Firtht Day of Clath

Today marked the first day of class, and the introduction to the Andalucian lisp. I have not yet discerned the rules for when the lisp is exercised, but I like the sound of it. The same can be said of my Spanish skills in general- a peculiar patois of verbiage, giggles and gesticulation. Luckily, everyone here wants to practice, and so we communicate by stringing together words with varying degrees of accuracy but much enthusiasm. We sound like Romper Room. En Espanol.

The auditory lessons are continuing apace. There was one minor setback during which I had thought that the tour guide was talking about a music hall. Just as I was about to ask when Bono would arrive, I realized that the building in question was in fact the National Archives. Dewey Decimal is the only rock star in that house.

Bonolessness aside, it was a lovely tour of Santa Cruz, which encompasses Seville's historically Jewish neighborhood. Vibrant examples of the fusion of Muslim, Jewish and Christian aesthetics abound. Equally strikingly, the area is unquestionably directed at tourists; nonetheless, locals engage in the prosaic details of life, walking the dog, smoothing a tablecloth, with apparent habituation to centuries of architectural relics that surround them. Here, as everywhere, life goes on.