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Volume CXXXII, Number 16 |
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Sleep besieged in Barcelona
KITTY SULLIVAN
ORIENT STAFF
Leg warmers, hair crimpers, and Cyndi Lauper...am I in an 80s time warp? Nope, just Barcelona. The city's fixation with the eregone decade is just an example of how almost daily my preconceived notions of the culture and people are challenged and sometimes turned upside down.
Food is obviously one of the most direct ways a visitor is introduced to a particular society, and for me, that introduction came standing face-to-hoof with a long, dripping leg and hindquarter of a pig, propped atop the counter of a relatively upscale bar. It seems as though Americans are much more squeamish about their meat-preferring not to view any skin, feather, or the above-mentioned hoof that would remind them of the origin of their nicely prepared steak or chicken breast.
Barcelonans are not quite so faint-hearted, as was evident when my Spanish classmates generously offered me butifarra negro, a local delicacy. After suspiciously cross referencing it in my trusty dictionary later on, I realized I had eaten blood sausage. Yum. Keep in mind that these were the same girls who queasily watched me make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
The language barrier also can be frustrating at times, even more so due to the presence of Catalan, a Romance language similar to Spanish that sounds French and looks Italian. Franco, the former dictator of Spain, completely prohibited its use, but after his death in 1975, the province of Catalunya re-embraced it as a way to reassert their autonomy. While these linguistic factors are obviously responsible for a degree of confusion on the part of a foreigner, it can still be embarrassing to insistently ask the grocery store clerk for what translates to "shell cream" rather than peanut butter. But hey, I am learning.
Another big time cultural adjustment? The city's almost superhuman ability to stay out all hours of the night. Bowdoin students may feel as though they have made a good weekend showing if they pre-game after dinner, show their faces at a few campus-wides, then round out the night with an off-campus party; stumbling contentedly back to bed around 2:00 a.m. Here however, clubs do not OPEN until 3:00 a.m. and things really don´t pick up until 3:30 a.m. or 4:00 a.m. Then, it is customary to finish up with breakfast in the morning, making it back home at the reasonable hour of 7:00 a.m. or 8:00 a.m. For someone who, on occasion, finds it difficult to stay awake through Saturday Night Live, this has been an adjustment.
One of the biggest paradoxes here is the people's love/hate relationship with America. I knew it existed in varying degrees throughout the world, but it is a strange juxtaposition to see first-hand Spaniards wearing Levis and listening to Christina Aguilera, and at the same time telling my friends and I we should be ashamed to be Americans-likening our country's actions to those of Nazi Germany.
For the most part, Spaniards are not quite so outspoken about their political beliefs, but it can still feel awkward to slink past a "No a La Guerra" rally, complete with unflattering posters of Bush and Blair.
In these uncertain times, many of the abroad students have had pangs of homesickness for America (why do I crave Burger King's French toast sticks?), but so far, studying in Barcelona has been an amazing opportunity to truly become immersed in another culture-to get a different perspective on your country and customs and to discover their history and culture to a deeper degree than simply touring would allow.
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