831567022446311702011-03-16T11:45:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:37:58.017-07:00

Irene always made me laugh (and hard), especially when she told me she was the philosophy teacher. "They really make you study that here?" I asked. Apparently it's required in public high schools in Spain, Italy and France still. I am not one to think too hard. Sure, I'm a picky consumer, tend to look a bit closer before leaping and over-analyze (again) all those books that were required reading

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-63158593209595110152011-03-16T11:10:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:38:19.295-07:00

Since I work at a Catholic school, I've been asked to pray with the kids in English. I tried Hail Mary once (diosss, it's Spain, who else would I pray to?), and the Lord's Prayer a few times, but the kids seem to like Johnny Appleseed better. So, every morning after the Hello! song, we sit down and pray, just like I did before snacktime at Girl Scouts. Today, the class charlatón stood up

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-39758695489677565872011-03-11T17:46:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:39:12.595-07:00

I fell in love for the first time when I was 13, or so I claim. Nick has been, to date, one of the best boyfriends I've ever had.. There were a few other before I met Phil, but that wasn't love, just the idea of wanting to be there again with someone. Then I fell again...and hard. With tapas and toros, sunshine and siestas. After 34 days in Spain, I was hooked with the language of Cervantes, the

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-2380277255257108112011-03-06T11:17:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:39:38.295-07:00

 Since Katie thinks my photos are ok, Elizabeth already did it, and simply because there aren't enough words in the world to describe the pre-Lenten debauchery of Cádiz Carnavales. Imagine the entire historic part of Europe's longest continually inhabited city full of people in ridiculous costumes, toting bags full of alcohol and singing all night. Then, they get up during the day and watch

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-67919597017893283822011-02-28T13:32:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:39:54.160-07:00

Do you ever dream about the real Spain? With its moorish arches, strips of golden beaches, flamencos and toreros? Yeah, I live that dream. While I can't say I know anyone who is a bullfighter or live on a beach, I am happy to call Seville, the Andalusian capital home. Today, on its 31st anniversary (my boyfriend is six months older than it!) I took the time to remember what I love so much about

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-61417215782699385032011-02-27T05:39:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:40:40.950-07:00

After Kike's first trip to Somalia, I decided to throw him a surprise BBQ and invite all of his friends and a few of mine. Being American enouugh to love grilled meat and cold beer, I was shocked to find out that they way Spaniards do their barbeques no tiene ná que ver. Kike's friend Manuel invited us to his cortijo for a grill-out this weekend, and I went with sunscreen, dirty clothes and a

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-52957470184096370072011-02-25T10:06:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:40:56.786-07:00

Kelly and I were enjoying a rare day off from our teacher lives today, as our schools celebrated Teacher Day. Five hours less of slobbering, crying and poopy pants? Sounded fantastic, so we indulged in something neither of us, as wannabe sevillanas, would dare do: Go to Starbucks. It got me thinking: When did I make the switch from being a tourist here? When did I stop wanting to run around and

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-39832886227677410372011-02-21T05:15:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:41:15.208-07:00

I was pretty set on my tastes when I came to Spain. Remembering my senora's first meal in Valladolid (Ninas, this is pretty much whatever was in the fridge mixed with mayonnaise! Eat up!), I fantasized about walking so much and eating so little, I would shrivel away to nothing like any sevillana after a year in Spain. Whoa, I was wrong. Besides cheap beer, I've come to love nearly every part of

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-64303831411357362242011-02-19T07:54:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:41:29.580-07:00

Two years ago, my dear friend Lindsay called me with a jounalistic question: How do you write for a guidebook and not make it sound like a 23-year-old party girl wrote it? You give the job to me, I replied. Two years later, when the Rough Guides series asked her to update another addition, she did. I'm in the process of revising the flamenco, nightlife, shopping and practical information

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-61976944280411558262011-02-15T11:16:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:41:44.782-07:00

