So far, in addition to rants about the Bologna process, my classes here have all had two things in common: lengthy first lessons that involve defining whatever subject we're studying ("What is anthropology? How is it different from sociology? What does it have in common with psychology?"), and strict lectures on plagiarism.
Mount Holyoke is pretty anti-plagiarism, of course, but generally the professors don't spend a great amount of time defining it. Here, on the other hand, one of my classes was completely devoted to laying out 1) what plagiarism is, 2) how to cite properly, and 3) what the penalty for plagiarism would be (a zero in the class... which honestly isn't very harsh at all). At first I thought it was silly, but he informed us that last year, almost half his students plagiarized-- one even plagiarized an essay the professor himself had written.
At first my assumption was that this was a Spanish thing, but now I find it more likely that it's because of the nature of the school. A school with tiny classes, like Mount Holyoke, is probably going to have a lot less plagiarism than a larger school.* Large universities in the United States definitely have plagiarism woes.
One real cultural difference I've met with, though, is the definition of science. I'm not clear what the Spanish definition is, but it includes History. I'd like to learn more about why that is at some point.
I'm also not accustomed to my professors taking smoking breaks. One student informed me that two years ago they'd just smoke in class, but that's been banned.
All my professors seem wonderful so far. But it's definitely a different system.
*I'm not actually certain that UCo is larger, but the classes are.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Monday, September 26, 2011
Markets and siestas
Yesterday, for the first time since my arrival in Córdoba, I left the historic district and entered the modern one. This was not too difficult, since it's about three streets from my house, which is right along the border.
My reason for leaving the familiar historic district was to visit El Arenal, Córdoba's Sunday market. I wound up getting a little lost (as I've mentioned before, Google Maps isn't the most effective thing ever in Spain) and arrived at the market at around 1:30, half an hour before the start of the siesta.
I was expecting a long street market like La Batte, the Belgian market that stretches on forever (I only succeeded in walking the length of La Batte twice in the two years I lived in Belgium). Instead, El Arenal was much smaller and square-shaped. The goods were more or less what I'd expected: fruits and vegetables of varying quality, pickled goods, intimates, and knockoff clothes. The one stand that really caught my attention sold pretty abstract paintings for prices as low as 15 Euros, but the thought of lugging a canvas back with me didn't appeal to me. I did not walk all the way around the market because I'd arrived so late-- I wanted to get back before siesta began.
Supposedly the crime rate is higher during the siesta, but that's not the real reason you should stay off the streets. The Spanish siesta isn't just a cute tradition, it's a necessity. In the morning, before 10, Córdoba is actually a little cool; you can get away with a very light jacket, although you'll regret it as the hours progress. But by noon the heat has really set in, and at 2 it's absolutely brutal. A twenty-minute walk, like the one ahead of me yesterday, feels like an hour.
The other reason it's a good idea to take a siesta is that Spanish people stay up really, really late. If you're living somewhere where noises from the street are audible, you have to adopt Spanish hours to a certain extent. Sufficient sleep demands an afternoon nap.
My reason for leaving the familiar historic district was to visit El Arenal, Córdoba's Sunday market. I wound up getting a little lost (as I've mentioned before, Google Maps isn't the most effective thing ever in Spain) and arrived at the market at around 1:30, half an hour before the start of the siesta.
I was expecting a long street market like La Batte, the Belgian market that stretches on forever (I only succeeded in walking the length of La Batte twice in the two years I lived in Belgium). Instead, El Arenal was much smaller and square-shaped. The goods were more or less what I'd expected: fruits and vegetables of varying quality, pickled goods, intimates, and knockoff clothes. The one stand that really caught my attention sold pretty abstract paintings for prices as low as 15 Euros, but the thought of lugging a canvas back with me didn't appeal to me. I did not walk all the way around the market because I'd arrived so late-- I wanted to get back before siesta began.
