Back in 1994 I decided to study abroad. In researching the opportunities, I narrowed the locations down to Nanjing, China and Seville, Spain. Since I eventually chose Spain and Seville left such a profound impact on me, I almost forgot that I had considered China until we decided to move here. But at the time, I MUST HAVE spent many hours weighing my options, because, well, did you read the My Prerogative post? I remember that I almost chose China because, as a Marketing and International Business major, I thought it would look better on a resume than Spain. Fortunately, my Int'l Bus. professor whom I respected and admired, Joseph O'Donoghue, advised me not to think about my resume but about the experience I wanted to have.
And the experience I had was extraordinary and lives in me in many ways still. Sure, I would have probably had a memorable study abroad experience in China if I chose it, but Seville became my soul place. Here's one of the many reasons why. I was the only one awake in my apartment one night at about 2 a.m., which was typical. Seville is a lively place with a noise level and a nightlife unrivaled perhaps only by... Hong Kong. But it was a quiet night and out of nowhere I heard music. I could tell it wasn't a passing car radio but live music. I looked out my living room window that faced the street, five floors down, and I saw a group of majestically costumed men toting guitars and singing in the direction of my building. They were serenading the woman in the apartment next door. After a couple of songs, she threw down a rose and they cheered, and I stood there wondering if what I witnessed was real. Nobody else was awake so I had to wait until the next day to tell the story. I asked around and I found out that there are many such groups of these traditional folk singers in Seville, referred to as La Tuna. I got to see many more during the celebration of the Immaculate Conception in December. They melodically made their way through the streets surrounding the cathedral among hundreds of other revellers. Spaniards don't need much of a reason to revel. I was hooked.
When Paul and I revisited Seville in 2004, we saw a group practicing inside a bar. They may be commonplace there, but to me, seeing a bunch of old-time troubadors singing their romantic ballads with beers and cigarettes in hand is an experience to behold. They might make a grander impression when your first encounter is a solitary dreamlike one at 2 a.m. in a country where you seem to breathe differently.
So here we are in Hong Kong, with quite a mix of cultures on display, but still, the last thing I expected to see on our way home Saturday night was La Tuna.
This past weekend there was a huge rugby tournament here called The Sevens. Saturday afternoon, we saw some men on the street who looked like they could be part of a La Tuna group, but I didn't think they were genuine because we also saw costumed gladiators and cops and cowgirls, as some people apparently dress up for The Sevens. Then when we thought we were ending our night, we walked past a bar and there they were, in true Spanish style, smoking, drinking, singing, and wooing the women in their presence. We just had to stop in.
And sometimes you give in... and you hear music.
I didn't have my camera with me. These pictures are actually from Seville, 1994, to give you the idea. I did take some photos Saturday with my phone - a phrase many thought I would never utter - but I have to transfer them to a memory card so I can get them on my computer.
And the experience I had was extraordinary and lives in me in many ways still. Sure, I would have probably had a memorable study abroad experience in China if I chose it, but Seville became my soul place. Here's one of the many reasons why. I was the only one awake in my apartment one night at about 2 a.m., which was typical. Seville is a lively place with a noise level and a nightlife unrivaled perhaps only by... Hong Kong. But it was a quiet night and out of nowhere I heard music. I could tell it wasn't a passing car radio but live music. I looked out my living room window that faced the street, five floors down, and I saw a group of majestically costumed men toting guitars and singing in the direction of my building. They were serenading the woman in the apartment next door. After a couple of songs, she threw down a rose and they cheered, and I stood there wondering if what I witnessed was real. Nobody else was awake so I had to wait until the next day to tell the story. I asked around and I found out that there are many such groups of these traditional folk singers in Seville, referred to as La Tuna. I got to see many more during the celebration of the Immaculate Conception in December. They melodically made their way through the streets surrounding the cathedral among hundreds of other revellers. Spaniards don't need much of a reason to revel. I was hooked.
When Paul and I revisited Seville in 2004, we saw a group practicing inside a bar. They may be commonplace there, but to me, seeing a bunch of old-time troubadors singing their romantic ballads with beers and cigarettes in hand is an experience to behold. They might make a grander impression when your first encounter is a solitary dreamlike one at 2 a.m. in a country where you seem to breathe differently.
So here we are in Hong Kong, with quite a mix of cultures on display, but still, the last thing I expected to see on our way home Saturday night was La Tuna.
This past weekend there was a huge rugby tournament here called The Sevens. Saturday afternoon, we saw some men on the street who looked like they could be part of a La Tuna group, but I didn't think they were genuine because we also saw costumed gladiators and cops and cowgirls, as some people apparently dress up for The Sevens. Then when we thought we were ending our night, we walked past a bar and there they were, in true Spanish style, smoking, drinking, singing, and wooing the women in their presence. We just had to stop in.
This move is a potential career opportunity for Paul, but I thankfully know that we don't - and shouldn't - make decisions based on what looks good on a resume. We came here ultimately because somebody asked, "Do you want to go to Hong Kong?" And because a long time ago, we met each other and might have each sensed that we could both say yes to such improbable questions. I do, in fact, thank my husband for letting me hitch a ride on an opportunity I had once hoped for in my own career, if only I hadn't since passed through a couple of other careers.
When Paul called me at work back in late October to tell me his employers might consider him for an assignment abroad, my heart leaped a little. That idea was why I was an international business major to begin with. If I listened to the little voices inside, I would have realized sooner that I was really only interested in the international part, not so much the business. My eighth grade music teacher, Mr. Fiorenza, quoted a song called "James," by Billy Joel, in my yearbook. "Do what's good for you or you're not good for anybody." He happened to be my English teacher later in high school. His second yearbook inscription read, "Same quote still applies." So, I guess my self-doubt is sometimes as visible as if I had detailed it on a resume, or in a high school essay... or on a blog.
Oddly, I may be able to make a decision such as, should we move to Hong Kong, relatively easily. But once I get there, I sometimes get bogged down in details like, "If we choose the one bedroom with no closets in the cool building, where will we put a broom?" So I think of our La Tuna sighting as a very good omen. Yes, I did characteristically question myself on the apartment decision for another couple of days, and then I just gave in.When Paul called me at work back in late October to tell me his employers might consider him for an assignment abroad, my heart leaped a little. That idea was why I was an international business major to begin with. If I listened to the little voices inside, I would have realized sooner that I was really only interested in the international part, not so much the business. My eighth grade music teacher, Mr. Fiorenza, quoted a song called "James," by Billy Joel, in my yearbook. "Do what's good for you or you're not good for anybody." He happened to be my English teacher later in high school. His second yearbook inscription read, "Same quote still applies." So, I guess my self-doubt is sometimes as visible as if I had detailed it on a resume, or in a high school essay... or on a blog.
And sometimes you give in... and you hear music.
I didn't have my camera with me. These pictures are actually from Seville, 1994, to give you the idea. I did take some photos Saturday with my phone - a phrase many thought I would never utter - but I have to transfer them to a memory card so I can get them on my computer.