"What's taking so long at table three?" I asked Kike. "Is there even a man working there?" It was 3:42, twelve minutes past my appointment at Extranjería. Nervously tapping my toe, I looked over to my starved boyfriend whose unamused face had turned into extreme impatience. I was ok missing twelve more minutes of school bur was concerned my pareja wasn´t thrilled to be waiting a few more for his

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-2215369614043891192011-02-12T09:21:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:41:59.517-07:00

I think my kids and I are mutually growing on one another. This past week we celebrated Semana de Idiomas, or Language Week at school. We did a cheese tasting, read "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" and ate chocolate chip cookies, and watched videos and theater performances. By far, my favorite activity was Hello, flag! where the kids learned how to say hello and bye bye in six languages other

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-57312151788066186552011-02-09T04:00:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:42:12.494-07:00

I got a cool 1347 put into my bank account on February 2nd. On Tuesday, I spent the following: 31e on English books and materials for helping my kiddos to learn to read. 14,95e on a striped boatneck shirt at H&M. 12e on some new jewelry at Babachic on Calle Francos. 3,60e on a beer for me, Alejandro and Kike In a matter of 90 minutes, I dropped 60euros, the equivalent of what I might make

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-78387454981387218442011-02-05T10:49:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:43:09.064-07:00

Do you ever have any of those, "How the HELL did I end up here?" moments? I do frequently. They usually happen in the morning when I see how teeny my counterparts are. How did I go from being set on pursuing a serious journalistic career to wiping away snot and entertaining with the Hokey Pokey? But recently I had a good one of those moments. Kelly and I went to SIMOF, the Salón Internacional

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-20901192364858254762011-02-03T13:10:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:43:23.651-07:00

I'm home on a Thursday watching TV with the nov and his little brother. Kike is predictable: if it's between 12 and 15h, the news is on. After, it's Se lo que Hicisteis (a personal favorite of mine), then the animal documentaries while he naps. We never watch TV at night together - we're always either out drinking beers or I choose to watch American shows on the Internet. But now, we're watching

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-5063384669333680442011-01-30T10:23:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:44:19.857-07:00

Cities like Paris and Dubai and Florence are all about indulgences. Smaller cities like Sevilla are all about sharing them. I had another language assistant in to visit Sevilla for the first time this weekend, and my mission was to convince her to move to Sevilla instead of Granada. Sure, the Alhambra and free tapas in Granada are pure overindulgence, but little else is. Sevilla, on the other

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-26643909570797666142011-01-28T09:18:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:44:48.372-07:00

When I used to tell people that I worked in the little town of Olivares in rural Andalucía, all those big fancy sevillanos used to flip their hands as if to say, ain't no big thing and let out their mourning Virgen sighs and say, "chiquilla, ya tienes el cielo ganao" - you've earned your spot in heaven, girl. When I was first assigned to work at IES Heliche, I was thrilled to be put 10 miles

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-70877286202284994872011-01-23T01:42:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:47:41.161-07:00

They say a picture's worth 1.000 words, but here's a few anyway. Most of my research for China was done through the book River Town by Peter Hessler, a Peace Corps volunteer assigned to the provincial city of Fuling, along the banks of the Yangtze. While his sweeping description of the Dragon Gorge didn't prepare me for the vehicle-clogged alleys of Beijing, the food he described seemed

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-7907454570365247672011-01-16T05:35:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:47:56.721-07:00

They say a picture's worth a thousand words, but I'll write a few anyway. While traveling around Western and Southern Ireland with my parents during Christmas, we stopped in Limerick, widely known for the river Shannon that dissects it and some dude named Frank McCourt. I had brought along Angela's Ashes to read during the trip and found that Limerick was kind of like he described it: forlorn.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-20605270727731936582011-01-10T10:52:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:48:12.400-07:00

I cant believe it had been an entire year without seeing my parents and sister, but I was reminded of just how much time I'd spent apart when I arrived in Dublin last Thursday and saw my dad. "What a year!" he said, "It crawled!" I gave him a patented Nancy, are you crazy? look. What a year, indeed. Filled with milestones, farewells, travels and plan changes. Sprinkle in a few disappoinments

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-64102240195907870132010-12-20T13:24:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:50:14.246-07:00

While stopping by to see my darling suegra (spanish for mother-in-law, guiri for the mom of that Spanish dude you're dating), she commented that her bad elbow had been flaring up lately. I asked her if it was an old injury. She said, "Yeah, I pinched a tendon cutting jamón and it always acts up around Christmas time." Love that Doña Carmen.