Supposedly the crime rate is higher during the siesta, but that's not the real reason you should stay off the streets. The Spanish siesta isn't just a cute tradition, it's a necessity. In the morning, before 10, Córdoba is actually a little cool; you can get away with a very light jacket, although you'll regret it as the hours progress. But by noon the heat has really set in, and at 2 it's absolutely brutal. A twenty-minute walk, like the one ahead of me yesterday, feels like an hour.
The other reason it's a good idea to take a siesta is that Spanish people stay up really, really late. If you're living somewhere where noises from the street are audible, you have to adopt Spanish hours to a certain extent. Sufficient sleep demands an afternoon nap.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
"¡Es la mierda!!"
Over the past two days, I attended the first of each of my classes. Much like at Mount Holyoke, we mostly just went over the syllabus.
I am by no means the only international student in my classes. Among the countries represented in my Social Anthropology class are Korea, Italy, and Belgium (Flanders), and my Philosophy class is mostly international students, four of them from Germany.
One phrase kept popping up again and again in all my classes. It caught my attention because I thought, at first, that the professors were saying "Wallonia," that is, the region of Belgium my paternal grandmother was from. By the second or third time, I caught on: "Bolonia."
The Bologna Process is an agreement between a number of European countries to streamline their higher education, so that, for instance, someone with a degree from a French university can bring that degree to Germany and still get a job. It also requires universities in countries that have agreed to it to abide by certain standards.
The professors at my university are less than thrilled by this. One of them declared, "Bolonia es la mierda!" He said that the only purpose of Spain's compliance to Bologna is to save money-- one change is the shift from 5-year "licenciatura" programs to 4-year "grados." "They want us to sap our students of their intelligence," he said, "so I'm going to teach you how to pretend you're less intelligent than you are." My impression is that many professors write up syllabi compliant with the standards, then teach whatever they'd originally intended to.
It's not just professors that are upset with Bologna. Not too far from my apartment is graffiti which reads, "Con Bolonia mas tasas menos becas"-- "With Bologna, more taxes and fewer scholarships."
I wonder how much of the anti-Bologna feeling is provoked by the very real issues Bologna creates, and how much is part of a wider, anti-European-Integration sentiment. Recently, Spanish paper ABC (I don't think it's the same as our abc News) began an article on Greece's economy with the sentence, "All of Europe is sick of hearing people talk about the big Greek tragedy that threatens to undermine the foundations of the common European project." It's not exactly brilliant journalism, but it does show that there's more to the Bologna Process than a few disgruntled academics. It's Part of the Broader Context™ of European integration.
I am by no means the only international student in my classes. Among the countries represented in my Social Anthropology class are Korea, Italy, and Belgium (Flanders), and my Philosophy class is mostly international students, four of them from Germany.
One phrase kept popping up again and again in all my classes. It caught my attention because I thought, at first, that the professors were saying "Wallonia," that is, the region of Belgium my paternal grandmother was from. By the second or third time, I caught on: "Bolonia."
The Bologna Process is an agreement between a number of European countries to streamline their higher education, so that, for instance, someone with a degree from a French university can bring that degree to Germany and still get a job. It also requires universities in countries that have agreed to it to abide by certain standards.
The professors at my university are less than thrilled by this. One of them declared, "Bolonia es la mierda!" He said that the only purpose of Spain's compliance to Bologna is to save money-- one change is the shift from 5-year "licenciatura" programs to 4-year "grados." "They want us to sap our students of their intelligence," he said, "so I'm going to teach you how to pretend you're less intelligent than you are." My impression is that many professors write up syllabi compliant with the standards, then teach whatever they'd originally intended to.
It's not just professors that are upset with Bologna. Not too far from my apartment is graffiti which reads, "Con Bolonia mas tasas menos becas"-- "With Bologna, more taxes and fewer scholarships."
I wonder how much of the anti-Bologna feeling is provoked by the very real issues Bologna creates, and how much is part of a wider, anti-European-Integration sentiment. Recently, Spanish paper ABC (I don't think it's the same as our abc News) began an article on Greece's economy with the sentence, "All of Europe is sick of hearing people talk about the big Greek tragedy that threatens to undermine the foundations of the common European project." It's not exactly brilliant journalism, but it does show that there's more to the Bologna Process than a few disgruntled academics. It's Part of the Broader Context™ of European integration.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Planes, trains, and pain-in-the-butt directions.
