gazpacho for the ego

Who needs chicken soup for the soul when Spain provides the ego with gazpacho?

As any female who has spent any short period of time in Spain would know... Spanish men are renowned for their piropos or cat calls.

To receive a piropo is not exactly a huge feat as they are given out quite generously. I have received them while in the middle of a long, sweaty run on a hot day when - as hard as it may be to believe - I was not looking so attractive. Needless to say... piropos do not retain demanding requisites. As long as one possesses female anatomy and a beating heart, she is a potential recipient... and I have my doubts about that second condition being entirely essential.

Also... the population that yields these piropos is extensive. It's not just the stereotypical construction workers that those from the United States would immediately assume. It's any male, young or old, wearing a business suit or a soccer (fútbol) jersey.

Now, these piropos are so widespread that we even cover this subject in orientation with my newly arrived students ever semester. We let them know that they are basically simple expressions to vocalize an observation that a male makes about a female from afar and are, for all intensive purposes, harmless and do not necessitate any type of reaction or even acknowledgment.

So, on to the reason why I'm writing. I received the most bizarre piropo yet today.

I'm riding my bike home from church after having purchased a box of ice cream bars for a housemate to replace her box that I finished last night. (Oops.)
I'm wearing a fabulous yellowy-orange summer dress that I bought in a lovely hippie town in southern Oregon and that my mom just mailed to me. (Thanks, Mom.)
I stop at the last traffic light before my house and wait for the little green man to show up across the street.
I look to the left to watch for cars.
Right next to me pulls up a middle-aged business-looking man in a suit and helmet.
Very conversationally, he looks directly at me and pretty much says (translated)... "that's one great ass you have."

No response.

Conclusion: Who needs something healthy like chicken soup for the depths of your soul when Spain is right there feedin' you good ole' gazpacho for your superficial ego. I swear, ladies, if you're feelin' bad about yourself or the way you look... get yourself on a plane to Spain and come visit me for a weekend, it'll do wonders for that self-confidence. Vanity, shmanity.

Warning: You kinda miss it when you leave Spain. I get back to the US, and I'm like "what? No one's saying anything to me. Am I not pretty anymore?" Eeeehhh... it's worth the risk.



PS... everyone is welcomed and encouraged to come visit Julie Ann in Sevilla.

Spotlight on Ukraine

I had the most unbelievable opportunity to visit my friends Kelly and Jared in Ukraine (which I learned is entirely incorrect to call the Ukraine, so consider yourself now informed) with my friend Sarah who has been living in France. Now... Kelly and Jared speak Ukrainian and Russian respectively... so Sarah and I lazily rested in the fact that we needed not worry of our sheer ineptness to communicate in Ukraine while in their presence. Therefore... when the inevitable departure date rolled around... we were highly unprepared and supér-nerviosas.

Now... while traveling in some countries may be easy... be not fooled about Ukraine. To get to Kelly's town in Ukraine... we literally took planes, trains, and automobiles over a period of three days and four countries (in my case).

Sevilla to London by plane,
London to Krakow by plane,
Krakow to Lviv by overnight bus,
Lviv to Rivna by train,
Rivna to Sarny by bus (read: glorified van).

Now Kelly is an absolute gem and traveled all the way to Poland to pick up her helpless friends and guide them across the border at the beginning of the trip... however, she does have a job teaching English which forced Sarah and Julie Ann to mature into "big girls" rather quickly.

She rode with us on the scary bus (called a marshuka... but in Julie Ann's Ukrainian, that would be marushka, as I have not a prayer at remembering how to pronounce anything... but in reality, this is the glorified van with no shocks so as to absorb the greatest amount of the pot-holes-o-plenty that Ukrainian roads provide).

She put Sarah and me on our train, and we waved goodbye to her through our window and embarked on what turned out to be the most hilarious portion of our trip (which is saying a lot considering we did not stop laughing our entire time in Sarny.)

Sarah and I survived our day in the enchanting city of Lviv... managing to remain only slightly ripped of and taken advantage of by only one of our three taxi drivers. And found ourselves waiting at the Lviv bus station for our 10pm night bus to Krakow a safe and solid two hours early.

Here's where the fun starts.

Sarah and I sit down on a bench with our suitcases, completely content to chit-chat and laugh about our adventures while giving thanks to God that we'd made it that far. Then we begin to notice this Ukrainian man keeps passing by us repeatedly. Finally he stops to talk to us.
"dfkdrejrhejkrekljrklejrkl."
We stare at him vacantly.
"dhdrjekrlejklrejkrjek."
We are immediately suspicious that he has not-so-pure intentions as any female American traveler has been taught to surmise, so we ignore and keep on talking. He leaves.
A minute or so later... he shows up again.
"fdjkldjkejrkejrkeljrekl kiev dhklejrkeljrkel."
We stare at him.
"rjkerjekjrekjrkej ruso? erekrjekrjekjek."
"No, no ruso," I answer.
"fjdkrjekrjekrjek polaka? jkerjekrjek."
"No, no polaka. " I point to myself, "Spanish." I point to Sarah, "French."
"fjdkrjeioreiorjed deutsch? ehkrejkrejkl."
"No, English, Spanish, and French." I say, indicating to myself and Sarah, respectively.
"fdjkrerjkejk." He runs off and returns with a round, older man who says, "jkerjek deutsch."
"No."
"rjkerjekkjk." He runs off again and this time returns with a cute blond woman who says, "erjekrejk italiano!" in this fantasitic Ukrano-Italian accent.
Then appears this other blond woman with a little girl, both screaming "rehrejkjkj nospeakenglish! drherejkljkjk."

