For the first time in 24 years Spain is going to the finals of Eurocup -- we beat Russia 3-0 last night under the beating rain of Vienna and the eyes of millions of fans. Watching the game at a restaurant/bar here in Sevilla was less exciting than I had anticipated, but fun none the less. Afterwards we spent our final night in Sevilla at our favorite bar by the river, talking and reminiscing (i´m sure i just misspelled that). By the grace of God my roomate and I both dislike staying out late, so we came back home at the early hour of 2am. This morning I got up early to beat the intense mid-day heat so I could do my last bits of shopping. Now I´m just killing time...it´s too hot to walk around the city but too early to go back home. And perhaps I am avoiding packing, because I know that means I´m really leaving.
This trip has been unlike anything I´ve ever experienced -- the people, the places, and the experiences were nothing I could have anticipated and nothing I will ever experience again. To think that a month and a half ago I was walking into the Dallas airport with forced confidence to cover up my anxiousness for flying alone and then going to a new place to be surrounded entirely by people I didn´t know -- it is amazing. I look at the friends I have made and laugh at my vague recollections of first impressions. Was I really in Madrid and friendless not too long ago? And such judgements I passed even in the first minutes of laying my eyes on the group of lethargic ISA students in the Madrid airport taunt me now, reminding my of how much I don´t know. My roomate and I had a lengthy conversation last night during our 30-minute walk back home about "the game" that people (especially girls) our age play. This has been the first time that I have been surrounded by people who play the game -- I have been so blessed with my high school friends and new college friends, who are not interested in playing the game. It is a game of strategy, and I also see now that it is by no merit of my own that I do not participate in it. The strategy begins to be laid even in the first moments that we meet each other. The girls at the airport who could stand out and the guys who could play cool earned bonus points that rolled over to the whole trip. You also get points for every time people see you with an alcoholic beverage in your hand, and you get tripple points if the alcoholic beverage is accompanied by spaniards of the opposite sex. It is especially important to form alliances, connected by bonds of common dislike that is expressed under the table when the player in question is not present. And when there is not a person to discuss it is of utmost importance that you find something to complain about, and there is never a lack of such topics in a foreign country where "the unfamiliar" can be discussed as "the ridiculous". It is also of utmost importance that you practice your game face: for girls the lean-in group pose to fill the pages of facebook, and for guys the disinterested smile and leaned-back pose -- prefferably with a group of girls around you. It is a game and I´m not sure what the goal is or what the prize is for winning. Seeing the game being played on a concentrated, small scale of the 100 ISA students has renewed my appreciation for my friends, but also given me a new respect for people who I never before understood. Those who play the game are not bad people, and in fact there are amazing depths to be discovered if you are willing to ignore the game play.
Blah bla blah...this is turning into rambling.
Spain is amazing, this trip is amazing, and going home will be amazing. Fanta limón is also amazing, and I am amazingly sad that it does not exist in the United States.
ciao.
Jun 27, 2008
Jun 26, 2008
fin.
Well, almost. Today is my last day of classes, and tomorrow night I get on an all-night bus to Madrid so that I can spend the day in airports and airplanes, and then soon be in the arms of my own family. I am sad to be leaving this place that has just started to feel like home, but I am even more excited about seeing my friends and family. The most beautiful scenery in the world is that of familiar faces.
Summer has swallowed up Sevilla, and she is burning in its insides. Yesterday´s high here was around 106 or 107 -- Saturday´s high is supposed to be 111. It is intense. I am excited about air conditioning! Speaking of heat, lots of people just walked in and they smell big time like b.o..
Obviously I don´t have much to say............
tonight is the big game -- russia vs. spain. If spain wins they go to the semifinals or finals or whatever it´s called. I´m going out with my friends to take part in the insanity of watching fútbol games in public. Apparently we have to get there like 1n hour early so it doesnt fill up. I´m so excited.
Thats it....i´m hot, and that´s making me tired.
Summer has swallowed up Sevilla, and she is burning in its insides. Yesterday´s high here was around 106 or 107 -- Saturday´s high is supposed to be 111. It is intense. I am excited about air conditioning! Speaking of heat, lots of people just walked in and they smell big time like b.o..
Obviously I don´t have much to say............
tonight is the big game -- russia vs. spain. If spain wins they go to the semifinals or finals or whatever it´s called. I´m going out with my friends to take part in the insanity of watching fútbol games in public. Apparently we have to get there like 1n hour early so it doesnt fill up. I´m so excited.
Thats it....i´m hot, and that´s making me tired.
Jun 25, 2008
But I was just starting to get comfortable here...
Two more days...just two days.
I just finished the first of my two finals, and it was not bad. My spanish professor is amazing -- he is one of those people who loves what he does so much that he couldn´t do anything else if he tried. He was made to teach, and to contage his passion to each and every one of his students. (¡no me contagies!) When he talks to us about arabic art and architecture, I know it´s because he thinks it is fascinating and he wants us all to share in his fascination. That is what teaching is all about -- that is how every class should be. He gets so excited about teaching that he usually ends up spitting and sliding around on the marble floors as his gestures fight with his words for prominence.
Last night, as part of my conviction to take full advantage of my last week here, I met up with several girls to go find a small flamenco bar. It was a very neat place -- too cool for air conditioning, apparently. In the front room a small group of ragged musicians filled the worn, wodden walls with spain´s soundtrack. we pushed our way through the bodies of sweaty listeners to pass into the back room -- the flamenco room. I wish with all my might that I could put words to the enchantment of flamenco, but I cannot. Nobody can. I am often more enchanted by the faces of the musicians and dancers than their movements or music because it is so human. How obvious to say that their faces are human, but the expressions on their faces are not fabricated or made by a mold -- they are truly, raw human. Kim -- I wish you could have been there last night. As I sat there watching the movements of their bodies, hands, and feet, I saw your enraptured face and heard your squeal of delight. I have videos, but it´s just not the same. The smell of sweat lingered in the still air with that of sangría, which was flowing by the pitchers-full (although I stuck to water last night). Finally around 1:30, which is early by spanish standards, we made our way home.
This morning after a walk that, in the noon heat, felt like an eternity, I made it to the other side of town where the offices of Cáritas, a charity organization, are located. I went in hopes of attaining an interview, and I kind of got one. The woman I talked with came out of a meeting to answer my questions, so I had to keep it short, and she did the same with her responses. Despite the short answers, it was good. It is so great to hear about the acts of charity and love that people do all around the world. I´ve been studying history and government here, and sometimes it really makes me depressed and lose hope in mankind.
Not much else besides lots of heat, a test, and still counting down.
I just finished the first of my two finals, and it was not bad. My spanish professor is amazing -- he is one of those people who loves what he does so much that he couldn´t do anything else if he tried. He was made to teach, and to contage his passion to each and every one of his students. (¡no me contagies!) When he talks to us about arabic art and architecture, I know it´s because he thinks it is fascinating and he wants us all to share in his fascination. That is what teaching is all about -- that is how every class should be. He gets so excited about teaching that he usually ends up spitting and sliding around on the marble floors as his gestures fight with his words for prominence.
