Andalucía: Part 3

¡Vale! It’s about time I wrap up this little trip summary. But first, some announcements. First of all, this will now be a text-only blog, mostly because photos are a pain to put in (at least, the way I’d like to have them arranged). If you’d like to see pictures of my experience out here, there are many (and will be many more) posted on my Facebook page. Second, it has come to my attention that a numbered list of announcements was not necessary due to the fact that I only had one announcement. Moving on.

Those who have read this from the beginning, I told ya’ll that once upon a time I took a trip to Andalucía. That trip ended quite some time ago and, believe it or not, it was more than four days long. Here’s a summary of the second half.

Friday began with a trip to the capital of Andalucía, Sevilla. First excursion was to, brace yourself, another cathedral! There actually were a couple of interesting things about this cathedral. For one, it’s the third largest cathedral in the world (by area). Also, this cathedral houses the tomb of Christopher Columbus. Funny story, I didn’t know this second tidbit until after we had left Sevilla. I frantically looked through the pictures I had taken to see if I got a lucky shot. Alas, it was not to be. It still boggles my mind that I went all the way to Sevilla, into the same building as the tomb of the man credited with the discovery of America and I missed my opportunity to snap a portrait of myself ogling this piece of history. Sad day. After leaving, we had ourselves a carriage ride in a horse drawn buggy around the city. Nothing too special about this, but if you’ve never done it, it’s definitely something worth doing during your lifetime, not necessarily in Sevilla though.

The rest of the day was free time for us. A group of gents along with myself began to wander. One of these gents had heard of an area in Sevilla that is supposedly a must-visit. None of us knew what it was, but not having any better ideas, we went for it. After a solid amount of search time, we arrived at a huge fairground! Had there actually been a fair going on, I would have added more exclamation marks. But in October, it just looked like a trash littered dirt lot. Upon this realization, we were all a little bummed. But in reality, these types of events are the ones I love in life. Those incidents that make you realize the destination didn’t matter, it was all about the journey. We had such a grand time improving our map skills all the while talking shop about whatevs. And then there’s the retrospect part of it all, “So what’d you do while in Sevilla?” “We spent two hours searching for a parking lot.” “O…..kay..” Now, to me, that is a hilarious dialogue that has the potential to actually take place in my future. How neat is that? Despite how sarcastic this all sounds, it really is not. I don’t regret at all how we spent that afternoon.

Moving on to Sabbath. Our group was to have service in the local park. We settled in and were promptly split into groups. These groups each had a specific part of the service. One group was to do song service, another was to do a scripture reading. My group was assigned the sermon. Oh boy. There’s nothing like going into a park on a sunny Sabbath morning expecting to hear an uplifting and inspiring message only to learn it’s your job. None of us could think of a topic on the spot, probably because no one wanted to speak in front of everyone. So that led us to the idea of speaking about stepping out of your comfort zone, as all of us were forced to do that morning. We each gave our own little spiel. One person mentioned how they don’t like to speak in front of people, this was brief but effective. Another spoke of an experience during a mission trip to India. I also decided to speak of one of my mission experiences. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized none of them applied. They were eye-opening and perspective-changing events, but I rarely felt outside of my comfort zone. So I thought to myself, “Screw it. The message is about stepping out of your comfort zone, I’m gonna do just that and talk about something embarrassing.” And I did. I relayed the story of my first banquet date. Now I like telling stories, but this was awful. The fact that every other sentence brought on a collective “aw” from the crowd didn’t help me to get through it. I was very uncomfortable, but I kept going and eventually finished the story.

