Despite the fact that I was an ocean away from my family during a holiday that, more than any other, is all about family and togetherness, it ended being one of the better weekends here in Granada without a doubt. For one thing, the good people at CEGRI University had set up for us American students a thanksgiving feast, complete with a 16-pound turkey, stuffing, pies, mashed potatoes (although they were a bit on the runny side, como liquido), and bottles of wine. We’d be eating this wonderful feast in a little pueblo just outside of Granada, after a 15 minute bus ride. As if this wasn’t enough, Chris came to visit once again, and to take part in the CEGRI dinner, which he had attended when he studied there two years ago. Along with him he’d be bringing Maria of course, also one of my great friends from school. And so although I wouldn’t be with family on the day of many thanks, I’d be with people I’ve known for years and really care about, which was more than I could ask for. A good weekend it would be indeed…
Although none of the students were required to, we were all encouraged to get together and make dishes to bring to the dinner. And so naturally Eddie and I were scrambling around in Supersol (the grocery store in my neighborhood) about two hours before the bus left to the dinner, trying to find ingredients for our “dish.” But, naturally as well, we were not actually making a dish, but a beverage – alcoholic cider to be exact – as we figured there’d be plenty of food but, considering this was a university affiliated event, perhaps a shortage in the drinks department. We snagged some brown sugar, apple juice, cinnamon sticks, and coconut rum. We also picked up a bottle of wine for during preparation drinking. Next we headed to hipereuro, the Spanish version of a dollar general store, and picked up a plastic pitcher for 2.50 (this place almost always magically has exactly what you’re looking for, just of very low quality). We quite power-walked to his señoras, where we began preparing our concoction. We boiled it all up together, poured in all the rum (after taking a shot each), poured in a ton of brown sugar and, in a moment of buzzed spontaneity, peeled an orange and threw the skin and meat in too. The end result was, by our very low standards, a masterpiece.
As we were finishing up, Eddie’s señora, Ana, showed up and immediately began laughing at the sight before her: here were two skinny Americans – both at least twice her height – hovering over a large, steaming pot with empty cartons of juice and brown sugar and empty bottles of rum and wine scattered about her kitchen. Thank God she has a sense of humor, and after a good laugh she immediately began helping us clean up and transfer the cider into the 2.50 euro plastic pitcher. She also helped us wrap foil and rubber bands around the top, because part of it had already broken off. Ana is the quintessential Andalucían woman, or at least what I think is the ideal of a typical Andalucían woman. She’s short, stout, has a surprisingly raspy voice and commands an incredible amount of energy, working 3 or so jobs and taking care of a foreign student. She’s got motherly instinct in spades, and seems to be always ready to aid Eddie in whatever way she can, whether that means making him more food or giving him a foot massage after he’s gone for a long run. Her three sons (the youngest of which is now approaching thirty) still make sure to take advantage of her endlessly giving nature, and come over often to eat dinner, make fun of Eddie (all in good fun of course), or ask for a ride to the bars. She’s also seems to have a very strong sense of that southern Spanish hospitality, and is constantly inviting me over for dinner, during which, on the one occasion so far that I’ve obliged, she made sure that I’d eaten enough sopa, lomo, pan y fruta hasta el punto de que no podía moverme. After straightening Eddie and I’s collars evenly over our sweaters, we bid her goodbye, but not before she invited me over for dinner once again.
Arriving at the bus stop, I saw that Chris and Maria had not yet arrived, and so told Yanira (my conversation professor) that I was going to look for them closer to the intersection and to wait for me. About five minutes late, my good friends emerged from the corner of Gran Via. I gave them an excited holler and led them to the bus. One again, the same surreal and altogether wonderful sensation emerged upon seeing friends from the states here in Granada. Dinner was a bang up success, and so was Eddie and I’s “cidra” which, after being poured generously around our table, had other students lining up to try the brown sugar and rum loaded libation. We feasted, caught up and killed two bottles of wine on top of the cider. After having a good hour or so to settle mountain of food and drink we’d just consumed (I was the only one to go for seconds, which felt a bit strange on a holiday where I’m used to seeing everyone go for seconds or maybe even thirds), we took the bus back down to Granada and headed to the discotheques to continue the mild amount of dancing that had begun at the restaurant. El club Vogue ended up being the choice, just of La Calle Gran Capitan. Waiting in line, I was pleased to see that not only the majority of the CEGRI students were in action, but a good chunk of our professors as well. I’d been out with Elsa (culture of Islam professor) a few times and Yanira once, but had never seen Nerea (escritura y gramatica) or Monica (arte y cultura) ready to rock before. After a bit of slightly uncomfortable milling around and conversing, Elsa resumed the dancing (not surprisingly) by taking over the empty dance floor and beginning a head-banging, hair-flying, limbs-flailing solo mosh to Rage’s “Kiling In The Name Of,” (a little surprising). I followed suit with my own nerdy hopping around and a few moves I’ve still got from my hardcore days, and before long almost all of CEGRI’s student body and at least half of my professors had taken over the dance floor, shouting and grooving in unison. So I guess that’s the difference between your relationships with your professors in the states as opposed to in Granada…
We spent the rest of the night more or less in this manner, although the music quickly took on a much mellower ambience, dominated by 80’s alt and new wave pop the likes of The Smiths and The Cure. AJ and I exchanged our best “Charlie Brown” dances for quite some time. At some point Chris and Maria disappeared completely. Chris had eaten “some bad salad” or something and had to very suddenly quit dancing and rush to his hostel to puke his guts out. Apparently, and slightly miraculously, Chris only vomited out the salad, and maintained most of his delicious thanksgiving meal where it belongs. Anyway, feeling a bit put-off (I only found out that they had left for this reason the next day), I continued to groove it down, take down Estrella Damn, and display my notorious fist-pump/foot-stomping dance moves hasta las altas horas de la madrugadora, o casi la madrugadora. Ben and I, the final two, ended up leaving the joint at about 4:30. True to the Spanish custom of partying very, very late into the night, the place was just getting cracking…
Although none of the students were required to, we were all encouraged to get together and make dishes to bring to the dinner. And so naturally Eddie and I were scrambling around in Supersol (the grocery store in my neighborhood) about two hours before the bus left to the dinner, trying to find ingredients for our “dish.” But, naturally as well, we were not actually making a dish, but a beverage – alcoholic cider to be exact – as we figured there’d be plenty of food but, considering this was a university affiliated event, perhaps a shortage in the drinks department. We snagged some brown sugar, apple juice, cinnamon sticks, and coconut rum. We also picked up a bottle of wine for during preparation drinking. Next we headed to hipereuro, the Spanish version of a dollar general store, and picked up a plastic pitcher for 2.50 (this place almost always magically has exactly what you’re looking for, just of very low quality). We quite power-walked to his señoras, where we began preparing our concoction. We boiled it all up together, poured in all the rum (after taking a shot each), poured in a ton of brown sugar and, in a moment of buzzed spontaneity, peeled an orange and threw the skin and meat in too. The end result was, by our very low standards, a masterpiece.