Last night, as part of my conviction to take full advantage of my last week here, I met up with several girls to go find a small flamenco bar. It was a very neat place -- too cool for air conditioning, apparently. In the front room a small group of ragged musicians filled the worn, wodden walls with spain´s soundtrack. we pushed our way through the bodies of sweaty listeners to pass into the back room -- the flamenco room. I wish with all my might that I could put words to the enchantment of flamenco, but I cannot. Nobody can. I am often more enchanted by the faces of the musicians and dancers than their movements or music because it is so human. How obvious to say that their faces are human, but the expressions on their faces are not fabricated or made by a mold -- they are truly, raw human. Kim -- I wish you could have been there last night. As I sat there watching the movements of their bodies, hands, and feet, I saw your enraptured face and heard your squeal of delight. I have videos, but it´s just not the same. The smell of sweat lingered in the still air with that of sangría, which was flowing by the pitchers-full (although I stuck to water last night). Finally around 1:30, which is early by spanish standards, we made our way home.
This morning after a walk that, in the noon heat, felt like an eternity, I made it to the other side of town where the offices of Cáritas, a charity organization, are located. I went in hopes of attaining an interview, and I kind of got one. The woman I talked with came out of a meeting to answer my questions, so I had to keep it short, and she did the same with her responses. Despite the short answers, it was good. It is so great to hear about the acts of charity and love that people do all around the world. I´ve been studying history and government here, and sometimes it really makes me depressed and lose hope in mankind.
Not much else besides lots of heat, a test, and still counting down.
Jun 24, 2008
3...2...1...
Not a whole lot to write about today other than the fact that I only have 3 more days in this country. Yesterday after classes I went to the river with several girl friends and a little bit of tinto de verano, and we spent hours sitting on the shores laughing and swapping stories. It was wonderful and relaxing. This has been such a unique experience in terms of getting to know people -- I never could have anticipated the way it has turned out.
I´m doing research now about social services offered in Spain; I have to write a 15-20 page paper between now and the beginning of August in order to complete my grade for the class I´m taking here.
This morning my host dad was in the kitchen when i went in for breakfast. It was so awkward. We avoided each other´s glances, and eventually he made some comment about the weather to whichI clumsily responded, and that was about it. Oh, to be back home in my own kitchen where I don´t dread the communication breaches that follow anyone but my roomate into the room!! Soon...soon. 3 days and then an eternity of traveling, and I´m there.
I´m doing research now about social services offered in Spain; I have to write a 15-20 page paper between now and the beginning of August in order to complete my grade for the class I´m taking here.
This morning my host dad was in the kitchen when i went in for breakfast. It was so awkward. We avoided each other´s glances, and eventually he made some comment about the weather to whichI clumsily responded, and that was about it. Oh, to be back home in my own kitchen where I don´t dread the communication breaches that follow anyone but my roomate into the room!! Soon...soon. 3 days and then an eternity of traveling, and I´m there.
Jun 23, 2008
i sizzle, i scorch, and now i pass the torch...
I am sunburned, but happy.
Saturday was our final ISA excursion, so we all met at 8:30 in the morning to ride to Cádiz, a beach town not far frm Sevilla. The bus ride was less than pleasant for me, and somewhat reminiscent of Forrest Gump. Having arrived late, I had no choice really of where to sit, and ended up in the back of the bus with the "in crowd" of our group. Hours before the first traces of sunburn, I felt the burn of being unwanted. The ride back, however, was much better. I sat with a new friend with whom I talked about God and poverty and traveling. We first stopped in Jerez, a city near Cádiz, to see a horse museum. I can see the confused look on your faces now as you read....a horse museum??? Fret not, dear reader, we all felt the same way -- especially in conjunction with our anticipation of the long-awaited beach. The stables of the museum (which contained real LIVE horses) reawakened my lifelong dreams to someday have horses of my own. I´m not sure how that works with also being a world traveler. I don´t think horses are especially fond of flying. Oh well -- all minor details. Anyhow, we drug our feet through the museum and finally made it to Cádiz, where a small group of us first climbed to the highest tower of the cathedral for a truly breathtaking view of the town, which is located on a small peninsula. Saphire blue water smiled at us from all sides, and the whitewashed walls of the monolopy-esque buildings reflected the majesty of the sun. The cool breeze refreshed our weary bodies (weary because we got lost in the winding streets for nearly 30 minutes before finding the right building) and I have never felt so certain in my life that if I truly wanted to I could fly. But instead of flying we descended the dream-like spiral of the tower, and then walked to the beaches.
Almost as numerous as the grains of sand that danced carelessly with the waves were the people laid out on that sand. Umbrellas, bikinis, and beach towels were part of the mosaic that Nature designed to be tan and blue. It was insane -- but awesome. We found a spare plot of sand to set our things down, and then dashed into the cool, clear waters. I forget that the ocean can be clear blue and the beaches soft white. Texans don´t have very good beaches to compare to. But here I could see my feet beneath me as they sunk into the muddy sand, and the perfect sized waves tossed us around enough to feel its movement a part of my own pulse without having to struggle to maintain contact with the air. I am always amazed at the increased bouyancy of salt water -- I felt a little like Bill Nye as I made remarks about this. I have yet to find a sensation more relaxing and freeing than to float atop ocean waves, all the faces around me erased except that of the Sun. If it weren´t for the salt water filling the tiny canals of my inner ear and the UV rays that I know were my invisible enemy, I could have laid like that for the whole day. I suppose I need not go on about the wonders of the beach, as most of my readers will have known them themselves, and so my words, pale in comparisson to the reality, are pitiful. I will comment, however, on the unwritten allowance for toplessness on European beaches. It was neither shocking nor disturbing, only strange. Again I wondered about the American stigma about nakedness, but not so much so that I was convinced to remove my own top. After a day at the beach, I was so exhausted that our attempts once back in Sevilla to go see some live music all but failed, and I happily came back home and to sleep.
Sunday morning I reluctantly woke up to go to the bus station and meet my friend, and we left for Ronda, a small town in the mountains famous for its gorges and bridges. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into or what the day would bring, but that was half the fun. We wandered around the city a bit to get a feel for what there was, and before long we were met by the breath-taking view of the sheer cliffs of the gorge that splits the city in two. The famous bridge, called Puente Nuevo, was truly impressive, despite my previous conviction that no bridge can truly be impressive. It was so immensely tall, and the wonders that kneel at its feet so surreal, that we soon understood the bridge´s nickname "balcón de coños" (which roughly translates to "balcony of ´oh shit!´"). Anyhow, after admiring its beauty both natural and man-made, we found a path down into the gorge. Thinking that it would take us to a slightly lower point in order to take picutres, we followed it down along the crumbling walls of a once-standing fortress. All that remained of an arabic fortress from the 13th century was an unmistakably arabic archway, through which we passed, and followed the path that started to get narrower and narrower, and more overgrown with vines and wildflowers. By the time the vegetation had consumed us as we were in a tunnel of greenery rather than an open path, we came upon the remains of a 18th or 19th century electric company building. For hours we explored this world that, save the grafiti dated in recent years, felt like it had been untouched for a century. It was both eerie and exciting -- thrilling and chilling. We dodged waterfalls, pushed aside vines, and dared slipper slopes, always to be rewarded by another amazing view of a part of the city´s history that had been abandoned to the vines and branches of Time. Wild figs grew through the walls of the buildings or out of the sides of cliffs, and the gentle sound of trickling water let us forget the nearby city as we took on the role of explorers and adventurers. Finally, after my friend had a nerve-shaking slip and the sun, too, was slipping lower and lower, we decided to head back. Half way up the slope was a small, dilapidating old house, in which there lives a man who sells refreshments to tourists on their arduous journey uphill. We stopped in and, after finding out from a pair of musicians seated on a ledge of the cliff by the house that the owner was down the path, we headed down again, this time towards the bridge. We found ourselves at the very feet of the bridge, just meters away from the crystal-clear waters. We found the owner hacking away at some stray branches, and he stopped his work to show us the amazing view and tell us a little about what we saw. He walked back with us to the top, where we purchased some beverages and sat for a while to chat with the owner (whose name, we found out, was Antonio) and the two musicians, who were visitors -- one from Italy and the other from Venezuela. Once well-rested and armed with bellies full of Fanta limón, we completed the climb up. The rest of our visit in Ronda was uneventful, but not boring in the least. It is an amazingly historic and beautiful city, and we were reluctant to climb aboard the bus at 7:00 to go back to Sevilla. Exhausted yet again, I enjoyed a quiet evening consisting of little more than a shower, dinner, and sleep.