At this point in time... we communicate through a mixture of broken English and my deciphering of Ukrano-Italian with my Spanish knowledge and establish the fact that Sarah and I had not missed the Kiev bus (which apparently the original Ukrainian man, not a creeper as we had first assumed, had worried.) When they realize we have a whole two hours to wait for the bus to Krakow... they immediately invite us to their office where they have a bus travel company between Ukraine and Germany (hence why someone spoke deutsch) to have coffee.

Why not?

They sit us down on their couch and are all talking at once attempting to figure out our story through Ukrainian, broken English, and Ukrano-Italian-Spanish as they begin to serve us coffee and shove little sandwiches at us. Finally, the German-speaking pudgy round man calls his English-speaking son, passes me the mobile phone and has me explain to his son who and what we are who then is able to solve the mystery... and then the round man disappears.

The little girl then busts out her English books from school... the original Ukrainian busts out bottles of champagne and vodka wanting to start some toasts... I bust out a pencil so Sarah can write down English vocab for this little girl... and the two woman repeatedly explain to us (absolutely no less than five times... one in English and one in our Ukrano-Italian)... that they know how to speak lots of languages (Ukrainian, Russian, Polish) but they're just learning English. Oh, and that the one U-I-S speaker is married to the original (now drinking vodka and constantly repeating his new favorite phrase "nospeakenglish" rapidly amongst crazy Ukrainian, and doing so with a remarkably good English accent, ironically enough) Ukrainian... she is 36 and he is 31 (cinque, cinque) she keeps telling me (that she is five years older) and that they've been together for 3 years and that he doesn't get along with her 16-year-old daughter. All the while asking me "capici? capici?" to assure herself of my understanding. (All that from Ukrano-Italian... not bad, eh?)

Then somehow... after the first (yes, I said first as in "there are more than one") bottle of champagne is opened and sipped through plastic dixie type cups... Sarah gets the grand idea of teaching the children's song "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" to the little girl. Immediately it is decided that this song HAS to be recorded onto their mobile phones so the little girl can bring it to her school on Monday and teach it to her English class. (See video below of Sarah and 3 Ukranians sing and dance while Julie Ann and vodka drinker record).

At some point in time, the vodka drinker leaves, goes to a market nearby, and returns with two of the most amazing boxes of Ukrainian chocolates to gift to me and Sarah. At this point... we become aware of the fact that it is 9:30 and our bus has arrived. We attempt to say our goodbyes, but are met with the many protests of a now crying little girl and a new bottle of champagne which for some reason, they want me to open.

We excuse ourselves and make it over to the bus to put our suitcases on. The friendliest crew of Ukrainians then follows us out to the bus with more plastic cups and the second bottle of champagne. The semi-English-speaking woman talks to the driver in Ukrainian and tells us "don't worry... he no leave without you." And they proceed to fill our glasses and we make toast after toast to friendship.

It is now 9:55pm... I am exchanging phone numbers with the Ukrano-Italian speaking woman and her vodka drinking husband... capici? capici? Sarah and I are drinking faster to try and finish off the bottle so we can get on the bus, and it won't leave us. They keep reassuring us "don't worry, Sarah... don't worry, Julie." (Yes, we are now on a first-name basis.)

The next thing we know... the bus is cranking up... and backing out.

Sarah spazzes. With full plastic dixie cups of champagne, we run to the door and she starts BANGING on the plastic. The bus driver is CRACKING up. The Ukrainians are yelling "Silly Sarah... don't worry... bus don't go... capici? capici?" To which Sarah and I are responding... "umm... helloooooo... it IS going!! What are you people talking about??"

So the driver finally opens the door... we leap on all the while blowing kisses at our new friends, balancing our boxes of chocolates, and trying not to spill our champagne dixie cups. We walk up the little stairs to the only two available seats left which (thankfully) are the front ones... and find ourselves looking at a very unamused mixture of 30 to 40 Polish and Ukrainian people. Ooops. Spectacle?

The bus heads towards the gate of the bus complex... and we watch our semi-English speaking friend open it for the driver. Ooooooooohhhh... THAT'S why we weren't supposed to worry. Silly communication barrier.

We're halfway through the gate, and here this woman comes running again with her little girl... THROWING herself in front of the bus, WAVING her arms, and screaming STOP in a beautiful Ukrainian accent. Reluctantly our now slightly annoyed bus driver opens the door yet again... and the woman pops up to pass me my pencil. MY MECHANICAL PENCIL which I had left in their office when we were doing English vocabulary. Do people GET any nicer than this???

So... that's my story. It's long, but it's good.

Conclusion: Ukrainians are THE most friendly, hospitable people I've ever met in my life.

So good.


Please note how my Ukrano-Italian friend spills the champagne in all the excitement, and then starts speaking Italian at the end.

what i did for work yesterday.

So yesterday was the "fiesta flamenca" for Acento de Trinity.



We went to the Hospital de la Caridad where we often go to play Bingo.
They set up a caseta (tent) for us and served us food in true feria style as my students performed the sevillanas dance that their dance instructors (ie my roommates) have been teaching them this past semester.
Words just can't complete explain... so here is a video.
This is just a small flavor of how people really dress during feria, which (unfortunately) I will be missing this year because (fortunately) I have the opportunity to leave tonight to meet up with a friend living in France to go visit my friend working in the Peace Corps in the Ukraine.

PS... new fun game.
Here is a picture of a nurse who works at the home for the elderly.
The game is called "look closely for the action that you would never see a nurse do at a home for the elderly in the US."