This week, I have been discovering that many things are lost in translation. Yes, oftentimes nonnative speakers tend to overlook words or the colloquial meaning of phrases, no matter how extensive their studies may have been. We may not completely grasp the connotations attached to descriptions and words as well as someone who has lived in a place their whole life. There will always be those words that translate to several different ones in English, and vice versa. Eventually, I suppose, people find a way to get around that, and sooner or later can distinguish well enough between caminar and pasear, and the likes.
But then there are some things that can’t be explained… not through words, tales, or pictures. Sometimes, you really do just have to be there. I am quickly finding that, no matter how much you’ve read or heard tell about a particular subject, it doesn’t become a reality until you actually experience it firsthand. It makes me wonder: how much is lost through our history books we read? Or through the internet that can so easily pull up just about anything? Or even through eBay and Amazon, which allow you to literally buy a piece of any culture with the click of a button? Modern technology has changed what traveling used to mean: it has cheapened the exotic stories, beautiful scenery, and unique gifts that we used to be so excited to bring back. What’s the point in leaving the comfort of your own home to traipse around the world when you can pull up pictures of the rainforest or buy Oaxaca pottery in a matter of minutes? If you’re one to quell your sense of adventure with rationalizations like these, I’m not going to convince you otherwise. But for the rest of y’all out there, I would just like to reassure you that, without a doubt, there are some things that even the internet will lose in translation.
Over the last few days, classes have been going as usual: proyectos, tarea, una profesora muy loca (nothing new there), with “excursions” in the afternoons. These excursions tend to have a broad range of level of interest, from looking at statues to visiting an engineering safety firm (I think). So after our long weekend in Portugal, and holding our eyes open through classes, we marched the 45 minutes across town to our first one of the week on Monday.
Standing outside of a nondescript building wedged between two stores on a tiny, cobblestone street, we were divided into smaller groups, so as to be able to fit inside. We ascended the skinny, narrow staircase, which very closely resembled the one in our lighthouse back home in St. Augustine, and stood in a room with several signs and diagrams. Too exhausted to think straight, I strung the random words I could catch together as best as I was able to, and waited patiently to be let in la torre, which was like a watch tower, from what I gathered. I later learned from a handout that this tower was called La Torre Tavira, and it was particularly famous because it is one of the few towers in the world with una Cámara Oscura. I had no idea what a “dark camera” was, but I followed our tour guide into a little room near the top of the tower along with the rest of the group, and gathered around a large, white, stone basin of some sort. It looked like someone was about to get sacrificed, when suddenly, she turned a rod which opened some sort of hole far up in the ceiling, beyond my view. Light streamed in, and projected in the basin was the entire city of Cádiz. It was the most bizarre thing I have ever seen…tiny seagulls flew around my fingertips which rested on the rail, clothing smaller than my fingernail fluttered in the wind that whipped outside the walls, a cruise boat the size of my palm chugged along around the opposite side of the basin. It was a perfect replica of every square inch of the city. We stared in awe as she rotated the basin, and different parts came into focus. Literally every shore could be seen over the sea of rooftops, and the new town was just barely visible in the misty distance. As we were leaving, I paid much closer attention to the diagrams: the best I can describe this phenomenon is that it works like a giant eye. Lenses near the top of the tower somehow focus and reflect the light onto the “retina”, the giant, shallow basin. As with the human eye, the image that we saw was upside down, but nevertheless, a perfect projection of the city.