And now, is the beginning of the end. Except for a few exams and a presentation this trip is over. So........if anyone wants anything from Spain let me know now, for this is my last week of shopping. I´m still in love with this country, but at the same time eager to come home.
I have to relenquish my computer now to the hoovering students eager to check their facebooks.
:D
love love love
Saturday was our final ISA excursion, so we all met at 8:30 in the morning to ride to Cádiz, a beach town not far frm Sevilla. The bus ride was less than pleasant for me, and somewhat reminiscent of Forrest Gump. Having arrived late, I had no choice really of where to sit, and ended up in the back of the bus with the "in crowd" of our group. Hours before the first traces of sunburn, I felt the burn of being unwanted. The ride back, however, was much better. I sat with a new friend with whom I talked about God and poverty and traveling. We first stopped in Jerez, a city near Cádiz, to see a horse museum. I can see the confused look on your faces now as you read....a horse museum??? Fret not, dear reader, we all felt the same way -- especially in conjunction with our anticipation of the long-awaited beach. The stables of the museum (which contained real LIVE horses) reawakened my lifelong dreams to someday have horses of my own. I´m not sure how that works with also being a world traveler. I don´t think horses are especially fond of flying. Oh well -- all minor details. Anyhow, we drug our feet through the museum and finally made it to Cádiz, where a small group of us first climbed to the highest tower of the cathedral for a truly breathtaking view of the town, which is located on a small peninsula. Saphire blue water smiled at us from all sides, and the whitewashed walls of the monolopy-esque buildings reflected the majesty of the sun. The cool breeze refreshed our weary bodies (weary because we got lost in the winding streets for nearly 30 minutes before finding the right building) and I have never felt so certain in my life that if I truly wanted to I could fly. But instead of flying we descended the dream-like spiral of the tower, and then walked to the beaches.
Almost as numerous as the grains of sand that danced carelessly with the waves were the people laid out on that sand. Umbrellas, bikinis, and beach towels were part of the mosaic that Nature designed to be tan and blue. It was insane -- but awesome. We found a spare plot of sand to set our things down, and then dashed into the cool, clear waters. I forget that the ocean can be clear blue and the beaches soft white. Texans don´t have very good beaches to compare to. But here I could see my feet beneath me as they sunk into the muddy sand, and the perfect sized waves tossed us around enough to feel its movement a part of my own pulse without having to struggle to maintain contact with the air. I am always amazed at the increased bouyancy of salt water -- I felt a little like Bill Nye as I made remarks about this. I have yet to find a sensation more relaxing and freeing than to float atop ocean waves, all the faces around me erased except that of the Sun. If it weren´t for the salt water filling the tiny canals of my inner ear and the UV rays that I know were my invisible enemy, I could have laid like that for the whole day. I suppose I need not go on about the wonders of the beach, as most of my readers will have known them themselves, and so my words, pale in comparisson to the reality, are pitiful. I will comment, however, on the unwritten allowance for toplessness on European beaches. It was neither shocking nor disturbing, only strange. Again I wondered about the American stigma about nakedness, but not so much so that I was convinced to remove my own top. After a day at the beach, I was so exhausted that our attempts once back in Sevilla to go see some live music all but failed, and I happily came back home and to sleep.
Sunday morning I reluctantly woke up to go to the bus station and meet my friend, and we left for Ronda, a small town in the mountains famous for its gorges and bridges. We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into or what the day would bring, but that was half the fun. We wandered around the city a bit to get a feel for what there was, and before long we were met by the breath-taking view of the sheer cliffs of the gorge that splits the city in two. The famous bridge, called Puente Nuevo, was truly impressive, despite my previous conviction that no bridge can truly be impressive. It was so immensely tall, and the wonders that kneel at its feet so surreal, that we soon understood the bridge´s nickname "balcón de coños" (which roughly translates to "balcony of ´oh shit!´"). Anyhow, after admiring its beauty both natural and man-made, we found a path down into the gorge. Thinking that it would take us to a slightly lower point in order to take picutres, we followed it down along the crumbling walls of a once-standing fortress. All that remained of an arabic fortress from the 13th century was an unmistakably arabic archway, through which we passed, and followed the path that started to get narrower and narrower, and more overgrown with vines and wildflowers. By the time the vegetation had consumed us as we were in a tunnel of greenery rather than an open path, we came upon the remains of a 18th or 19th century electric company building. For hours we explored this world that, save the grafiti dated in recent years, felt like it had been untouched for a century. It was both eerie and exciting -- thrilling and chilling. We dodged waterfalls, pushed aside vines, and dared slipper slopes, always to be rewarded by another amazing view of a part of the city´s history that had been abandoned to the vines and branches of Time. Wild figs grew through the walls of the buildings or out of the sides of cliffs, and the gentle sound of trickling water let us forget the nearby city as we took on the role of explorers and adventurers. Finally, after my friend had a nerve-shaking slip and the sun, too, was slipping lower and lower, we decided to head back. Half way up the slope was a small, dilapidating old house, in which there lives a man who sells refreshments to tourists on their arduous journey uphill. We stopped in and, after finding out from a pair of musicians seated on a ledge of the cliff by the house that the owner was down the path, we headed down again, this time towards the bridge. We found ourselves at the very feet of the bridge, just meters away from the crystal-clear waters. We found the owner hacking away at some stray branches, and he stopped his work to show us the amazing view and tell us a little about what we saw. He walked back with us to the top, where we purchased some beverages and sat for a while to chat with the owner (whose name, we found out, was Antonio) and the two musicians, who were visitors -- one from Italy and the other from Venezuela. Once well-rested and armed with bellies full of Fanta limón, we completed the climb up. The rest of our visit in Ronda was uneventful, but not boring in the least. It is an amazingly historic and beautiful city, and we were reluctant to climb aboard the bus at 7:00 to go back to Sevilla. Exhausted yet again, I enjoyed a quiet evening consisting of little more than a shower, dinner, and sleep.
And now, is the beginning of the end. Except for a few exams and a presentation this trip is over. So........if anyone wants anything from Spain let me know now, for this is my last week of shopping. I´m still in love with this country, but at the same time eager to come home.
I have to relenquish my computer now to the hoovering students eager to check their facebooks.
:D
love love love
Jun 20, 2008
buddha
This has to be brief; I have a presentation to prepare for monday -- all in Spanish.
