Olives Without Bones

I think I'm beginning to enter culture shock. I'm getting a little bit tired of the heat and also the grumpiness of Spaniards.

Today I went to the gym again, and for the first time, the high tech turnstile actually recognized my fingerprint and let me in. The old guy who spends most of his time yelling (I think he is talking), whom I have decided to call Old Yeller, was not there. The gym was nice and quiet. I was thinking of how nice it was without him, but soon he arrived and began yelling (I think he was talking) to people.

I returned home and the 3 African prostitutes who hang outside my building were on duty. I really don't know what to do when I see them. They are the people I see the most here in Seville, but the few times I've looked at them, they lick their lips and blow kisses, so I just ignore them.

I changed and went to the market. I wanted to buy some green peppers to make this tuna salad I got from the grumpy baker. As I walked past the bakery I saw there was no one there and the grumpy guy was not working. I was tempted to go in but I don't really need any more bread, and I think they put the prepared food out at night, so there was no reason to. Instead I went to the market.

I went to a vegetable stall where I bought watermelon the other day. I saw that the guy had the long green peppers I was looking for, but they didn't look very fresh. He was waiting on one woman and another couple stood there talking to him.

While I was waiting, I walked over to another stall and the guy immediately asked if he could help me. I was kind of surprised by the quick attention I got since it seems most people just kind of ignore you for a while. I asked if he had olives without seeds (aceitunas sin semillas), thinking that was the right thing to ask for. He told me he didn't have any, but maybe next week and walked away. Okay, I guess he was done with me.

I went back to the first stall and stood there waiting for my turn. The guy asked if he could help me. I pointed to the long green peppers and said I didn't know what they were called. Both he and the woman standing there said "pimientos", which is what I thought, but you can never be sure - so many things have so many different names in Spanish speaking countries. Then the woman turned to me and in a very brusque manner said, "but please wait until he is finished with me" - well, excuuuuse me, the grocer was the one who asked if he could help me. I was just standing there minding my own business.

It seemed like she was going to take a while, so I went back to the olive guy who had some very nice looking long green peppers. I picked up a bunch and he came gliding back down to help me. I liked him, he was very attentive. I also picked up some little pears and told him I wanted a kilo. I gave him a handful and he told me "three more". I was very impressed that he could eyeball a kilo. He was almost right, and had to pick up one more to make a full kilo.

Feeling bad that I had abandoned the first guy because of his testy customer, I went back and picked up a quarter of a watermelon. He was still serving the same woman, who was really taking a long time. He saw me holding the watermelon and motioned for me to give it to him. I was afraid I was going to get yelled at again by her, but he weighed it while still serving her and told me the price. I slipped him the money and left.

Then it was off to Doña Aceituna to look for pitted olives, because the tuna salad I had also had olives in it and I didn't feel like pitting them myself. I knew she had pitted olives.

I walked in and the same young woman was working there. She greeted me with an "hola" but no smile. I don't think people smile here. She was helping someone else and was giving the other customer a sample and asked if I wanted to taste. They were nice olives with herbs in the broth.

It was then that I noticed that the pitted olives were actually called olives without bones "aceitunas sin huesos" - I thought it was a funny way to refer to the pit. I got a half kilo of the olives without bones and a half kilo of the ones I sampled.

I noticed she had dried garbanzo beans. I asked her how to prepare them. She responded brusquely "I don't know. I don't know anything about cooking". Okay. I didn't buy any garbanzos.

I returned home where the prostitutes stood guard outside my door thinking that I am beginning to miss friendly, civil interactions. I'm getting tired of people yelling, of people throwing my change at me, of people acting like they got up on the wrong side of the bed. I was thinking about Nicaragua where people in the market call you "mi amor", "mi rey" (my king), etc., and they smile. Why are Spaniards so grumpy?

Tomorrow I go to Cadiz, a city on the coast down at the tip of Spain near Africa. It will be interesting to see if they are just as grumpy as Sevillanos or not. I know this is all cultural and I'm trying not to take it personally, but I can feel it starting to have an effect on me. That's the way culture shock works, and it seems that even with an awareness of the process, it's kind of hard to do anything about it when these little things begin to add up.