Gypsies and Giris: a Seville War

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Apologies for the lack of updates, I've been staying so busy lately. In no way is that true actually, I've just been a sloth. The days here can be so lazy. As strange as it is for me to say this, I think there might actually be too much time in the day for napping. It’s so underwhelming, it’s overwhelming - not that I’m complaining. It’s how I think my 'happy place' might resemble, like from Happy Gilmore, except minus the portly monster Marisol waddling around busting my balls at all hours of the day.

As of late, David and I have been spending a great deal of time waiting in the room before lunch or dinner, which occurs (in theory) at 2:30 and 9:00 respectively. Rarely is this schedule followed and the excess of time spent in the room has led to a pattern of irregular behavior. Let me explain. As sad as this may sound, we idle our time away by listening to ring tones, making animal noises/various noises, playing Mega Man, etc. I’ll give you a brief transcript of a typical exchange we might have before dinner:

Andy and David are sitting on their beds facing each other. SILENCE.

Andy: softly “......ahhh” (tentatively breaks the silence, making the sound from the Grudge)
David thoughtlessly joins in.
David: “Ahhhhhhhhh…..”
Andy: “…ahhhohhahh…” (changing the intonation a bit)
David: “Whoaaahhohahhh…” (switching it up as well)
PAUSE. They both stop (moment of realization).

David: “…what the **** are we doing?”

What the **** were we doing!? Anyways, what I’m trying to convey is that the room makes us both go a little nuts. It’s like our little cage and we subconsciously take up our roles as caged animals. David actually knows all his ring tones by heart now, my favorite being this eclectic new age cacophony of mechanized noises chaotically thrown together that crescendo until finally the sound of a dying robot or vacuum ends the piece. He accompanies the tone with an awesome robot dance and fake dies at the exact moment the ring tone ends; it very well may be the hardest I’ve laughed since I’ve been here the first time I saw him do it.

Changing gears a bit, I’ve been to a few places since I last wrote: Ronda, Italica, and Cordoba.

Ronda is a small pueblo about 2 hours outside of Sevilla, best known for its mountainside vistas and GORGEous (there’s a huge gorge running through the city) views; I included some pictures in the last post. I absolutely loved the city, but my memory is not nearly as vivid as it may have been 2 weeks ago so I’m going to have to give the annotated account. Five of us (Bunker, Tomalski, Wilson, Newman, and I) stayed the night in this nice, cheap family run hostel. The night life in Ronda leaves something to be desired but I will say that we encountered perhaps the most interesting establishment I’ve seen yet in Spain. We’re walking at night and from a distance we spot this gigantic man cloaked in some brown monkish attire, yielding a scythe and sporting black and white gothic face paint. He’s standing outside this place with flashing neon lights with a big sign reading: “BUFFET LIBRE: Pizzeria - Erotica - Terror”. The girls were sufficiently freaked out, as was I, so we got the hell out. Upon further contemplation we decided we had to return for experiences sake. Inside, the place could not have been more thoroughly decorated - black lights, smoke machines, epileptic seizure inducing lighting effects, painted walls, themed waiters/waitresses, etc. My favorite waitress (half of a woman I guess) was this lady dwarf who had a knife and just stared at us, then poked Bunker in the ass as she walked by. I guess that was the erotica portion.

Anyways, the next day was a wonderful romp of sightseeing and consisted of Bunker engaging in improper acts with bull statues and perpetually smelling shit everywhere. I’m pretty sure she had a tiny piece of shit lodged underneath her nose. Naïve Newman and Feral Wilson would also unintentionally alley-oop me with ‘That’s What She Said’ jokes nonstop; their immaturity started grating on my nerves a bit though so I had to take refuge with Tomalski. Overall the day was tops; on a scale of 0 to awesome with tolerable being a 6 and PT (pretty tight) being a 12, it gets a ten seven.

Italica was the following weekend and was only a ½ day trip. It’s basically just Roman ruins consisting of some houses and an exceptional amphitheatre. Next.

Cordoba was yesterday and we only went for the day. I had been before so it was interesting coming upon all these places I vaguely remembered from last time. Speaking of coming upon things, David and I actually couldn’t find a bathroom so we resorted to public urination on a side street in broad daylight. It took him awhile to get going because he “can’t go when people are watching.” But I had another experience in Cordoba that transitions into something else I’d like to discuss - GYPSIES.