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-80606209540271949402010-12-12T03:08:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:50:25.087-07:00

I was ten the first time someone called me nostalgic. Even though I had the reading level of a ninth-grader, I hadn't hear it before my childhood best friend, Megan, called me nostalgic. No one knew me like Megan did, from Mrs. Lonsway's second grade class up until I moved away at age 12. My life has been a continuous cycle of shedding and regrowing new skin - there seem to be few permanent

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-23388733375837328132010-12-09T04:40:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:50:47.384-07:00

When Kata came to Sevilla a few weeks ago, I inquired as to whereabouts she lived. She wroteon my facebook wall, loud and proud, "I lived in the Disneyland of Santa Cruz." To me, Santa Cruz is more old-world movie set than the happiest place on Earth. Last night, Marta took me into the center so I could run some errands. Navidad is in full-swing here, and the Christmas lights have been up for

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-5980294074791404782010-11-25T12:14:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:51:02.546-07:00

Today I had on one of those struggle faces. One of those "Don't-bug-me-or-stand-in-front-of-the-coffee-machine-as-I'm-tired" faces that Refu always points out with a jolly, Seño, tienes mala carilla! I was tired, overwhelmed by pulling off three Thanksgiving parties for 155 picky children and dreading the workday when Almudena approached me. "Cat!" she called out from halfway down the hall, "

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-85231583526774449992010-11-24T14:54:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:51:17.758-07:00

In a country where pigs trump all, I am thankful that I can eat food like this: with company like this: I will forever be thankful that my innate knowledge of English (along with the studies) make me a very desirable candidate, and that my kids DO learn when I teach the babies about America! Seven hand turkey drawings today? And I always thought they were too busy pinching each other to pay

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-89783193949105054002010-11-18T11:17:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:51:40.285-07:00

"Diego, abrígate, que hace frío!" Without a doubt the most overheard phrase in the small village of San Nicolás del Puerto. Diego, dress warmly; it's cold. In San Nicolás, San Diego reigns king over the pueblo of 700 farmers in the heart of the Sierra Norte de Sevilla hills. Amidst cork trees you'll find his white-washed shrine, his photo framed above every living room couch as the family sits

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-66647544546703038052010-11-16T22:44:00.000-08:002011-06-19T03:51:54.008-07:00

Spaniards consider stepping in dog poop lucky. I´ve had the pleasure of being shat on by birds and small children, but the dog poop I've only managed once in three years. I stepped in a big pile the night I met Kate, who incidentally lived on a street full of poop and in a house with a dog that pooped in every rincón of it. I was on my way to catch the 5 bus towards Prado for a Halloween party

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-17227006131135184782010-10-28T12:34:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:53:46.786-07:00

Fall is the time that makes me most homesick...Iowa football, leaves, and apple cider creep into my mind the second the cold sets in Sevilla. On Tuesday, I was staring down a long day at school. Classes with the babies, a meeting with the English department and a task list that keeps getting longer. It was still chilly when we went out to the playground for recess, so I ran inside to grab my

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-52628899621890394532010-10-24T04:37:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:53:59.579-07:00

I've seen the better part of Spain from the passenger seat of a 2002 LX Series Mercedes. Up and down the Vía de la Plata, cruising Sevillian streets afterhours as the sun is peaking over the top of the Giralda and hitting beach town after mountain village. Kike deciding to sell his silver car, affectionately called (HEY! I'm American! I name appliances and inanimate objects!) the Too Lame, Too

