s'mores are to pilgrimages ....

... as the United States is to Spain.

Stick with me here... I'm pulling this analogy from some of my more recent experiences here... Give me a minute, and I promise it will make sense.

First of all... Beth and I went with some of my "gym friends" to camp out for a night on the beach in Portugal. Ridiculous. So fun. We were eight total, four boys, four girls. The guys surfed, and we layed out. The beaches in Southern Portugal are absurd as you can see from the pictures... coves surrounded by cliffs.

Our adventure was that we did not take into account that we were on the ocean and, of course, there was a tide that rose. Even after a Portuguese policeman came down to our camp ground to tell us to put out our illegal fire and warned us about high tide... the boys were suuuuuuure it would not reach us... well, reach us it did and we were forced to take down our tents and move our campground in the middle of the night. Hilarious.

But before our fun was impeded by the fun police... Beth and I busted out graham crackers, chocolate, and marshmellows to make s'mores. And not unlike the plump little redhead in The Sandlot explaining the s'more process to Smalls... I enlightened my favorite Spanish friends on the proper preparation of s'mores... and in Spanish I might add. Hilarious. I never knew how complex s'mores were until this night. They made the procedures so complex... "how long do I let this roast?" "I put this on the STICK?" "aaaaahhhhh, it's on fire!!!" Something that is soooo normal for us... incredibly foreign to them. But yes, they did enjoy.

So... moving along. A few days ago marked the beginning of yet another festival (God bless Spain) called El Rocio. If anyone is familiar with the festivals here in Sevilla, I would describe this one as a mixture of Semana Santa (Holy Week) and the Feria (the Fair) as El Rocio blends the flamenco dress of Feria with the religious thumbprint of Semana Santa. Basically El Rocio is a huge pilgrimage where people come from all over and congregate in this tiny pueblo called El Rocio that has no paved roads, but instead dirt ones straight out of our wild, wild west.

A bunch of the professors from my school all elected to do the camino (walk) from Almonte to El Rocio together... so they rented a tractor and basically a flatbed trailor with seats, a table, and coolers full of alcoholic beverages and enough food to feed Africa which we decorated beautfully. Two wonderful professors, Lola and Isabel, took me under their wing and decorated me up flamenco style complete with dress, manta (the shawl thing), and a flower. Hilarious. The real deal.

Basically, we rode down a dirt path with oodles of other people on horses and in carriages, stopping umpteen times in the patches of trees to pull down our table and set up moooooore food. We NEVER stopped eating. Haha. And aaaanytime we were moving, we were singing songs as we had a guitar, multiple tambourines, and castinets with us on the journey. The most fabulous part was seeing our students throughout the day all dressed up either really excited or reeeeeeally embarrased to see us, a bunch of professors, out. Did I mention that I rode side saddle on the back of the horse with one of my students? Photographic proof of that soon to come. We didn't leave til about 2am... I got back to Sevilla at 3am. Classic.

And to come full circle and complete my analogy. Basically... pilgimages/festivals such as this where you dress in flamenco dresses and travel by horse and tractor to a church are as normal to them as eating s'mores are to us... yet s'mores seem as strange and complex to them as this crazy pilgrimage seems to us.
They have been dressing in these clothes and dancing these dances and participating in these festivals since they were teeny-tiny. Amazing. Fascinating. Phenomenal. Wow.

So s'mores, right?

The Oops Hair-cut

But First...

Julie Ann's Top Five Unique Observations of Things Spain Has in Large Quantities:
(well... at least they've stood out to me recently for one reason or another)

5) over-abundance of mullets... they are not only an acceptable, but also a "cool" do... this isn't new, but with the warm weather... they are apoppin' out all over the place

4) profusion of mayonnaise... (which is one of the most difficult words to spell, I'm just saying)... they eat it with anything and everything... french fries, salads, chips... you gotta break someone's arm just to find a little ketchup 'round here

3) plentitude of paper napkins... these things are not what we consider normal, practical (read purposefully absorbent) paper napkins... no, these are cousins to tissue paper and dispel liquids... right

2) popularity of in-line skaters... whoo-whoo... bust out the knee and elbow pads... this sport was never a fad... a fad implies an activity that was short-lived... viva in-line skating here

and finally...

1) copiousness of "jean on jean"... "denim on denim"... "the Canadian tuxedo"... no matter what you call it... it's all here... like the mullet... not only is it admissible... it is also attractive... I knew I was adjusting to Spain when I considered doing it myself... when the thought even crossed my mind... then in a desperate moment... during a trip to Marbella when no other jacket-layer was available and the cool (read freezing) Mediterraean Sea night breeze was ablowin'... I broke down... I'm not above that... I don't judge... drastic times call for drastic measures... and here is the picture to prove it.

This picture also brings to light a new, inadvertant chapter to Julie Ann's Spanish life.
So I went to the salon with a medium length hair-cut photo in hand... apparently, the girl mistook me for Meg Ryan because that's whose short hair-cut I left with.
I have to give it to myself because I held it together at the salon... but when I called Beth and then ran for refuge in her piso... there were tears... oh yes... as well as a few choice fuerte words that I must admit I did drop.
All I could think of was how after the girl made the initial hack to my head (to which I was oblivious thanks to a stupid magazine full of pictures of Victoria Beckham and Doña Letizia)... she said "si, es un gran cambio"... and how I wanted to respond "yeah, un UNITENDED gran cambio, punk."
My only condolence is that, yes, it will grow, and quickly.
Short hair is not "my" thing. It's weird. I feel weird. Oh well.
But the kids' reactions at school are the best... hilarious.

Although I would rather like to hide this until it grows... here are a few photos which include the new do... plus a good outline of my past few weekends. Thanks to the plethora of holidays in Spain, Beez and I went to the playa in Marbella (a fantastic, not to mention popular little vacation spot for Eurpeans) that has beautiful beaches and also mountains (ooooh). Then we went to Amsterdamsssss which, of course, was lovely and hilarious. (By the way, to clear things up, Amsterdam is a city in the country of the Netherlands in the province of North Holland where the people and language are called Dutch... and yes, I had just learned that.) We walked aaaaaall over the lovely city, biked through the Dutch countryside looking like refugees (note bags tied to bike with rope), and ate... a lot (mainly ice cream for me). Unfortunately... as it was just the two of us... most pictures are either of just one or the other of us... or the classic "self-taken" photo... at any rate... at least they give you a good idea of the hair-cut. And yes, these last two fotos of me were taken the same day... note the ice cream in both... and can I just say that on the left that is ice cream I had on my crepe-like pancake... foooooor breakfast. Oh yeah.