Landing is my favorite part of flying-- I like watching the odd patches of color transform into fields, lawns, and towns. I only wish it had been light out when I arrived in Madrid.
Or maybe I don't. What I saw was beautiful-- a vast darkness, interrupted by sparse patches of light. But I was wondering what Spain would be like, and I didn't find much in the way of answers from the view.
On the train to Córdoba, I received a different perspective on Spain. We drove through long stretches of countryside, often completely flat. That threw me off a little, what with being from New England, Land of the Mountains. The fields were all yellow, no green in sight.
But once we got a little south, the landscape began to change. Soon there were hills, and, if not lush green pastures, then at least a number of pretty green bushes being harvested for something or other.
When I reached the station at Córdoba Central, it was 34 degrees Celsius (93.2 degrees F). My landlord, who had kindly offered to meet me at the station, helped me get my bags into his car and took me to my new home.
On the way over, he offered me trivia about Spain in general and Córdoba in particular. He explained that in spite of being a Romance Language, Spanish draws many words from Arabic due to its role in the Moorish Empire. He also informed me that the Córdoba accent would probably be easier for me to understand than northern Spanish accents because many of the boats that left for the Americas departed from Andalucia, so American Spanish draws more from Southern dialects.
My apartment is smack in between the Historic district and the Modern district. As he turned onto a street that was so narrow it required us to pull in the car mirrors, my landlord laughingly explained that while the Moors were good architects, they had not anticipated the invention of the automobile.
Many of the streets here are like that. It's a bad city for cars, but rather than create pedestrian-only walkways, the city allows cars to pass on streets too narrow to accommodate both a car and a pedestrian. Since there's no parking, often people will just park in the middle of the street for 10 or 15 minutes. A line of honking cars forms until the car owner unabashedly returns.
This was what my landlord did when showing me my apartment, which is on a street too narrow for Google Maps Street View. It's a cute place with all the necessities: a bed, a desk, a basic kitchen, and, of course, internet. It's got two French windows. One is the door, and the other leads to an extremely small balcony, only large enough to stand on. There's a lot of natural lighting, which I will be taking advantage of to save on the electric bill. :-)
After unpacking the year's worth of supplies that I'd managed to cram into one carry-on and one checked bag, I decided it might be time to get some food to sustain me for the next few days. Luckily, I'd already Googled and written out directions to a nearby grocery store that would also be able to cover my school supplies and minor furnishing needs. Unluckily, navigating Córdoba is a lot more difficult than Google Maps would have you believe. Three times I ventured into the unknown in my quest for El Corte Ingles, and I have yet to encounter the store.
To blame for this trouble is the nasty little beast known as the Plaza. My Google Maps directions read, "Take a right on Plaza de Regina. Take a left onto Calle de Regina." So when I came across a square with a bunch of "Plaza Regina" and "Cafe Regina" signs everywhere, I took a left onto the street labeled "Calle Regina."
It turns out that Calle Regina actually went part of the way across the square before making a right angle and continuing in a different direction. To top it off, the plaza itself didn't cover the entire square but was in fact limited to one key intersection.
Although I figured out what I'd done wrong, I gave up at the second plaza I encountered. I'd already seen a few food suppliers along the way, and while they didn't have all the items I required, they'd do.*
Córdoba is the kind of city where, while searching for a grocery store, one can stumble across some ancient Roman ruins just chillin' in the middle of the city. With the sun beating down on me I didn't stay long, but I'll definitely be going back.
Thus concludes my first day in Córdoba.
*For 24 euros (about 33 USD), I managed to buy 4 potatoes, 2 bananas, a large jug of lemonade, a large mango/papaya smoothie, two soda cans, vermicelli (rice noodles), cheese, soap, a 12-pack of toilet paper, a dozen eggs, milk, sugar, 2 kilos of apples, 250 ml extra-virgin olive oil, and 4 yogurts. I know you're not here to read my shopping list, but I was pretty happy with how cheap it all was.