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-14097437594688364752010-10-22T07:36:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:56:29.245-07:00

My friend Lindsay, another American who worked in an elementary school in Sevilla a few years back, once told me the story of a teacher who used to berate kids for getting things wrong, getting behind in work and getting in trouble. When they learned professions, the children piped up with chants of, "I'm going to be a doctor!" or, "I'm going to be a politician!", and were immediately told that

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-2598957400698464572010-10-17T10:17:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:56:46.055-07:00

My good friend Kirsten and I were sitting at a table at Universal facing the giant salmon-pink façade of Iglesia del Salvador this afternoon. "You know," she said, "I don't know why I ever left Sevilla to go back to Germany." I don't either. There are some universal truths about Sevilla that make this place hard to leave. Kike and I were walking through the church-filled neighborhood of

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-45226619308438204852010-10-03T12:04:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:57:02.584-07:00

"So, what brings you into work today?" asked the old man sharing the bench with me at 7:48 this morning. The sun was just starting to peek over the top of the buildings in Las Tres Mil, and the Virgen del Rocío stop was busier than usual. But then again, it was the last train before 10am. "I have to go to work," I said. "I'm a teacher." And he said, "And I'm too old and too poor not to work."

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-32188380054423102332010-09-24T09:21:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:57:19.811-07:00

Remember when Rosie O'Donnell wrote that book about how kids say really funny shit? I should be writing a book these days about the lies I tell my kids. For instance, I have this little kitty puppet named Cookie. Really, she's pretty awesome and the kids LOVE her. They behave if Cookie goes back into Miss Cat's schoolbag or if I tell them Cookie is sad because the niose is hurting her little

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-41027244983565494112010-09-22T06:14:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:58:00.132-07:00

My job could be a lot worse. I mean, I spent hours each day singing, playing with puppets and categorizing flashcards. When it's all said and done, I've had fun and got pummeled with hugs, snotty kisses, and usually end up with plasticine somewhere on my clothes. The best piece of advice when starting all this was from Almudena: Throw out your high heels. Yesterday, after a moderately successful

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-76540050804414759912010-09-19T08:41:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:58:19.968-07:00

They say there are three great fan clubs in the world of sports: Barcelona FC, Real Madrid and Real Betis Balompié. All Spanish football teams, though Betis is in the second tier of the league. Despite this, Er Betí is the team that people follow with devotion and continue to fill up their stadium. José María is a socio, a season ticket holder, and he invited me to come as his guest to watch the

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-6471005902217055162010-09-17T09:03:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:59:00.765-07:00

Quick rundown: Monday, accepted a job at a private school in Sevilla. Tuesday, was accepted to study a Masters in Sevilla. Wednesday, got news that a new law makes me eligible for Spanish citizenship Thursday, because of said citizenship, via my civil union (old news, doods), I get a gym membership! Friday, almost died of exhaustion I was practically pulling out my hair not even ten days ago,

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-46866000208788639962010-09-01T04:56:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:59:29.487-07:00

La Sexta news officially announced today as the beginning of that non-magical season: WORK. While I still have a week to wake up when I please and still eat ice cream, I've come to look back on my last three months since leaving Olivares and all that's happened. small town festivals: onefireworks displays seen: threeworld cup games watched: countless. really.overnight buses to Madrid taken:

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-70681295068565270112010-08-30T00:54:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:59:43.474-07:00

When in Coruña, I met two other Forenex vets, Lais and Bryan. Both had met the summer before at the grandaddy of all FNX camps: Uclés, a real summer camp. The kind with friendship bracelets and roughing it. Not like Coruña camps, with their sailing classes and shopping trips. I decided I wanted to give Uclés a try in order to pay homage to my camp days as a kid. I got that experience and much

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-1615068446512258902010-08-13T10:38:00.000-07:002011-06-19T03:59:58.801-07:00

