Hello again everyone. Can I call you readers? Hello readers. Ooh, it´s so exciting to get to say that. I apologize for not writing sooner. As the school year draws closer to an end things tend to get a lot busier, as most of you know from experience.

Well, it´s now officially Spring, and Spring in Spain is mainly defined by Semana Santa. In Spanish the name means “holy week”. Semana Santa is the week before the holiday we call Easter. The reason I say that is because, in Spain, Easter is not celebrated as something particularly special, but rather as one more day of Semana Santa. Although this holiday is celebrated all over Spain, most foreigners think of it as something more or less particular to Sevilla. In reality, every town, regardless of its size, has its own Semana Santa celebrations. The celebrations are usually constituted by a sort of parade, with many people dressed up (both adults and children) called penitents and a paso and marching band at the end. The paso is like a type of float, carried on the backs of between 40 and 100 penitents underneath. On the top of the paso is an image, a statue or various statues, that depicts one of the biblical stories that lead up to Jesus´s death on the cross.

Unfortunately, the impression of Semana Santa that most Americans come away with is that of the penitents, who wear long colored robes, and very tall, pointy hoods that cover their heads, with two holes for their eyes. The unfortunate part is that they look an awful lot like members of the KKK, which is the comment most Spaniards hear from Americans who come to see the celebrations. The truth is there is absolutely no connection between the two things. Penitentes are members of the church who want to show appreciation to a particular image or saint. Like I said, they’re completely different concepts.

My experience of Semana Santa didn’t leave as much of an impact as it does for most people, because I knew more or less what to expect, after hearing my family talk about it. The best part is the amount of people who come out to watch the pasos, because it feels like everyone in town is on the street that week. It really is one big party.

Still, to be honest, it was a little hard going to see three of these in one night. When you’re standing there in the street, watching penitents filing two by two out of the church, and you look the other way to see a seemingly endless line of penitents all the way down to a bend in the road, and you know the line just keeps going from there, your legs start to feel unnaturally tired. I’m by no means saying that it’s boring, it just takes a special appreciation. The pasos are definitely my favourite part, because most of them are very beautiful, especially the virgenes, whose pasos are often decorated with candles and elegant drapery.

Aside from Semana Santa, the other most eventful thing that’s happened in the last couple months was a visit from my parents. My California parents, that is. It seems odd to me that I even have to make that distinction, but it really is necessary, which happens to summarize the strangest (for lack of a better word) part of the visit.

Imagine you have a best friend, or better yet, a boyfriend/girlfriend. Then, you have to move and you make a new best friend, or have a new boyfriend/girlfriend, but this is fantasy, so we’re going to imagine that your new friend/relationship is only provisional, until you go back home. Now, the person you left behind comes to visit you and the new person. Awkward, right? Yes, definitely awkward. Of course, the examples I’ve given are very different from parents, but it’s still the same general idea. For about the first couple of days, I was trying to figure out which family to treat like my family. It got easier once I decided it was like being with my parents, and an aunt and uncle; two are my parents, and two are very close relatives, but not quite my parents.

You may think this is over-thinking things a little, but I assure you that it isn’t. I’m just lucky my parents speak Spanish, and I can see now why the organization AFS strongly advises against parents visiting during the year the student is living in the host country. I can imagine how hard it would be to have your parents visit, and not speak any of the language your host family speaks. I think my friend put it very well in one of his emails to me, “it would be like having two best friends, one of which is allergic to the outdoors, the other is claustrophobic, and trying to keep them both happy.” While I had no problems with my parents visiting, and both families had a really great time, I can picture a lot of problems occurring in other situations, along those lines. One set of parents speaks one language, using one set of cultural norms, the other set of parents speaks a different language, using different cultural norms, and the student gets caught in the middle.

But getting back to my own experience, it was really great having my parents here, especially since they do speak Spanish and are very familiarized with Spanish culture; after having lived here for 5 years. Both sets of families made friends instantly. My little host brother was especially excited to play chess with my dad. It was hugely gratifying to have such a positive experience like that.

I suppose it’s time to say goodbye again. I will probably only write a couple more blogs, as the date of my departure is drawing closer. 8 weeks sounds like a very short time now that I’ve been here for over 7 months. In my next blog I’ll talk a little more about what it’s like to prepare myself mentally for coming home.

For now, arrivederci, i miei amici. Yes, I realize that’s Italian, and I really hope that’s written right, because I had to use an online translator, and you never can trust those things. Anyway, au revoir, mes amis (I´m taking French this year), adios, amigos mios, and I think if I said goodbye in any more languages it would just get ridiculous, so I’ll just say goodbye. Goodbye.