The Names of People, Places and Things

Cristóbal Colón
For probably fifty years I have wondered why names change depending upon where one is. For instance, in Germany, Köln is spelled that way and not Cologne as it is in the US. München is spelled that way and not Munich. Nürnberg is spelled that way and not Nuremberg.

Why do we in the US call Cristóbal Colón Christopher Columbus? The guy's name was Cristóbal, not Christopher. I verified this by checking his tombstone yesterday. He is buried in the Cathedral de Sevilla, about two blocks from where I am sitting, in a sarcophagus almost as fancy as the one where Napoleon is planted in Paris.

So if I met an untimely demise and was buried here in Spain would it say William or Guillermo? If in Germany would it say Wilhelm or William. By the way, we are in España, not Spain. If Cristóbal Colón had died in America would his tombstone say Christopher?
Things have names for a reason. So we will know what they are. To clarify, I really don't mind if some words are translated, just not people and places, they should remain what they are and be called the same thing no matter where one is.

Getting back to Chri...I mean Cristóbal, he began his journey to the new world from Sevilla for each of his four voyages. He also returned to Sevilla because that is where King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, who financed his operation, were living. The Palais Real (Royal Palace) is about a stone's throw from the cathedral.

Toldos
The installation of the awnings (toldos) above the streets continues and they started on our little street yesterday afternoon and finished this morning. It was a pretty noisy operation but I watched the guys putting them up on the building next door, which is on Calle Francos.

They won't put them up on our little one block long street, Calle Conteros. It is only about eight feet wide and is shady anyway unless the sun is directly overhead and that would only be for a few minutes each day.

Sevilla is Getting Hot

Summer is arriving quickly in Sevilla. It was a lot hotter today than when we arrived last Friday. Some of Karen's fellow students who have been here before have told us it gets very hot, up to 110F! It has gone from the mid-70s to the mid-80s in just a few days.

Today there was a very clear sign that Summer, which doesn't officially begin until June 21, is looming. Several of the walking only streets had cherry picker cranes with guys up at roof level installing awnings that stretch across the streets to provide shade.


Right now, without the awnings, it is shady on one side of the streets in the morning and shady on the other side in the afternoon. I've never seen these in any other cities, except in Egypt and Saudi Arabia in the markets. They remind me of tents. I am wondering whether this custom was brought here by the Berbers and Arabs from North Africa, commonly known as Moors who occupied this region from the 8th to the 15th century. Their elaborate architecture is still seen throughout Andalusia, originally called Al Andalus.

It must get seriously hot here for the city to take such measures to ensure the comfort of shoppers.
One would think that if it gets really hot here they would have really good air conditioners. We have been warned to only run ours when we are in the apartment as they are for light duty only and can be damaged if run extensively. No more set it and forget it like back in the US. We actually enjoy the fresh air and keep the doors and windows open during the day, closing them during afternoon siesta and at night to soften the sounds of living in a high density environment.

Here's an example of both the type of air conditioners and of high density living. Those AC units look to be newly installed and they didn't complete the job by patching the holes in the wall for the wiring. Mañana... We have these beautiful french doors in the living room but that's the view. If you walk out onto the balcony, stretch and look way up you can see the top of the tower on the cathedral.

Shopping at Mercado de Triana

Today I walked to the big market where there are many dozens of stalls selling mostly fresh seafood, vegetables, fruits and cheeses. There are a few stalls with just about everything including underwear and little bunnies.

I went for two specific things and found both easily. I wanted setas (mushrooms) for the spaghetti I am fixing for dinner and also queso parmesano rallado (grated parmesan cheese). The mushrooms were at the same booth where the man was so sweet and patient with Karen last week when she bought several items, cucumbers, watermelon, oranges, potatoes, etc.

The woman today was a real witch to me. I saw that the mushrooms were about the size of tennis balls and since there are only two of us I decided I needed only six of them. When I asked for "seis setas por favor" she launched into a tirade. I just looked at her without speaking until she finished, pointed to the mushrooms and said "uno, dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis". I am pretty sure saying "seis setas por favor" wasn't misunderstood as some obscure insult.

I never figured out whether she was asking me whether I wanted six kilos, six dozen, six tons, annoyed that I only wanted six, or what. I saw other people buying two apples, two tomatoes, etc. so I thought no big deal. Being here is helping to dampen my temper. If anyone in the States had yelled at me like that and waved their arms I may have jumped over the counter. I got exactly six mushrooms and moved on.

