Is that it?

Sometimes, I'm walking around in Spain and I think to myself one of two things, "Is that it?" or "Really? Seriously?"

There are two good examples of such incidents in the last 24 hours.

"Is that it?"
I try to do culturally-engaging things while I'm here. Elizabeth and I made plans to check out a food festival called "Eating Sevilla" today. We had two hours to kill this afternoon after enjoying our packed lunches by the river. A class had been cancelled due to a student protest/assembly about tuition hikes. (Note: tuition here is still about 10% of what we pay, dear old Northwestern...). We walked down to the Plaza and meandered through several huts of the same types of cheese samples, trying all of them, largely unable to distinguish between the goat, cow, and sheep varieties. All tasted kind of moldy, kind of parmesan-y, kind of bland. We arrived at the final stall on the row, only the sixth, and stared at some cakes for a while before Elizabeth exclaimed, "Is that it?" Yes. That was it. The food festival allegedly representing the rich Mediterranean diet, protected by the UN as a cultural phenomenon, was 6 plastic tent huts filled with cheese, some anchovies, and some cake.

The concept of "Is that it?" could be classified as underwhelmtion - the state of expecting something as 'bigger is better' due to American standards of what makes something great. Sevilla's 'festivals' may be tiny and seemingly insignificant but truly, the mass of cultural attempts this little city makes is impressive. That must count for something. Maybe tomorrow's fashion show or the Month of Dance will bring more small but precious cultural gems that we must evaluate as such. Simple and small is precious, and not in a patronizing way. We are still adjusting our standards of 'whelm' and figuring out what should under- and over- our whelm meter while in Europe. Much of what we do just falls off of any chart we have.


"Really?
A woman walks down the street wearing a shirt that says "Make Love, Not War." She is ten months pregnant. Ha. Practice what you preach. Or just stop wearing English shirts! From the profoundly profane to the utterly nonsensical, Spanish fashion is swimming in words, words, words. The level of proficiency in English is far lower than my level of Spanish. And I couldn't figure out what the cashier was saying when I bought some cheese today ("Do you want a bag?"). I've seen "University Paris Sex Professor" and "California State of Missouri" and "If I were an animal, I will be {picture of cat}" and "You are my best friend. I love your crazy dance. Our best party are Saturday night." These are shirts from MAJOR fashion retailers from all over Europe like Zara and Pull&Bear and Strativarius. Anyone looking to hire a fashion copy editor and proofreader? Other "Really?" moments include the ice cream workers' protest today by the Cathedral, the amount of day-drinking happening constantly, having a five minute tribute to Paul Newman on Spanish evening news, and the woman wearing all cheetah-print pajamas on the subway at 2 P.M.

But really, that's it. I love it here.