As we were finishing up, Eddie’s señora, Ana, showed up and immediately began laughing at the sight before her: here were two skinny Americans – both at least twice her height – hovering over a large, steaming pot with empty cartons of juice and brown sugar and empty bottles of rum and wine scattered about her kitchen. Thank God she has a sense of humor, and after a good laugh she immediately began helping us clean up and transfer the cider into the 2.50 euro plastic pitcher. She also helped us wrap foil and rubber bands around the top, because part of it had already broken off. Ana is the quintessential Andalucían woman, or at least what I think is the ideal of a typical Andalucían woman. She’s short, stout, has a surprisingly raspy voice and commands an incredible amount of energy, working 3 or so jobs and taking care of a foreign student. She’s got motherly instinct in spades, and seems to be always ready to aid Eddie in whatever way she can, whether that means making him more food or giving him a foot massage after he’s gone for a long run. Her three sons (the youngest of which is now approaching thirty) still make sure to take advantage of her endlessly giving nature, and come over often to eat dinner, make fun of Eddie (all in good fun of course), or ask for a ride to the bars. She’s also seems to have a very strong sense of that southern Spanish hospitality, and is constantly inviting me over for dinner, during which, on the one occasion so far that I’ve obliged, she made sure that I’d eaten enough sopa, lomo, pan y fruta hasta el punto de que no podía moverme. After straightening Eddie and I’s collars evenly over our sweaters, we bid her goodbye, but not before she invited me over for dinner once again.
Arriving at the bus stop, I saw that Chris and Maria had not yet arrived, and so told Yanira (my conversation professor) that I was going to look for them closer to the intersection and to wait for me. About five minutes late, my good friends emerged from the corner of Gran Via. I gave them an excited holler and led them to the bus. One again, the same surreal and altogether wonderful sensation emerged upon seeing friends from the states here in Granada. Dinner was a bang up success, and so was Eddie and I’s “cidra” which, after being poured generously around our table, had other students lining up to try the brown sugar and rum loaded libation. We feasted, caught up and killed two bottles of wine on top of the cider. After having a good hour or so to settle mountain of food and drink we’d just consumed (I was the only one to go for seconds, which felt a bit strange on a holiday where I’m used to seeing everyone go for seconds or maybe even thirds), we took the bus back down to Granada and headed to the discotheques to continue the mild amount of dancing that had begun at the restaurant. El club Vogue ended up being the choice, just of La Calle Gran Capitan. Waiting in line, I was pleased to see that not only the majority of the CEGRI students were in action, but a good chunk of our professors as well. I’d been out with Elsa (culture of Islam professor) a few times and Yanira once, but had never seen Nerea (escritura y gramatica) or Monica (arte y cultura) ready to rock before. After a bit of slightly uncomfortable milling around and conversing, Elsa resumed the dancing (not surprisingly) by taking over the empty dance floor and beginning a head-banging, hair-flying, limbs-flailing solo mosh to Rage’s “Kiling In The Name Of,” (a little surprising). I followed suit with my own nerdy hopping around and a few moves I’ve still got from my hardcore days, and before long almost all of CEGRI’s student body and at least half of my professors had taken over the dance floor, shouting and grooving in unison. So I guess that’s the difference between your relationships with your professors in the states as opposed to in Granada…
We spent the rest of the night more or less in this manner, although the music quickly took on a much mellower ambience, dominated by 80’s alt and new wave pop the likes of The Smiths and The Cure. AJ and I exchanged our best “Charlie Brown” dances for quite some time. At some point Chris and Maria disappeared completely. Chris had eaten “some bad salad” or something and had to very suddenly quit dancing and rush to his hostel to puke his guts out. Apparently, and slightly miraculously, Chris only vomited out the salad, and maintained most of his delicious thanksgiving meal where it belongs. Anyway, feeling a bit put-off (I only found out that they had left for this reason the next day), I continued to groove it down, take down Estrella Damn, and display my notorious fist-pump/foot-stomping dance moves hasta las altas horas de la madrugadora, o casi la madrugadora. Ben and I, the final two, ended up leaving the joint at about 4:30. True to the Spanish custom of partying very, very late into the night, the place was just getting cracking…
gracias por saltar a la pista de baile y salvarme de parecer una loca!!! si no es por tí, aún están mirando!!!
ReplyDelete