Camp ended and I had two choices: go to Sevilla and be bored and hot, or travel a bit through Northern Spain. I chose the later, obviously, and based my trip around two events: an overnight camping trip to Las Islas Ciés and a trip to Santander. I really just did it for Santander, since I´ve always loved Northern Spain, and the rest of the surprises and experiences were thrown in. I wanted to

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-16687778125653233342010-08-13T09:45:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:08:18.702-07:00

"We´re going to baptize her with a bottle of Cruzcampo beer!" Alfonso said, mimicking the action over his three month old baby, Luna. I tried to keep quiet, letting out on of those awkward, "I feel reaaaaallly uncomfortable and the language barrier is ever-present" giggles. Alfonso has not married his girlfriend, Susana. Both are good friends of Kike, and that´s why he´s been asked to be the

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-38429703706783672372010-08-05T03:59:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:09:31.709-07:00

In life, we all find ourselves at crossroads. I’ll be honest: mine wasn’t life-changing or even that important, but it had to be made: Spend a day in the cheese and blood sausage capital of Spain, or one in a town with a big cathedral. Those of you who know me know I would have probably chosen the first, but bus communication really decided my route. I said goodbye to Julie and José and boarded

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-17625335584755224632010-07-22T09:33:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:15:26.468-07:00

Sevilla is a frying pan in the summer. Nothing like leaving your air-conditioned apartment at 6pm to see this terrifying sight: I was suffocating from the heat, suffocating from boredom. July 10th couldn't have come fast enough. I'm currently in La Coruna, Spain, a beautiful and quirky city on the northeast coast in the province of Galicia. This is the land of misty valleys, supersitious

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-75217772099679888562010-07-12T14:58:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:15:59.879-07:00

OueOueOue! Little pulpito Paul has done it again and brought Spaniards together the way not even Los San Fermines can. I had to stand on my tip toes for 90 minutes plus an extra 30 before I got tears in my eyes watching my novio, Iker Casillas, hoist Spain's first World Cup over his head. While I would have probably sold my little tentacled-friend en negro to be in Bernabeu in Madrid, I

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-52565176533732893872010-07-06T10:39:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:16:16.277-07:00

I seem to be dreaming in rojo these days, changing classes and donning face paint to support LA ROJA. Four-hundred fifty minutes and six goals later, Spain is in the semifinals for the first time in world Cup history, led by El Guaje, David Villa. I am glued to the TV like I would be to the Olympics. Doesn´t everyone remember my stating I don´t really like fútbol? Retracted.Something about

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-79090065600638866862010-06-21T01:55:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:16:34.654-07:00

Spring in Sevilla is like a four-act play: insence and nazarenos followed by sherry and sevillanas. Next comes the heat and absence of people in the streets and, finally, signs proclaiming HAY CARACOLES. Snails here. While the squishy little animal is enough to make any American squirm, caracoles are anticipated the same way that we wait for sweetcorn on the 4th. As soon as the temprature

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-71139931895165915962010-06-10T13:22:00.001-07:002011-06-19T04:16:57.741-07:00

I was six the first time I got sent to the principal´s office. Still had the little boy haircut, still loved school and my teachers, still had no idea why boys and girls ever ended up getting married. Then, Josh Rollins and David Damby lifted up my dress to reveal my underwear on the playground one afternoon at King Elementary School. I was horrified. The sixth grade safety guard told me to run

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-6970452044552709832010-05-28T07:30:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:43:23.650-07:00

3ºB Sara and Ana from 1ºbilingual and they cake they made me 4ºA My gifts from 2ºBilingual Every beginning has an end. The end of a relationship, the end of the road, the end of time. And my time was finally up at Heliche this week. To imagine the 1200+ hours spent teaching, laughing, trying to keep the kids from acting like zoo animals, drinking coffee (or anise!) in the teacher's lounge,

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-66868755954219366602010-05-23T04:08:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:20:51.520-07:00