Last night tons of people from our group went out to this place called Buddha Bar, which is actually a really cool place. It has three floors, the first is really chill and has a restaurant, the second floor has an indoor and outdoor bar with music in the inside bar; the third floor is an all-out discoteca. I had fun, but several times I stopped and looked around the solid mass of young human flesh around me and saw how completely ridiculous the whole thing is. I kind of felt like I found myself taking part in some tribal mating ritual. I just wanted to dance, and had to brush off the few vulture-like spanish guys who had other ideas. When it became so crowded that dancing was no longer possible and instead it was just a single mass of hormonal flesh pulsating with a beat that some might call music, I had to leave. It´s official -- I don´t like going out if that´s what "going out" means. It was fun for the most part, just not to be repeated.
So we didn´t get home until 4:30am and i didnt get to sleep until 5, which means today is a sleepy day. Not much else besides school, this project...oh, and my bocadillo today was a new kind and it was delicious. I was excited.
That´s it. I miss you all......I think about coming home more than I probably should, even though I´m enjoying my last week here.
7 days................
Last night tons of people from our group went out to this place called Buddha Bar, which is actually a really cool place. It has three floors, the first is really chill and has a restaurant, the second floor has an indoor and outdoor bar with music in the inside bar; the third floor is an all-out discoteca. I had fun, but several times I stopped and looked around the solid mass of young human flesh around me and saw how completely ridiculous the whole thing is. I kind of felt like I found myself taking part in some tribal mating ritual. I just wanted to dance, and had to brush off the few vulture-like spanish guys who had other ideas. When it became so crowded that dancing was no longer possible and instead it was just a single mass of hormonal flesh pulsating with a beat that some might call music, I had to leave. It´s official -- I don´t like going out if that´s what "going out" means. It was fun for the most part, just not to be repeated.
So we didn´t get home until 4:30am and i didnt get to sleep until 5, which means today is a sleepy day. Not much else besides school, this project...oh, and my bocadillo today was a new kind and it was delicious. I was excited.
That´s it. I miss you all......I think about coming home more than I probably should, even though I´m enjoying my last week here.
7 days................
Jun 19, 2008
Fanning the flames
After talking to my professor yesterday about how hot we are at night because we were told we can´t use the ceiling fan for long amounts of time, he convinced me to talk to Monolo -- the host family guy -- so he could talk with our mom. Apparently it´s in their contract that we have access to a fan (if not air conditioner). So I talked to Monolo, and he in turn called our host mom. She told him we are more than welcome to use the ceiling fan, she only wants us to turn it off when we leave the apartment. I was so confused -- had she lied to us? I could have sworn that she told us after leaving it on all night one night that we couldn´t leave it on for more than short amounts of time, and now she´s changing her tune??? Confused, we dreaded coming home. We made it home a little bit later than usual, and as soon as we walked into the kitchen she said (in spanish, of course) "When did I ever say you couldn´t use the ceiling fan?" I explained, told her that´s what I thought she was saying after we left it on all night. The problem is that I understand about 3/4 of the spanish that I hear, and the 1/4 that I didn´t hear afte the initial incident was the part where she said we had left the fan on the entire day before while we were at school and then the following night. Anyhow, it was a long series of misunderstandings and I was trying to explain what we thought she said and that we weren´t out to tattle on her (since we didn´t even have intentions of complaining -- it came up in casual conversation with the professor). It was terribly uncomfortable for both of us. Our host mom has developed a dislike for my roomate, Rachel, because of several misunderstandings and language gaps. So, during this whole encounter she would only address me -- she wouldn´t look at Rachel -- and she said that it was Rachel who tattled.
Finally things cooled down a little bit , i told her it´s ok and we just didn´t understand and everything´s fine now, and so we sat down to eat dinner. She picked up casual conversation, asking what we did, how classes were going, and things like that. Then she left the room and came back with a handheld fan that she handed to Rachel. It was either really funny or really spiteful -- I´m sticking with funny.
Anyhow, that was the most eventful part of my evening. I feel caught in a very awkward place, between a relationship of mutual misunderstanding and dislike with my roomate and host mom, and a desire on my part to have a good relationship with our mom and the rest of the family. My host sister got sick last night, and when i left this morning she was writhing on the couch with stomach pain. She had a rough night. I think I might write a letter to my host mom, since I can usually express myself better in written spanish than spoken. I can´t believe we have just over a week left here.
I realized yesterday that enough time has passed that home feels more like an imaginary place that I have created in my mind to comfort myself. It is not a real place -- I don´t really have wonderful friends with whom I can actually relax or family who loves me. They are all imaginary, and this is the only reality. The heat, the classes, the ancient streets, and the golden riverside. Fantasy stories are not so fantastical after all -- the airplane I will be getting on a week from Saturday is actually a portal into this alternate, imaginary universe, or maybe home is the real universe and I am in a dream/fantasy now. And I will travel in time -- my 13 hour trip home will really only take 6 and a half hours. Maybe today I will see a dragon or a fairy, or be visited by a prince.
Finally things cooled down a little bit , i told her it´s ok and we just didn´t understand and everything´s fine now, and so we sat down to eat dinner. She picked up casual conversation, asking what we did, how classes were going, and things like that. Then she left the room and came back with a handheld fan that she handed to Rachel. It was either really funny or really spiteful -- I´m sticking with funny.
Anyhow, that was the most eventful part of my evening. I feel caught in a very awkward place, between a relationship of mutual misunderstanding and dislike with my roomate and host mom, and a desire on my part to have a good relationship with our mom and the rest of the family. My host sister got sick last night, and when i left this morning she was writhing on the couch with stomach pain. She had a rough night. I think I might write a letter to my host mom, since I can usually express myself better in written spanish than spoken. I can´t believe we have just over a week left here.
I realized yesterday that enough time has passed that home feels more like an imaginary place that I have created in my mind to comfort myself. It is not a real place -- I don´t really have wonderful friends with whom I can actually relax or family who loves me. They are all imaginary, and this is the only reality. The heat, the classes, the ancient streets, and the golden riverside. Fantasy stories are not so fantastical after all -- the airplane I will be getting on a week from Saturday is actually a portal into this alternate, imaginary universe, or maybe home is the real universe and I am in a dream/fantasy now. And I will travel in time -- my 13 hour trip home will really only take 6 and a half hours. Maybe today I will see a dragon or a fairy, or be visited by a prince.
Jun 18, 2008
sweaty armpits
Yes, it is a hot day here in Sevilla. And unfortunately there is little to report and I used up my poetic prose on that last entry. Last night I did indeed to to the shores of the river again to bask in the shade and swap conversation and books with a friend. Later in the night I met up with several friends to go to a tapas bar that was established in 1670 -- that´s not something you can find in the states. I could imagine what the place looked like before the candels were replaced with florescent lights, for practically everything else was the same. I ate little fishes that still looked like fishes, but luckily their heads were cut off so I didn´t have to look into their eyes before eating them. After that I went with 3 other people to find the "free piña colada" place that someone told us about, but we were too late for the free entry and we weren´t about to pay 7euros for drinks that we found out later didn´t even taste good. Instead we found a quiet bar just feet from the water´s edge where we sipped on rum and pineapple juice and talked about whatever we found to have in common. The 40 minute walk back home took my final drops of energy, so that when we finally came into the apartment at nearly 3am I practically passed out on the pillow. We turned on the ceiling fan even though she told us not to. My professor thinks that our señora told us we can´t use the fan not because the motor will burn up but because she might be trying to cut corners to save money. It´s hard to remind myself that we are her customers, because they do make money off of letting us stay in their homes.