You never know what you will find in Spain. Yesterday, as we sat through Dr. Labarca’s scattered ramblings, another teacher from the school rushed in, chattering rapidly in Spanish. We followed her back out to the street, where an enormous procession stood waiting. Large structures which appeared to be like floats, stood laden with flowers, as women in flamenco costumes strut about. A John Deere (Juan Ciervos?) tractor was lined up behind the quaint, yet elaborate, floats, and was followed by two more tractors. The street was packed with people of all ages, carrying sprigs of rosemary and taking in the spectacle. Soon, a hush fell upon the crowd, and a faint mutter quickly grew into a song. I shocked to find myself singing along as I recognized the words: it was the Ave María, or Hail Mary prayer. The crowd sang a few more songs, and soon, the procession began to move. The children and adults riding on the floats waved at us as they passed, while others accompanied them through the streets. Later that afternoon, while researching my project on festivals in Cádiz, I learned that this procession was called “La Romería del Rocío”. This is a pilgrimage of sorts to honor the Virgin Mary, or the Virgin of the Dew, that people embark upon each year. It is supposed to start the Friday before Pentecost, and festivities continue until the Tuesday after. People travel to the city of Huelva, where there is a small church called La Iglesia del Rocío, and a small, white statue of Mary, called la Blanca Paloma, or the White Dove. Once they reach the village, the people process through the streets with the statue, and later that night, celebrate with music, fireworks, and dancing. I must say, it is certainly more motivating to do Spanish projects when the subjects of your research are happening all around you.
Later that night, we were scheduled to go see a Flamenco show. After another hour walk to the far side of the city, we met our group, and followed our tiny, slightly insane professor, Dr. Labarca, through the streets, as she flailed her thin arms and long fingers in the motion of the classic dance of the gypsies. We settled into a small restaurant/tavern, and waited for the performers. Soon, two men took their place on the little, 12’x12’ or so, stage, and began to play their guitars. It was not exactly an appealing melody, and as one of them began to bellow, we began to think it would be a long night. After a few more songs, however, the Flamenco dancers appeared. Three tall women, with enormous heals, colorful combs, enormous flowers, and large, dangling earrings, took seats on the stage beside the musicians. One of them stood up, and stepped forward.
Back in elementary school, we learned that guapo meant handsome, but could also be changed to guapa to describe a feminine thing. I never understood why a female would want to be called handsome, or how you could describe one as such, until I saw this Flamenco dancer. She stood taller than me, and then some, with the addition of her heels. Her dark hair was slicked back, perfectly parted, and gathered into a large bun (that would rival my sister’s, Jackie’s, enormous knot) at the nape of her neck, not a hair out of place. Her long, flowing dress was black and white, with red accenting her costume. Her sharp features were fixed in such an intense scowl that I was almost scared to be sitting any closer. The music started, and she began to dance. With the first pound of an impressive heal, the table seemed to shake. A few more shuttering stomps followed. I figured this was just a warm-up of some sort, until the stomps began to progress more rapidly, and in quicker succession. Before I knew it, she stomped and swooped all over the stage, barely missing the musicians or the other dancers, and seemed to fly back and forth without ceasing the rhythmic pounding. Not a muscle in her face flinched, and the intensity did not falter. Small beads of sweat formed on her brow, but beyond that, she may as well have been a perfectly tuned machine, tapping without tap shoes, but with much greater force.
As the song ended, the pub roared its approval. The woman strode back to her seat, and settled with the utmost poise, the intense stare never wavering. The other two dancers followed with routines nearly as impressive as the first, and the three of them danced separately well into the night. As it finally drew to a close, and we filed out, the energy continued to pulse through the snug room. In the street, no one said much, as the full realization of all the effort, skill, and endurance that must have taken descended upon us. In Spanish, a Flamenco show is called una espectaculadora de Flamenco, and what a spectacle it was. Although we were completely unprepared for what we would see and equally as unaware of what the art of Flamenco actually entails, I am certain that the show would have been equally as unbelievable for anyone. Certainly, no YouTube video could do that justice.
Finally, today, we visited la Muprespa, which I had, at some point, been told was a clinic. We saw the medical testing room, with vision and hearing tests, and an EKG machine, and proceeded to a room with a screen in it. I was slightly confused by the lack of patients, and rooms, for that matter, but even more baffled when the lady began to rattle off, in paragraph upon paragraph of rapid Spanish, something about electrical engineers, marine engineers, and I’m not sure what other type. After reading the signs throughout the room, I discovered this was clearly not a clinic, but more like a private firm that was responsible for making working conditions for engineers safer, I think. I’m not really sure how someone confused the two beforehand, but we got things straightened out in the end. As I’ve been learning, you can’t interpret things too literally…you might miss something between the lines.
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