If there are two typically Spanish things, it's futbol and fiesta. If you're lucky, they both happen the same day. May 18th, if you're a Sevillano, may very well have been one of the best days of your life. Here's a play-by-play of last Wednesday: 7:15 - Wake up to shouts of, "QUE VIVA LA BLANCA PALOMA!" Or, long live the white dove! and the subsequent release of cannons. The mass of the Virgen

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-27973030410958156412010-05-13T11:40:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:21:11.759-07:00

In Spanish, like in English, there exist many tenses. If you're an English speaker, you might say, My name is Cat, and I'm writing a blog entry. The first half is present simple, used for facts, habits and every day occurences, while the second refers to what one is doing at this very moment; in other words, the present continuous. Manu, the very same one that called me poor for not having any

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-83950177258546678412010-05-05T06:02:00.001-07:002011-06-19T04:21:24.480-07:00

If I have learned anything in Spain, it's to not believe anything until it's signed, sealed and delivered. Or, in the Junta de Andalucia's case, signed, stamped and hand-delivered. But even without that piece of paper giving me a job back, I know the chances are less than a finding a Spanish vegetarian. I'm out of a job come the end of the month. I did expect this all along, and I'm ready for

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-12952135964065847342010-04-26T05:14:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:22:01.585-07:00

Pues, VAYA MES! Between Semana Santa and the Language Village came Branko's visit, barbeques, azahar, springtime's quick transition to summer and, claro, the April Fair. Menudo primavera que hemos pegao! I haven't had two moments to sit still, so I'll just leave some photos at the moment, as well as a link to my ode to Feria on Matt's travel blog. churros at 6am with my visitor and our beers

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-53726577727271375912010-04-04T11:52:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:22:16.479-07:00

After spending a week traveling through central Europe and a few hours elbowing through crowds to see Holy Week processions, I needed to escape. Too many somber, Lenten beer-less (ok, not really) days of pentence and adoration. I needed to go see a bull being released. So, I´ve been a bad Catholic and haven´t given up anything for Lent for years, so Easter to me, with its lack of chocolate

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-61827683353085735282010-04-03T11:45:00.001-07:002011-06-19T04:22:33.952-07:00

Last night, while on a six-hour bus ride from Madrid back to Sevilla, Lauren and I contemplated our trip to Budapest and Prague - the strange people, the beautiful cityscapes, the hordes of traditional Easter food we devoured. But, as the sun was setting over some stones ruins in the olive tree dotted hills of Jaen, I felt home. I love to travel, but am starting to love coming home to Sevilla

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-787552002536567952010-03-26T09:22:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:22:54.580-07:00

These days, everything in Seville has being making me a little bit amargada. The rain has let up, meaning that Sevillanos have returned to the streets to shop, sit on terraces and become intoxicated with the magical white flowers that have finally bloomed (the azahar, along with a new flamenco dress, have been the two things saving my spring). Normally, this fills me with ganas to drink beer,

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-27636328938745551582010-03-03T01:45:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:24:11.938-07:00

It was kinda like the scene out of the Blue Brothers. You know, when Elwood and Jake slide on their shades and roll towards Chicago. Only we were three girls, two pairs of sunglasses and a full tank of gas heading down the A-5, direccion Malaga. Our destination was Antequera, a small town known as the Heart of Andalucia for it's proximity to Cordoba, Sevilla and Malaga. Beautiful town, great

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-5451841723605325762010-02-17T14:54:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:24:28.063-07:00

Since I was 12, I've hated clowns. Circuses are out of the question, and even watching my childhood favorite, Bozo the Clown, makes me shiver. It's probably due to a dream Beth and I both had when we were in middle school. But suddenly, I found myself in a city where everyone was dressed as one - red noses, painted faces and a deranged look (in all fairness, that was due to the cold weather and

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-74896151246072190282010-02-02T03:45:00.000-08:002010-02-17T14:31:26.396-08:00