The parmesan cheese was so much easier. I went to a cheese booth and saw what I wanted in the case, "queso rallado italiano". The young woman behind the counter was waiting on someone else, she smiled at me and said "momento". When she finished she said "diga!" and I told her and pointed. She held it up, smiled again and put it on the counter saying "uno y treinta", 1 Euro thirty cents.

I also bought some sliced turkey and ham for sandwiches. Everyone else was nice and helpful. There seems to always be one unhappy person who tries to spoil the day. Hey, I'm here in sunny Spain, no job, no worries. Eating more healthful food and walking as much as I am will hopefully bring me down about 20 pounds in the next eight weeks. Hooah! Vale!

Coming back across the bridge over the Guadalquivir River there is a good view of La Giralda which is the tower of the Cathedral de Sevilla. It is one of the largest Gothic structures in the world, towers above the city and occupies several square blocks on the ground and is the center of the tourist area.

You can see the tower in the photo and the cathedral stretching out to the right. Notice the orange tree full of oranges in the foreground. They grow all over Sevilla and provide lots of shade but the fruit is really very bitter and inedible. Vive la naranjas Florida!

Our apartment is about two short blocks from the cathedral through winding, narrow streets filled with some of the most beautiful architecture we have ever seen, serving as residences and both tiny and large shops.

Learning Spanish One Encounter at a Time...

We were warned before leaving home that unlike the rest of the European Union, english is not spoken in Spain. That should have provided some motivation to start reading the stack of spanish books we have but no, we figured we would get by with what we already knew, which is very little. We are now immersed in spanish language, food and culture. We both dress like Europeans (no shorts, fanny packs, sneakers or t-shirts) and are pretty much taken for locals, that is until we open our mouths.

One Mystery Solved
When we were going through the apartment with the landlady on the first day it was a little confusing what we were supposed to do with our trash. She explained it to us separately and I understood we were to put everything in a plastic bag, tie the bag closed and take it to one of the receptacles found every few blocks. Karen understood her to say tie up the bag and put it in the hallway each day before noon.
We arrived on a Friday and Karen put the bag out in the hall the next day just before noon. When we got back after dark it was still there. Uh oh, maybe she said only Monday through Friday. Monday morning I walked with Karen to the archives where she is working. There were no bags in the hall so when I got back to the apartment I took three tied bags to the trash receptacle two blocks away.
One is supposed to open the door, put in a bag, turn a crank on the right side to allow the bag to drop to somewhere below ground. It was locked. We assume there is a timer someplace that locks and unlocks the receptacles but if you are not a local you don't get to know the times. There were a few bags on the sidewalk leaning against the thing so I put ours there.
This morning about 9 AM I was headed out to do it again but just in case, before I left I figured out how to ask “what are the hours for trash”? When I reached the lobby the woman who cleans the common areas in the building saw me and we exchanged pleasantries. I decided to ask her “¿Cuando son las horas de basura?”.
She began a long explanation, most of which I did not understand but I knew she understood me because as she was explaining she kept pointing to the bag I was holding and gesturing. After a few laughs we decided that I understood that we were supposed to put it outside our door the night before and she will pick it up. As I demonstrated that I understood this she exclaimed “Bueno! Bueno! Vale! Vale!
I believe she was happy that I understood because she took my bag and put it into a larger bag in the hall.

Plunging In...
When I spend time in a new place I tend to explore the area using ever increasing concentric circles. Today I expanded my area of knowledge quite a bit. As I walked around the city this morning for over two hours, I could tell when I got closer to tourist areas because I heard the people walking about speaking mostly english and some german. As I moved away into areas frequented almost exclusively by locals I heard only the distinctive type of spanish spoken by Sevillanos. The locals, unlike other Europeans, speak very little english, limited mostly to servers in the restaurants frequented by tourists and they know only some of the menu items.

English is easy to pick out of the din walking past the plethora of sidewalk cafes. After hearing so many people making no attempt at all to use the local language and watching the body language of the locals encountering them, I decided to lean forward and make more effort to brush off the two years I studied spanish in college in 1961-63. I went to a sidewalk cafe very near the archives which is in a high tourist traffic area and sat at a table by myself. The couple sitting on one side of me was British with Americans on the other side and across. The waiter approached and said something in english, which I ignored. I ordered my meal, drink, dessert and asked for the bill in Spanish. I know it wasn't all correct but it was understood and I felt good about myself.

Within the next seven and a half weeks in Spain perhaps I can do the same thing in a remote cafe where there is no safety net because the waiter knows absolutely no english. Vale!