I also had to go to the U.S. consolate today to admit my own stupidity of losing my driver´s lisence in Morocco, just in case someone tried to steal my identity. In a moment of absolute carelessness I left my coin purse with my driver´s lisence, school ID, and 10 euro on a taxi. At least it wasn´t my passport or credit cards.
Yesterday morning I accidently found myself at a museum that was truly moving; I was riding around town on a rented bicycle to see what I could find and eventually came upon a place where people were walking in, so I followed. "Desculpame, señor, éste parece muy estupido, pero tengo que preguntar: ¿donde estoy?" I had found the museum of contemporary art, which had free entry on tuesdays (¡que suerte!) and one of their current displays was of Joseph Renau, an artist of the Spanish Civil War as well as WWII and the capitalism/consumerism of the 20s-70´s. His work was amazing -- I strongly suggest googling him to contemplate some of his works. Most of it was very political, although even his landscapes or portraits were unexplainably moving. Many of the messages of his works from the 60s and 70s were sharply applicable in today´s situation. More often than not politics make me very sad. Like yesterday, for example, in class after watching Pan´s Labyrinth when our professor brought up the debate over the use of torture by the U.S.. My eyes that were already moist from the movie began to fill again with sadness. I am appalled by the thought that in our country that we think of as so modern and so concerned with justice would lose itself in the idea of "the end justifies the means" to such an inhumane way. And it also makes me sad to see that religion has been such a political thing for so long. For this reason and more, this trip has made me dislike religion more and more while simultaneously making me love God more and more. Oh, the irony.
10 days and counting....
I also had to go to the U.S. consolate today to admit my own stupidity of losing my driver´s lisence in Morocco, just in case someone tried to steal my identity. In a moment of absolute carelessness I left my coin purse with my driver´s lisence, school ID, and 10 euro on a taxi. At least it wasn´t my passport or credit cards.
Yesterday morning I accidently found myself at a museum that was truly moving; I was riding around town on a rented bicycle to see what I could find and eventually came upon a place where people were walking in, so I followed. "Desculpame, señor, éste parece muy estupido, pero tengo que preguntar: ¿donde estoy?" I had found the museum of contemporary art, which had free entry on tuesdays (¡que suerte!) and one of their current displays was of Joseph Renau, an artist of the Spanish Civil War as well as WWII and the capitalism/consumerism of the 20s-70´s. His work was amazing -- I strongly suggest googling him to contemplate some of his works. Most of it was very political, although even his landscapes or portraits were unexplainably moving. Many of the messages of his works from the 60s and 70s were sharply applicable in today´s situation. More often than not politics make me very sad. Like yesterday, for example, in class after watching Pan´s Labyrinth when our professor brought up the debate over the use of torture by the U.S.. My eyes that were already moist from the movie began to fill again with sadness. I am appalled by the thought that in our country that we think of as so modern and so concerned with justice would lose itself in the idea of "the end justifies the means" to such an inhumane way. And it also makes me sad to see that religion has been such a political thing for so long. For this reason and more, this trip has made me dislike religion more and more while simultaneously making me love God more and more. Oh, the irony.
10 days and counting....
Jun 17, 2008
The Golden Age of Spain
Five hundred years ago Spain was entering its golden age: one hundred years during which it was the richest country in the world thanks to their timely arrival in a "new" world whose ancient riches destined it to become the blood sacrifice to the empire across the ocean. The greed and laziness of the royalty and nobility ended finally in the squandering of the country´s riches so that all that was left was the shell of ornate buildings and a corrupt monarchy. But every day the same splendor of this century of riches rears its humbled head every evening on the shores of the Guadalquivir River, the same river from which Cristobal Columbo set sail for the lands with streets paved with gold. On the banks of this river grow countless trees whose age is the secret of the river, and every evening they invite the sideways, golden rays of sunset to illuminate their weary bark. These trees shed little yellow flowers, like small drops of golden blood, along the shores of the river, and when the sunlight gives into the seduction of the trees and caresses their yellow droppings with a gentleness that seem so powerful that it could shake the very foundations of the earth. And at this moment the Golden Age lives again, although unnoticed by many and no longer coveted by royalty. Instead circles of students with their cheap alcohol and cigarettes bask in the golden glory, and the kayaks that skim across the shimmery, gold surface of the river are the kings of this age that comes and goes with each day. And in this moment on these historical shores I sit, reading the spell-binding words of Márquez, seeing Sevilla in its greatest glory. And to those shores I go now, and for the magic of their intangible gold I abandon this machine until tomorrow, to share my riches with all of you at home who i love so much.
with all the little golden droppings of my heart,
catie
with all the little golden droppings of my heart,
catie
Jun 16, 2008
Maruecos
Wow....how on earth can I transmit 4 days worth of adventure in these few minutes and with the limits of words? I will have to start this blog with the precursor that much will be left out, only for the reason that it is impossible to say everything.
Wednesday evening a friend and I bought a 55cent box of wine (than you, Europe) to take down to the river and relax before our voyage, and for over 3 hours we sat on the cigarette stub dotted grass by the river where a sleeping old man who appeared to be dead by the flies that droned around his unmoving head and a group of pot-smoking drum-circlers to the other side. I have never been a drinker, and to this day I boast never having been drunk. But I have seen the loosening effects of alcohol that mysteriously allow me to speak spanish more freely and to stop thinking about the constant judgement that I sometimes feel crushed by in this group of strangers. We sipped our cheap wine and talked about life until the sun was setting and we each had to dash away to dinner, me on my rented bicycle that earned me the indiscernable shouts and obsenities of a man on the sidewalk. In my anticipation I could not sleep that night, so I woke up at 2:30am from a sleep that never really started, then braved the narrow streets at that questionable hour.
I was not prepared for the amount of traveling that was going to occur on Thursday. For 14 hours we sat on the bus, ferry, or momentarily in the gas stations that we swarmed along the way for the use of their toilets and junk food. Sleep transformed itself from a comfortable retreat to a spiteful taunt, taking my heavy head in its hands and tossing it from side to side, occasionally ramming it into the window beyond which beautiful scenery dashed by unseen in the darkness of morning. The only sound that penetrated the calming music of my ipod was that of the snoring guy seated beside me. We arrived on African soil after the short ferry ride, and the change was amazing. At the border (where we were strictly prohibited from taking pictures) people were dashing across the hills with plastic sacs of their most precious items, while relentless stares guarded the area like laser rays. Donkeys carried hundreds of rolls of toilet paper, which is apparently one of several precious items that are cheaper on Spanish soil than on Moroccan. Shacks lined the road and in many of the windows hung the corpses of some unidentified animal that was part of the scenery yesterday, part of dinner tomorrow. Women and men had to wait in separate lines, although I don´t think the same rule applied to the donkeys.
The rest of the ride was a blurr -- I was awed by the scenery and I feel like I learned something about life and its meaning, but I can´t remember it now, at least not in words. At any rate, we arrived in Fes and checked into our hotel, which was, to use Molly´s word, shwanky. Two friends and I went for a short walk before dinner, which was started off by a hopeful moroccan man who tried to guide us to some of the shops in exchange for a tip. With a series of awkward excuses we removed ourselvse from his guidance and found a new route which met us with stares. Although all the women did not cover their heads, our bare, flowing hair felt like a lighthouse sending the beacon of foreigners to everyone withing a square mile. We ate dinner, and then they took us to the Medina for a show of dancers and musical performers. It was a different world -- never in my travels have i felt so completely our of the world I know. The building looked plain on the outside but was very similar to a palace on the inside. I cannot find words to describe it, there are none sufficient. There were belly dancers, drummers, a man who balanced a tray of a teaset on his head, some more belly dancers, and mint tea. It was amazing and now that I am back here in this place that I sometimes refer to as "home" it seems more like a dream than a not-so-distant reality.