Or maybe I don't. What I saw was beautiful-- a vast darkness, interrupted by sparse patches of light. But I was wondering what Spain would be like, and I didn't find much in the way of answers from the view.
On the train to Córdoba, I received a different perspective on Spain. We drove through long stretches of countryside, often completely flat. That threw me off a little, what with being from New England, Land of the Mountains. The fields were all yellow, no green in sight.
But once we got a little south, the landscape began to change. Soon there were hills, and, if not lush green pastures, then at least a number of pretty green bushes being harvested for something or other.
When I reached the station at Córdoba Central, it was 34 degrees Celsius (93.2 degrees F). My landlord, who had kindly offered to meet me at the station, helped me get my bags into his car and took me to my new home.
On the way over, he offered me trivia about Spain in general and Córdoba in particular. He explained that in spite of being a Romance Language, Spanish draws many words from Arabic due to its role in the Moorish Empire. He also informed me that the Córdoba accent would probably be easier for me to understand than northern Spanish accents because many of the boats that left for the Americas departed from Andalucia, so American Spanish draws more from Southern dialects.
My apartment is smack in between the Historic district and the Modern district. As he turned onto a street that was so narrow it required us to pull in the car mirrors, my landlord laughingly explained that while the Moors were good architects, they had not anticipated the invention of the automobile.
Many of the streets here are like that. It's a bad city for cars, but rather than create pedestrian-only walkways, the city allows cars to pass on streets too narrow to accommodate both a car and a pedestrian. Since there's no parking, often people will just park in the middle of the street for 10 or 15 minutes. A line of honking cars forms until the car owner unabashedly returns.
This was what my landlord did when showing me my apartment, which is on a street too narrow for Google Maps Street View. It's a cute place with all the necessities: a bed, a desk, a basic kitchen, and, of course, internet. It's got two French windows. One is the door, and the other leads to an extremely small balcony, only large enough to stand on. There's a lot of natural lighting, which I will be taking advantage of to save on the electric bill. :-)
After unpacking the year's worth of supplies that I'd managed to cram into one carry-on and one checked bag, I decided it might be time to get some food to sustain me for the next few days. Luckily, I'd already Googled and written out directions to a nearby grocery store that would also be able to cover my school supplies and minor furnishing needs. Unluckily, navigating Córdoba is a lot more difficult than Google Maps would have you believe. Three times I ventured into the unknown in my quest for El Corte Ingles, and I have yet to encounter the store.
To blame for this trouble is the nasty little beast known as the Plaza. My Google Maps directions read, "Take a right on Plaza de Regina. Take a left onto Calle de Regina." So when I came across a square with a bunch of "Plaza Regina" and "Cafe Regina" signs everywhere, I took a left onto the street labeled "Calle Regina."
It turns out that Calle Regina actually went part of the way across the square before making a right angle and continuing in a different direction. To top it off, the plaza itself didn't cover the entire square but was in fact limited to one key intersection.
Although I figured out what I'd done wrong, I gave up at the second plaza I encountered. I'd already seen a few food suppliers along the way, and while they didn't have all the items I required, they'd do.*
Córdoba is the kind of city where, while searching for a grocery store, one can stumble across some ancient Roman ruins just chillin' in the middle of the city. With the sun beating down on me I didn't stay long, but I'll definitely be going back.
Thus concludes my first day in Córdoba.
*For 24 euros (about 33 USD), I managed to buy 4 potatoes, 2 bananas, a large jug of lemonade, a large mango/papaya smoothie, two soda cans, vermicelli (rice noodles), cheese, soap, a 12-pack of toilet paper, a dozen eggs, milk, sugar, 2 kilos of apples, 250 ml extra-virgin olive oil, and 4 yogurts. I know you're not here to read my shopping list, but I was pretty happy with how cheap it all was.
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