On the heels of some bad news, I have two pieces of good news:I joined a gym. And I've actually been going! Afraid Kike's pirate fighting absence would get me all moody and hating Spain, I'm putting that negative enegry to good use. Turns out he's staying till late July like last year, so we've declared June the month of the "Equipo Fiestón" Christene and I are going to watch every single World

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-31246064751786863702010-01-19T14:51:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:25:03.756-07:00

NOURRDEM "Do you know why you are so sexy?" Nourrdem asked as he twisted a two-toned scarf around my head. I quivered a little bit, but couldn't hold in my giggles when he said, "Is the hair on your arms. It makes you to be seeeeexy!" We were in his shop (or his cousin's, or someone's) at the edge of the souk by way of an invitation to mint tea. At first hesistant, I remembred a high school´s

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-23142241940978584722010-01-06T19:11:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:25:29.765-07:00

My wealth was recently evaluated by a very smart-alecky nine-year-old. "Oh, you don't have any play mobile toys? It's because you're poor. Even though you have a job, you have to teach me English for extra money, right?" My darling Manu, future right-wing politician. This came in response to my question, "What did you ask the Three Kings for?" And he answered, "The Play Mobile pirate ship, the

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-135459505660978762009-12-25T18:53:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:32:25.716-07:00

Remember how my first memory is of a tornado ripping right past my preschool in Rockford? Or how I cowered in the staircase at ADPi when the twister flattened half of Iowa City? I am TERRIFIED of tornadoes. And the weather a mere two hours before I left Sevilla to come home for Christmas resembled a tornado warning - wind knocking over trees, freezing sleet. Thanksfully my train left on time, my

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-32556749220246050312009-12-19T08:16:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:32:50.338-07:00

This commerical, for the Sevillian beer brand Cruzcampo, makes me proud to be casi Sevilla!! www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GYDdybqwrA Translation: Andalusia, Andalusia isn't where Europe ends, it's where it begins. Here is more or less where the New World began. We have oceans, fields, snow and deserts. We have everyone from cowboys to British soldiers. And we have art, a lot of art (in this sense,

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-17272469162866968522009-12-17T12:00:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:33:07.488-07:00

Christmas lights outside Plaza de Armas The coil of churros was so long, the oil sputtering from the fryer started to burn the man. JODER! CONO! and a long string of explicatives were his reply before fishing the fried batter out of the oil with a long, wooden stick and a pair of tongs and cutting it with a pair of scissors. Pff, Que aproveches, he said to me bitterly while sliding them onto a

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-84775537128130148872009-12-08T11:23:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:33:29.332-07:00

Tita said, "We call it Extremadura for a reason, hija: extre because we're so far west, and madura because everything here is just more harsh." There could not be a better name for this Spanish outback, which seems to encapsulate all things salvaje, or wild: the sky is equally cloudy and empty, stretching out for miles towards, well, nothing. The towns here, with names like Saint Anthony's

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-68238426564762127082009-11-30T23:43:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:33:55.779-07:00

Yesterday, relieved that both Santiago and Nuria were sick, I took the three little ones to the kitchen for a lesson in likes and dislikes. I let little Ramoncito, who is four, color a picture of Santa and a Christmas tree while the older two, Clara and Paloma were given two magazines each to cut out and paste three things they like and three things they dislike. The girls chose things like

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-67405859154690076532009-11-28T05:02:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:34:15.495-07:00

I'm responsible for occassionally posting to our bilingual blog. Since it's turkey week, I posted a number of websites for crafts, games and interactive activities regarding Thanksgiving and the Pilgrims. Then, I posed the question: What are you thankful for? Read what they've written here

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-40785404905455877802009-11-22T14:47:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:34:26.399-07:00

Some people say that dreaming in a foreign language is a sign of fluency. I've yet to dream in Spanish, and I consider myself pretty proficient in it. I was half asleep on Saturday evening watchign a documentary on China on TV. I pretty much came out of a coma to start talking about Beijing and gymnastics and my trip in February. Kike just laughed and said, "Pretty amazing you're awake and