Friday we toured the old part of the city, called the Medina, where unfamiliar smells and sights were relentless in reminding us that we weren´t in Kansas anymore. Also unexpected was the sales pitches that we were scheduled to attend, the first of which was at a carpet store. The man told us the stories behind the rugs, and then he gave us some life lessons about how rugs are good for "jiggy jiggy" because "beds squeak, rugs don´t" and also that they are a good life investment because they are worth more the older the get. When he was through talking Arabic men came our from the corners to target those of us who looked the most interested in exchanging some of our endless supply of American money for one of their carpets. Several kids bought some after about an hour of bargaining and see-sawing. They were beautiful rugs. Then we went to a traditional herbologist, who gave us a demonstration of the medicinal effects of his seeds, powders, and roots. There was a kind of seed that is good for sinuses and allergies, oils that heal back pain, roots that you put in your tea to serve as all natural viagra, and magic lipstick made from henna. He too, at the end of his presentation, made a sales pitch and before we knew it most of our group had bought at least one of his magical items. Then we went to a tannery where the stench of animal skin was almost as repulsive as the sight of the area where the skins, still bloody and fresh, were streched, washed, and eventually turned into pretty purses or jackets. It made me want to be a vegetarian. Afterwards we went back to the same building where we saw the dancers the night before to eat lunch, which was delicious. They eat cous cous with everything, and their version of salad is a huge plate of shredded carrots, beets, cabbage, cucumber, and potatoes drizzled with a mysterious white sauce. I think there was chicken somewhere in there. We soon returned to the bus and made our way to Meknes, the city where we would spend the next two nights. We had a short amount of free time, during which I walked around the city to people watch, and I was moved most by the sharp separation of men and women. Although there were always exceptions, many of the people we passed were grouped by gender. Men sat at cafés and we quickly noticed that unlike Spain, where people at cafés sit around the tables with the intention of socializing, in Morocco the men sat at the tables with all the chairs facing the road or sidewalk in order to watch people passing by, and their stares penetrated my uncovered head in a way that made me feel judged like i have never experienced before. I don´t know what they were thinking -- I cannot read the eyes of these people...it´s as though it´s not just our mouths that speak different languages but our eyes as well. I was refreshed to find a small park near our hotel where small clumps of people of every kind were relaxing under the shade of the small trees, and a mob of young boys played soccer in the hollow of what used to be a long, rectangular fountain. A few old women sat on a bench and allowed their wisdom of age to ooze into the air that was shared also by young couples sharing in the conversation of silent observation. I felt no judgment here, and I saw that even in a world that is so different that even their God has a different name, people are people. Several times I have recalled the Regina Spektor song that reminds me that people are just people and there´s no reason to be afraid. In my foreign environment I have begun to notice that I am afraid of people. I mask it with the excuse of shyness or the false martyrdom of chosen solitude, but two exist to whom I cannot lie: myself and God. (and sometimes I momentarily succede in lying to myself). But enough about that, back to Morocco.
Saturday was such a long day that by the end I felt like I had lived at least a few weeks in the 15 hours that I had been awake. In the morning we took a driving tour of some of the most impressive historical sites in Meknes, such as the stables that housed 4,000 horses in its day and the Medina. In the Medina of Meknes we took a quick walk through a market, which was the most repulsively marvelous part of the trip. Without knowing where i was going, I followed the group into the market where we first saw piles and rows of dried fruits, olives, and strange looking fruits and vegetables. Then we began to see more hanging corpses, which I had almost grown accustomed to, but not enough to keep me from having to limit the amount of time I let my eyes linger on them. Then it came -- the live chickens speckled with blood caged right beside the piles of freshly raw chicken meat, which was sold with the flies at no extra cost. And a giant cow head, its tongue hanging out and its lifeless eyes mostly closed, hung outside one of the booths where a young boy was peeling the skin off of some unidentifiable corpse no more than 2 feet from my queezy body. I wouldn´t let myself look at the booths with bunnies. The way out was lined again with vegetation and the occasional pet store, if you can call a crate filled with turtles or lizards a pet store. I really thought I would have to become vegetarian, until luch a few hours later was made of chicken and even the still-fresh images in my mind couldn´t convince me not to eat it.
After the market we drove about 15 minutes out of town to a site of Roman Ruins called Volubulis (spelling?) that was too impressive for words. I tried not to let myself be distracted by my fruitless attempts to linger in the sparce shade, and I managed to be thoroughly impressed by the vast expanse of piled stones that was once part of a grand empire of lavish living. Among the most memorable is the vomitorium, where the Romans would go after meals because they ate in such excess that they had to throw it up afterwards.
We returned to the city and had lunch in a really nice restaurant, after which the group split into those who wanted to attend the Arabic baths and those who didn´t. I was one of the brave few who did, and it was quite an experience. I didn´t know what to expect, except that i knew it would be shocking. We went first into the changing room, where the women who hid themselves beneath layers of cloth on the streets were amused by our hesitation to remove our clothes. We have such a messed up concept of nakedness and what is and isn´t appropriate. Anyhow, in the end about a third of our group was brave enough to strip down to nothing but underwear, as is customary, and we moved into the next room where we bathed ourselves first with buckets of water and soem kind of oil that was used as soap. This was fine, and then we went into the next room that filled our giggling chests with steam. Two old ladies came in wearing only their underwear and ordered us to sit on the floor so they could scrub us down. I haven´t been bathed for quite a long time, so I was very tense and awkward about this whole experience. The women had me lay on the heated floor with my head on her bare leg as she ruthlessly scrubbed me with what felt like a brillow pad, with no mercy on particular parts of my body. She would motion me to look at the pelets of dead skin that were curdling off the surface of my body, and then they chuckled in amusement at my disgust. Once I got over feeling terribly awkward about the whole experience of being bathed naked on the ground in the same room where 11 other topless strangers giggled nervously, it was actually a very enjoyable experiene. It was kind of like a massage, and the heat of the floor relaxed my muscles, and then when she was through i was amazed at the softness of my skin that had been reduced by a layer of dead skin and dirt. It was quite an experience, and I´m glad I did it. You have to just accept at some point that if you want to experience new cultures it is going to be awkward a lot of the times. And I´m ok with that.
After the bath my friend Chelsea and I caught a taxi to get rid of our 600 dirham in an hour-long speed shopping excursion in the Medina. Speed-shopping doesn´t work well in a system that requires bargaining, but we managed to spend the majority of our money on neat jewelry and other souveneirs that were more about the experience of the trip than the items themselves. We rushed back to the hotel to get there in time for dinner, and then relaxed until we were tired enough to rest for the long voyage of Sunday.
Sunday we got up and got on the bus for the long trip back, which somehow went by faster, probably due in large part to the disney sing-along that happened between me and my seat mate. I love when disney brings people together. At one of our stops I bought some strange meat dish with my remaining dirhams, and it tasted something like a hamburger. I didn´t allow myself the reality that not too long ago it was part of one of those smelly corpses hanging in the windows. I managed to survive the meal with only a few extra trips to the bathroom the following night.