Walking back to the bus, I see this group of women shooting the shit outside La Mezquita. One of them approaches me, a faggot of rosemary in hand, and offers me a single stick. “Un regalo (a gift)” she claims and thrusts it into my hand. She proceeds to read my fortune via palms - I will have two kids, am planning two big trips in Spain, have a good heart, and a strong head - then immediately demands money. I told her I didn’t have any change and I’m fairly certain she proceeded to curse me. Then today I went to the gypsy market and as I was leaving this young girl walks up asking for money, claiming she needs to ride the bus. Dirty little gypsy girl, I thought, you don’t fool me with your wicked lies!. I told that nasty gypsy I had no change and muttered a mild curse under my breath; just a level 3 to give her a taste of her own medicine. It got me thinking though, what truly defines being a gypsy and how might one become a gypsy (hypothetically obviously, that’d be like wanting to be a deaf mute or a blind kid or an orphan)? I came up with a list, for ladies only as of now, of things you must do before claiming gypsy status. Here we go:

1. Invest in bandanas
2. Punch yourself in the mouth, knocking out 3 teeth minimum
3. Have dirty, grimy, greedy hands and an insatiable desire to steal
4. Buy a big white, generic looking van
5. Buy copious amounts of cheap, dangly jewelry and pierce your nose
6. Be lazy and dishonest

Once you’ve done all these things, you can now spend your days living like a gypsy. You wake up, pick some rosemary, and hang out with your gyp (gypsy abbrev.) friends all day swindling tourists out of money. I’d be more willing to fund terrorism than fund their gypsy indolence. As you can see I kind of hate the gyps, but alas they are part of the Spanish culture so I must take the good with the bad. I should note the title of this entry was actually going to be "Gypsies: Making Racism and Genocide Feel Right Again", but I thought it came off a little strong. Also, the word Giri in the chosen title is just a name in Spanish for a foreigner.

Moving on, I will continue with the next installment of….

Aventuras con Marisol

“Dear Kitty,
Recently I’ve been having night terrors about Marisol. In these dreams I climb into bed, only to find a naked, sprawling mass of flesh waiting for me there - Marisol. Foam is gathered around her mouth like a rabid animal, sheets of skin spilling over the side of the bed; her eyes glow red with seedy intentions. She seizes me with her piggish stub arms and that’s where the nightmare ends. I wake up cold and layered in sweat, fear tremors crawling up my spine. I think it all started when she accidentally left a pair of her flesh colored underwear in my laundry pile. After a half hour of folding I snuck it back into her room, but the damage had been done. I have also noticed Marisol does not open doors, she runs into them. Maybe it is that the doors back away from her in horror, I’m not sure. Either way it’s effective. It’s like hurling a bean bag of lard at a cardboard box - the bag always wins. Also, gossip around the water cooler has revealed some very interesting news about our Senora: 1) she is rich and, 2) she is bisexual. The latter is far more intriguing. I will probe the queery (not a typo) and update you as soon as I get a more definitive answer. I guess it doesn’t really matter if it’s true - whether you’re a lion or a lioness, you still don’t want to have sex with a warthog.”

A couple other things before I wrap up. The first is a cultural observation that continues to blow my mind and that is the issue of Spanish alcoholism. I can be walking to or from class at any time of the day (10 am, 12 pm, 3 pm…) and there will be hordes of Spaniards drinking 40s outside in plastic cups, the distinct smell of weed hovering over the crowd. The little store that sells the 40s has a bottle opener chained outside on the window and provides cups with your beer purchase. I stop and question - what does it take to be an alcoholic in Spanish society? It’s not just high school kids either, some of these people are working class 30, 40, or 50 somethings guzzling down forties (they’re actually 33 ounces here) at 10 in the morning. I guess you have to really commit your whole heart into it if you want to propel yourself into that elite stratosphere that can proudly call themselves alcoholics. I’ll try and photograph this phenomenon sometime though and post the picture.

The second thing I wanted to mention briefly was the good news that I’ve had no major gastrointestinal issues since I’ve been here. For those that kept up with my other blog, you know that I’ve had a history of these sorts of problems in the past. But as of now there have only been a handful (or more aptly a cupful) of loose stools. I do find that about 60%!o(MISSING)f my waking day is spent on the can, literally 5 or 6 times a day, 1 ½ rolls of TP minimum. TMI I know, I know, but this blog is not for the faint of heart.

Alright, I apologize for the length but there was plenty to cover. In sum, Sevilla/Spain continues to amaze me and I could not love this place more. I feel like a sponge here, learning constantly. I'll try and consistently post on Sundays from now on though; I am sure you will be waiting with bated breath. Until then.

-BRAVO OUT-

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Photos

Bunker Molesting a Bull Statue
Bunker rounding first with a bull...