Bits and Pieces...and Male Bits Too

Male bits, you say? Read to the end or skip everything to find out.

I like the bus. I like to watch people on the bus. I like how everyone comes together to go their separate ways. I don't know. I just like it. There are more people on the bus lately, because at long last, it has rained...and continues to rain in Seville. This is good as we were in a long drought. The rain also means that it is no longer uncomfortably warm here.

I also received, finally, two Spanish catcalls yesterday. Perhaps it seems stupid that I am excited about this, but allow me to explain. Although catcalls here are stupid, certainly, they are not like catcalls in America. In the United States, I could go for a walk and get yelled at by drunk college guys, but that is not a compliment. It's drunk college guys who have nothing better to do than yell at women on the street. Any woman could walk down the street in Whitewater and get yelled at. It's not flattery. Here though, if you get a catcall, it means that a man is noticing that you look nice. He is complimenting you. It's an acceptable practice stemming from Machismo. The blonde girls in our school (of which there are plenty) are catcalled all the time. They are exotic and desireable because they are attractive foreigners. However, in the last two weeks I had not received any compliments, and compared to the stories of other girls, I was starting to feel a little self-conscious. Because having red hair like mine (un-dyed) is so strange here, I have received a lot of dirty looks from women, and a lot of startled, unpleasant looks from men, as though they had just noticed my third ear. This does not serve to make one feel particular postive about one's own appearance. So when Ellen and I received a piropo I felt relieved.

Being so different from eveyrone has me caught in a difficult line of thinking. Because I am so obviously different, I want to be obvious in the most positive way. I want to leave a good impression eveywhere I go. It's difficult to explain, so difficult that I don't even know if it's possible.

As I spend my days here, I also begin to realize that who I am isn't, and shouldn't be, confined by who I was. You can get lost and find yourself amidst the masses here.

I also want to learn more about Christian hospitality as I live here. I want to love the people I see on the train and show Maria that I appreciate what she does. It's difficult, but I think better than what we do in the United States. Because I cannot simply say "thank you" to others and have them take me at my word, I need to express gratitude in ways I have not expressed it before. This is a learning process.

I'd like to think that I'll have a gentler spirit when I return stateside.

Also, yesterday I was supposed to have a quiz in Arte. A quiz which never occurred. Oddly, I felt kind of jipped, because I was so prepared. I like it, because now, I can't walk down the street without thinking, "Hey, that's Muslim architecture, what beautiful arcos lobulados ciegos sobre columnas adosados con decoración rica del estilo ataurique." Learning makes you think a lot. In Spanish.

And, por fin: male bits.
Last night was Encuentro (a student worship service here). Encuentro is quite far from my house, you see, and, as many of you know, I have an abismal sense of direction. After Encuentro, I need to hurry to catch the bus so that I won't be late for supper, but this time, Ellen was not with me, and I needed to figure out how to get home on my own.

Well, I figured wrong and ended up in the middle of Triana. Triana is a good part of town, quite, quite full of people, and even farther from my house than Encuentro. Fortunately, I ran into a stranger from church, who, incidentally is from Fort Atkinson, WI, who showed me the way to the Triana bridge into Seville from which I knew my way home. I walked across the bridge, using my naturally hyperspeed walking gait, and turned to walk along the river towards el Torre de Oro. As I walked along the scenic path, there were people to my right sitting on benches, talking, making out passionately, you know, the norm here. And then, as I came upon a little group of trees, I heard a quiet voice. I glanced over, without breaking my stride, only to see a man masturbating facing the passing people. A flasher. I was flashed by a masturbating man. In the middle of a crowded pathway. Interesting. I was not upset. We learned on our first day in Spain that for some reason, men doing this in Seville is not all that uncommon. This also has to do with Machismo. Men get off on "shocking" women with their "manliness". I feel I was prepared. Is that weird?

Maria asked me if he was drunk. I told her I didn't ask.

Ahora es tiempo ir a clase.