The Andalusian city of Sevilla slowly shakes itself awake, ready to take on another day in the blistering southern Spanish sun. As a student taking an early morning course, I am most likely getting up soon after most Sevillanos are only just returning to their cozy beds after their varied trysts at clubs and bars the night before. After all, this town does not seem to follow the traditional practice of going to bed at a normal hour. Upon waking, I take a quick shower in order to conserve as much water as humanly possible. Sevilla is not a place that sees very much rain, especially in the scorching summer months. While I am getting dressed, my madre Inma tells me, sleepily and heavily accented that “breakfast is ready”, one of the key English phrases that she has been practicing. I stumble out into the kitchen where my meal is waiting, typically five vanilla galletas or tostado, an apple, and a tumbler of milk. This is a time where I really feel like an American, as I usually do not give myself adequate time to eat enough. I am just so focused on getting to school on time that I scarf down the cookies, chug the milk, and aggressively take huge bites of the manzana. I tell my Inma “yo necesito salir para escuela”, give dos besos, and bound out of my apartment building.

I live in the humble and family-oriented neighborhood of Triana and I walk through the main shopping square to get to the Puenta de Triana every morning. Even though I am hurrying to get to school, I cannot help but notice the few early rising abuelas y abuelos out and about at the cafes, sipping their coffee and chatting excitedly about their most recent goings on. The creak of metal shop covers mingles with the voices of the ladies and the birds. I am routinely greeted by a bright “hola!” from the middle-aged shopkeepers, clad in cool cotton shirts and khakis, making me feel that I am part of their community, despite the obvious language barrier.

Cityscape and New Media Final.Paco Gonzalez.Summer2014.