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-18872291778218893192009-11-18T07:03:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:35:10.144-07:00

When I embarked on this eight-month holiday abroad, I was comforted by the fact that two of my college buddies, Matt and Brian, were just a short flight away in Ireland. Three trips later, we'd met up in Galway, Ireland and Edinburgh, Scotland and Seville, Spain. Somehow having a little touch of home in a far away land where pig legs cure right over your head, Cruzcampo flows like water and

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-43078357778721706592009-11-15T12:01:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:35:21.638-07:00

The only giveaway to the pueblo blanco nestled on the crest was the white barricade snaking around the hill. "Did you know that this town has one of the higest suicide rates in all of Spain?" Kike asked as we climbed. "They say the wind drives you mad."Nice introduction. As part of our agreement, I would go to the base with him on Saturday to do nothing more than watch TV and sleep if he took

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-45061331326633992192009-11-06T01:46:00.000-08:002011-06-19T04:35:35.978-07:00

I have a dear, dear friend. While I was gone my first year, she met and fell in love with a guy. I was eager to meet him, but was stunned and hurt at why he attacked me for moving out of the country. Now it's just a running joke between us, but as much as people gush about how cool it is that I live abroad, few ever rush to renew their passport and apply for visas. I don't have a whole lot of

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-23826684345387588772009-11-05T12:22:00.001-08:002011-06-19T04:35:48.510-07:00

This week, I taught my children the words: Muttonchops, FML and bullshit. Maybe it's time to rethink my career choices...

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-61672646266346417582009-10-24T12:06:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:36:00.275-07:00

Kike's dad has a dehesa. In other words, a big old farm in the rolling hills of the Sierra Morena full of oak trees whose acorns feed the big, fat, black pigs who live within the fences of Finca Roche. The jamon iberico from these parts is world famous - and with reason. I rounded up a whole lot of people to go to Aracena, a pueblo blanco in the hills of the Huelva province, for their annual

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-83522626726462020082009-10-20T11:33:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:36:16.211-07:00

Rain in Sevilla may just bring about the Apocalypse. Being from Chicago, I've adapted to severe cold and extreme heat, rain, tornadoes, and everything in between. But now that I've moved to a city that sees five times more sunny days than rainy ones and reaches 115 degrees in June, I forget that rain and snow must seem like the world is coming to an end for a normal Sevillano. I watched the

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-4484941959130768102009-10-13T12:08:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:36:31.486-07:00

I have to admit that I had butterflies in my stomach the entire ride between Toronto (which is, for the record, 7 hours with tailwind, but a broken brake kept us grounded an extra two hours). I didn't know if I was making a good decesion, which was then exacerbated by the delay and the lack of train tickets and the lio of Alejandro telling me he wasn't going to pick me up because Kike need a lift

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-15804915481485774012009-10-01T08:35:00.001-07:002011-06-19T04:36:47.190-07:00

i refuse to get twitter, but i have so many random thoughts that really belong on a twitter, even if for my own good. dear bombona man, i'll forgive you for coming at 8am and waking me up. but to come after i fall back asleep AND during siesta? no me vale. quejarse a su mismo no vale si, entre amigos, se pueden quejar de las mismas cosas. (what good is complaining alone if you can just bitch

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7434176712596093683.post-12641054788213276452009-09-30T11:31:00.000-07:002011-06-19T04:36:58.632-07:00

I like a lot of things about Spain: siestas, drinking beer outside on a terraza, my awesome health care. But I especially love Spanish men (mullets and all!). This article is being passed around to all American women here in Sevilla, and thanks to Erin for sending it to me!! http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/09/29/germans-stink-in-bed-literally/?icid=mainmaindl3link4http://www.lemondrop.com/2009/09/

Cathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15113908800685748951noreply@blogger.com1