It was strange to feel at home when we got back to Spain, and I realized that it doesn´t take very long to get used to anything. The 30 minute walk to my apartment was comforting in the warm evening breeze, and I ate my customary bread and pasta before unpacking and wandering off to sleep.
aah....i have been on the computer for 2 hours and writing for about an hour of that. and i have class in 30 minutes.
i hope you all enjoyed, and that you make it to the end! sorry it´s so long!!!!
Abrazos para todos,
Catita
Wednesday evening a friend and I bought a 55cent box of wine (than you, Europe) to take down to the river and relax before our voyage, and for over 3 hours we sat on the cigarette stub dotted grass by the river where a sleeping old man who appeared to be dead by the flies that droned around his unmoving head and a group of pot-smoking drum-circlers to the other side. I have never been a drinker, and to this day I boast never having been drunk. But I have seen the loosening effects of alcohol that mysteriously allow me to speak spanish more freely and to stop thinking about the constant judgement that I sometimes feel crushed by in this group of strangers. We sipped our cheap wine and talked about life until the sun was setting and we each had to dash away to dinner, me on my rented bicycle that earned me the indiscernable shouts and obsenities of a man on the sidewalk. In my anticipation I could not sleep that night, so I woke up at 2:30am from a sleep that never really started, then braved the narrow streets at that questionable hour.
I was not prepared for the amount of traveling that was going to occur on Thursday. For 14 hours we sat on the bus, ferry, or momentarily in the gas stations that we swarmed along the way for the use of their toilets and junk food. Sleep transformed itself from a comfortable retreat to a spiteful taunt, taking my heavy head in its hands and tossing it from side to side, occasionally ramming it into the window beyond which beautiful scenery dashed by unseen in the darkness of morning. The only sound that penetrated the calming music of my ipod was that of the snoring guy seated beside me. We arrived on African soil after the short ferry ride, and the change was amazing. At the border (where we were strictly prohibited from taking pictures) people were dashing across the hills with plastic sacs of their most precious items, while relentless stares guarded the area like laser rays. Donkeys carried hundreds of rolls of toilet paper, which is apparently one of several precious items that are cheaper on Spanish soil than on Moroccan. Shacks lined the road and in many of the windows hung the corpses of some unidentified animal that was part of the scenery yesterday, part of dinner tomorrow. Women and men had to wait in separate lines, although I don´t think the same rule applied to the donkeys.
The rest of the ride was a blurr -- I was awed by the scenery and I feel like I learned something about life and its meaning, but I can´t remember it now, at least not in words. At any rate, we arrived in Fes and checked into our hotel, which was, to use Molly´s word, shwanky. Two friends and I went for a short walk before dinner, which was started off by a hopeful moroccan man who tried to guide us to some of the shops in exchange for a tip. With a series of awkward excuses we removed ourselvse from his guidance and found a new route which met us with stares. Although all the women did not cover their heads, our bare, flowing hair felt like a lighthouse sending the beacon of foreigners to everyone withing a square mile. We ate dinner, and then they took us to the Medina for a show of dancers and musical performers. It was a different world -- never in my travels have i felt so completely our of the world I know. The building looked plain on the outside but was very similar to a palace on the inside. I cannot find words to describe it, there are none sufficient. There were belly dancers, drummers, a man who balanced a tray of a teaset on his head, some more belly dancers, and mint tea. It was amazing and now that I am back here in this place that I sometimes refer to as "home" it seems more like a dream than a not-so-distant reality.
Friday we toured the old part of the city, called the Medina, where unfamiliar smells and sights were relentless in reminding us that we weren´t in Kansas anymore. Also unexpected was the sales pitches that we were scheduled to attend, the first of which was at a carpet store. The man told us the stories behind the rugs, and then he gave us some life lessons about how rugs are good for "jiggy jiggy" because "beds squeak, rugs don´t" and also that they are a good life investment because they are worth more the older the get. When he was through talking Arabic men came our from the corners to target those of us who looked the most interested in exchanging some of our endless supply of American money for one of their carpets. Several kids bought some after about an hour of bargaining and see-sawing. They were beautiful rugs. Then we went to a traditional herbologist, who gave us a demonstration of the medicinal effects of his seeds, powders, and roots. There was a kind of seed that is good for sinuses and allergies, oils that heal back pain, roots that you put in your tea to serve as all natural viagra, and magic lipstick made from henna. He too, at the end of his presentation, made a sales pitch and before we knew it most of our group had bought at least one of his magical items. Then we went to a tannery where the stench of animal skin was almost as repulsive as the sight of the area where the skins, still bloody and fresh, were streched, washed, and eventually turned into pretty purses or jackets. It made me want to be a vegetarian. Afterwards we went back to the same building where we saw the dancers the night before to eat lunch, which was delicious. They eat cous cous with everything, and their version of salad is a huge plate of shredded carrots, beets, cabbage, cucumber, and potatoes drizzled with a mysterious white sauce. I think there was chicken somewhere in there. We soon returned to the bus and made our way to Meknes, the city where we would spend the next two nights. We had a short amount of free time, during which I walked around the city to people watch, and I was moved most by the sharp separation of men and women. Although there were always exceptions, many of the people we passed were grouped by gender. Men sat at cafés and we quickly noticed that unlike Spain, where people at cafés sit around the tables with the intention of socializing, in Morocco the men sat at the tables with all the chairs facing the road or sidewalk in order to watch people passing by, and their stares penetrated my uncovered head in a way that made me feel judged like i have never experienced before. I don´t know what they were thinking -- I cannot read the eyes of these people...it´s as though it´s not just our mouths that speak different languages but our eyes as well. I was refreshed to find a small park near our hotel where small clumps of people of every kind were relaxing under the shade of the small trees, and a mob of young boys played soccer in the hollow of what used to be a long, rectangular fountain. A few old women sat on a bench and allowed their wisdom of age to ooze into the air that was shared also by young couples sharing in the conversation of silent observation. I felt no judgment here, and I saw that even in a world that is so different that even their God has a different name, people are people. Several times I have recalled the Regina Spektor song that reminds me that people are just people and there´s no reason to be afraid. In my foreign environment I have begun to notice that I am afraid of people. I mask it with the excuse of shyness or the false martyrdom of chosen solitude, but two exist to whom I cannot lie: myself and God. (and sometimes I momentarily succede in lying to myself). But enough about that, back to Morocco.
Saturday was such a long day that by the end I felt like I had lived at least a few weeks in the 15 hours that I had been awake. In the morning we took a driving tour of some of the most impressive historical sites in Meknes, such as the stables that housed 4,000 horses in its day and the Medina. In the Medina of Meknes we took a quick walk through a market, which was the most repulsively marvelous part of the trip. Without knowing where i was going, I followed the group into the market where we first saw piles and rows of dried fruits, olives, and strange looking fruits and vegetables. Then we began to see more hanging corpses, which I had almost grown accustomed to, but not enough to keep me from having to limit the amount of time I let my eyes linger on them. Then it came -- the live chickens speckled with blood caged right beside the piles of freshly raw chicken meat, which was sold with the flies at no extra cost. And a giant cow head, its tongue hanging out and its lifeless eyes mostly closed, hung outside one of the booths where a young boy was peeling the skin off of some unidentifiable corpse no more than 2 feet from my queezy body. I wouldn´t let myself look at the booths with bunnies. The way out was lined again with vegetation and the occasional pet store, if you can call a crate filled with turtles or lizards a pet store. I really thought I would have to become vegetarian, until luch a few hours later was made of chicken and even the still-fresh images in my mind couldn´t convince me not to eat it.
