I noted a number of differences this weekend, when I ventured out of Sevilla to meet the family of my “señora,” Elena. She is about 30 years old, and she works with CIEE, doing course registration and other office-type stuff. She is studying to become a lit teacher for high school here, and her boyfriend, who she has been dating for 12 years, is an elementary school gym teacher. They are both from very small towns, about 1 minute apart via car, but still considered separate towns for… well, some unknown reason.
We arrived at the boyfriend’s house to meet his mother, and I was absolutely amazed at the difference in house-structure. The rooms had beautifully painted tile up the walls, and very high ceilings – in order to avoid the hat of summer. The main room of Elena’s house also features huge, arched stain-glass windows that can be opened on nice days to fill the center of the house with sun. Unfortunately it was raining, but at least I got to see the rear patio, filled with her mother’s plants. Seeing the home of Elena’s parents almost made me wish that I was staying in a small house here in Spain for the opportunity to live in that sprawling beauty. After hearing about how little there is to do in the town, however, I’m satisfied with my place in Sevilla.
We arrived just before lunch hour, so after a quick tour of the house, during which Elena’s mother showed me every picture of Elena and her brother Juan, as well as the paintings of flowers that she does, we congregated in the kitchen and food was prepared. I offered to help, and they were nearly offended, thus resulting in my first Comment: In America, our homes revolve around the kitchen. In my family, especially, all family holidays take place in the kitchen; everyone arrives bringing some form of food, or puts on an apron and begins doing some task. It’s the warmest, most lively location, and I reflected on the “sitting room” society that the Spanish (and the Brazilians) tend to cling to – that of keeping up appearances and keeping the acts of preparing food and enjoying food quite separate.
The next big show of the weekend was going with Juan to his cousin’s hunting camp and seeing “la cierra,” or the real countryside. Elena and her family seemed very worried that I was worried about getting cold or dirty, or that I wouldn’t understand the colloquial terms that the young people used. I was quite nonplussed, being a “country girl,” and also as it simply does not bother me to be alone in a new group of people. The most remarkable thing about the whole adventure, which consisted of a table full of all sorts of drinks, cooking varieties of Spanish meats in the roaring fire, hunter’s jokes and antics, the plucking of pajaritos – small birds the boys had shot, the cooking of said pajaritos, harvesting of oranges, and a long walk around the wilderness, was how exactly similar it is to gatherings that my friends and I perpetuate in the states. Well, back home in Vermont, at least. I really couldn’t express the humor that I found at being continually asked if I thought the things they were doing were strange, when I was constantly thinking of how much I was reminded of home. The world may be huge, but when it comes to rural, I think we all do things pretty similarly.
Unfortunately, I forgot my camera, but in order to mentally view this weekend, simply think "Vermont."
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