The point I wanted to drive home was that the more we step out of our comfort zones, the larger they become. That’s why I shared a humiliating story with a couple dozen acquaintances. That’s why I’ve agreed to sing in front of the worship services whenever asked even though I didn’t like to. That’s why I moved away from home, away from comforts and familiarity. And that’s why I’m spending nine months as a foreigner trying to learn a new language despite continuously looking like an idiot in front of both peers and strangers alike. My comfort zone has become bigger than I ever thought it would! That doesn’t mean I’ve magically turned into an extrovert, but I am more at ease in a multitude of situations. Those couple dozen acquaintances are now a couple dozen close friends whom I feel like I could tell almost anything. I now have a blast with the praise group and look forward to each opportunity to sing up front. Moving out of the house is an inevitability. Now I know it’s not only possible, but something with a lot to look forward to (don’t worry mom, I’ll still visit at least until I get a washing machine). Despite the numerous times I’ve felt like an idiot out here, I know that I’ll go home able to understand (at least for the most part) twice as many languages as the average American. I can’t say all of this hit me at once that morning, but it was the start of an epiphany, a revelation I plan to apply to the rest of my life.

……………

Dang, that would have been a good note to end on. But if I post now and save the last days for later, I know I’ll never get to it. Let’s see if I can be deeply insightful at the end of this.

So nothing exciting about Saturday night. On to Sunday! Sunday morning we left Sevilla and headed to Córdoba. After a couple more history lessons with the group, we were given free time for dinner. Still on the mind set of being frugal, several guys and I started discussing whether we’d seen a kebab joint nearby. But then Tony changed my mind. Now Tony is friend of mine who comes from La Sierra, but will be attending Union College next year (WOOT). Of course, I will gladly take credit for his recruitment. However, if you ask him, he’d probably give you a different reason for switching, something about his fiancé attending there. I still think it’s because of me. Anyway, I remember Tony basically saying, “Here’s my idea, this is our last night of the trip, I feel like spending a little more and eating somewhere a bit nicer.” I’m sure that wasn’t word for word, and it may not have even been his idea, but I heard it from him and it sounded good to me.

A group of eleven of us sought and found an authentic-ish Spanish restaurant to eat at. I decided to go with the special for the evening. My first course was a plate of traditional Spanish paella. Complete with shrimp. Those that know me well know I am not a fan of seafood. Some (myself included) would even say I hate the stuff. Now I could have pushed aside the plate and waited for the other courses. Or I could have picked around the little creatures and just eaten the rice and veggies. But with yesterday’s realization still fresh in my mind, I took the third choice and decided to see why the locals liked this stuff so much. Unfortunately, the shrimp on my plate were not of the pre-peeled variety. If there weren’t so many, I might have assumed one just crawled onto my plate and died when no one was looking. Luckily, I had a friend there, Grace, who was more familiar with the food than I was. She was able to take me through the process with little to no kicking and screaming.

Here’s the method as I recall it: First you cut off the head. Then you cut off the end of the tail. Then you cut off all the little legs still attached. Once that’s done, you peel back the shell. If you’re holding a piece about an eighth of what you started with, you’re doing alright. Next, you coat it in lemon juice. You finish by adding a little more salt than you think you’ll need, then adding twice that amount.

Now I was ready to try it out. My past experiences with seafood told me that I needed a napkin at the ready in case there was a disagreement with my taste buds. To my delightful surprise, it really wasn’t bad. Maybe Spanish shrimp have a better flavor than what I was used to. Maybe my taste buds have grown up over the years. Maybe I didn’t mind it because all I could taste was salty lemon juice. I don’t know. But I do know that it didn’t make me want to spew. Heck I even took apart and ate a second one. I didn’t eat more and I doubt I will try it again in the near future. But I’m proud to have tried something I never thought I’d do a month earlier.

Aside from trying new foods, the evening was a lot of fun just getting to know a new group of friends. In the end, that’s what has made this whole experience what it is. I could go to a late-night Flamenco dance club, wander a Moroccan street market, and try a hundred new foods without anyone around. But none of those would be what they are without the friends I’ve made here. They are an exceptional group of people. Now that I’ve gotten to know just about everyone here pretty well, there’s no telling what’s in store for the next cultural tour, which is happening in just under over two weeks. I’ll make sure to fill all of you in on it by June.

Well, see ya!