After the market we drove about 15 minutes out of town to a site of Roman Ruins called Volubulis (spelling?) that was too impressive for words. I tried not to let myself be distracted by my fruitless attempts to linger in the sparce shade, and I managed to be thoroughly impressed by the vast expanse of piled stones that was once part of a grand empire of lavish living. Among the most memorable is the vomitorium, where the Romans would go after meals because they ate in such excess that they had to throw it up afterwards.
We returned to the city and had lunch in a really nice restaurant, after which the group split into those who wanted to attend the Arabic baths and those who didn´t. I was one of the brave few who did, and it was quite an experience. I didn´t know what to expect, except that i knew it would be shocking. We went first into the changing room, where the women who hid themselves beneath layers of cloth on the streets were amused by our hesitation to remove our clothes. We have such a messed up concept of nakedness and what is and isn´t appropriate. Anyhow, in the end about a third of our group was brave enough to strip down to nothing but underwear, as is customary, and we moved into the next room where we bathed ourselves first with buckets of water and soem kind of oil that was used as soap. This was fine, and then we went into the next room that filled our giggling chests with steam. Two old ladies came in wearing only their underwear and ordered us to sit on the floor so they could scrub us down. I haven´t been bathed for quite a long time, so I was very tense and awkward about this whole experience. The women had me lay on the heated floor with my head on her bare leg as she ruthlessly scrubbed me with what felt like a brillow pad, with no mercy on particular parts of my body. She would motion me to look at the pelets of dead skin that were curdling off the surface of my body, and then they chuckled in amusement at my disgust. Once I got over feeling terribly awkward about the whole experience of being bathed naked on the ground in the same room where 11 other topless strangers giggled nervously, it was actually a very enjoyable experiene. It was kind of like a massage, and the heat of the floor relaxed my muscles, and then when she was through i was amazed at the softness of my skin that had been reduced by a layer of dead skin and dirt. It was quite an experience, and I´m glad I did it. You have to just accept at some point that if you want to experience new cultures it is going to be awkward a lot of the times. And I´m ok with that.
After the bath my friend Chelsea and I caught a taxi to get rid of our 600 dirham in an hour-long speed shopping excursion in the Medina. Speed-shopping doesn´t work well in a system that requires bargaining, but we managed to spend the majority of our money on neat jewelry and other souveneirs that were more about the experience of the trip than the items themselves. We rushed back to the hotel to get there in time for dinner, and then relaxed until we were tired enough to rest for the long voyage of Sunday.
Sunday we got up and got on the bus for the long trip back, which somehow went by faster, probably due in large part to the disney sing-along that happened between me and my seat mate. I love when disney brings people together. At one of our stops I bought some strange meat dish with my remaining dirhams, and it tasted something like a hamburger. I didn´t allow myself the reality that not too long ago it was part of one of those smelly corpses hanging in the windows. I managed to survive the meal with only a few extra trips to the bathroom the following night.
It was strange to feel at home when we got back to Spain, and I realized that it doesn´t take very long to get used to anything. The 30 minute walk to my apartment was comforting in the warm evening breeze, and I ate my customary bread and pasta before unpacking and wandering off to sleep.
aah....i have been on the computer for 2 hours and writing for about an hour of that. and i have class in 30 minutes.
i hope you all enjoyed, and that you make it to the end! sorry it´s so long!!!!
Abrazos para todos,
Catita
Jun 11, 2008
This is going to have to hold you over for 5 days
I leave tomorrow for Morocco. At 4:00am I will walk to our meeting point in eager anticipation of our arrival in a country that has been described to ous in terms of its danger and filth. I am armed for the voyage with two novels, several blank pages in my journal, and a roll of chocolate-filled cookies. I wish I could send my mind waves into this blog while I´m there -- I can only imagine the emotions and thoughts I will experience. Ahh, anticipation.
For today I have to corral my thoughts into the first 4,000 years of Spain´s history over which I will be tested in an hour and a half. Last night we had a "study session", which was unlike any I had ever been to. At 10:30pm anyone who wanted to met up in the main plaza and then we relocated to a well-known bar by the river to sip on sangria and beer while we studied. I feel pretty well prepared. It´s fairly easy to remember information when its so intriguing and mysterious. The only parts I have a hard time with are the more modern events, like the Civil War at the beginning of the 20th century; it had too much to do with the kind of politics that seem to control everything today, and which I often feel completely uncapable of understanding.
Yesterday i was homesick for the first time. I have missed home and friends and family and cats and my dog all along, but yesterday I felt the first pinches of homesickness in that invisible organ in the deepest depths of my self. I think homesickness for me comes from self-pity, which I am only able to keep away from in the honeymoon stage of being away because I am completely distracted by excitement and the adreneline of newness. Now that I am establishing patterns and a sense of normalcy homesickness has had the chance to plunge its fingers into my mind. Luckily the homesickness of this trip is nothing in comparisson to that which I have known in the not-too-distant past. I understand myself better, and I know that I am in the middle of an amazing experience that I will be talking about for the rest of my life. For all I know this bland middle could be the beginning of something awesome. I have a different kind of relationship with God now too, which has contributed to my being able to cope. I have stopped thinking of God in the way that He has been taught to me, and started thinking of Him in the way that He whispers inside of me. God no longer serves as an excuse to profess the lies that "i know everything will be better in the end", but rather as knowledge that pain and discomfort are as much of a blessing as times of comfort and happiness.
Never before in my life have I felt alienated by my disenchantment with the concept of getting drunk and partying. Now I feel like it has put up a wall beteween me and most people here because our concepts of "fun" are so completely different. I have met many people who I really like and who I like to spend time with, but I feel that there´s a part of me that has to go into hiding because it has no companion. I suppose I shouldn´t feel that any part of me is missing depending on who I am around, but I´m beginning to see that "independence" is not quite that I always thought it meant.
For today I have to corral my thoughts into the first 4,000 years of Spain´s history over which I will be tested in an hour and a half. Last night we had a "study session", which was unlike any I had ever been to. At 10:30pm anyone who wanted to met up in the main plaza and then we relocated to a well-known bar by the river to sip on sangria and beer while we studied. I feel pretty well prepared. It´s fairly easy to remember information when its so intriguing and mysterious. The only parts I have a hard time with are the more modern events, like the Civil War at the beginning of the 20th century; it had too much to do with the kind of politics that seem to control everything today, and which I often feel completely uncapable of understanding.
Yesterday i was homesick for the first time. I have missed home and friends and family and cats and my dog all along, but yesterday I felt the first pinches of homesickness in that invisible organ in the deepest depths of my self. I think homesickness for me comes from self-pity, which I am only able to keep away from in the honeymoon stage of being away because I am completely distracted by excitement and the adreneline of newness. Now that I am establishing patterns and a sense of normalcy homesickness has had the chance to plunge its fingers into my mind. Luckily the homesickness of this trip is nothing in comparisson to that which I have known in the not-too-distant past. I understand myself better, and I know that I am in the middle of an amazing experience that I will be talking about for the rest of my life. For all I know this bland middle could be the beginning of something awesome. I have a different kind of relationship with God now too, which has contributed to my being able to cope. I have stopped thinking of God in the way that He has been taught to me, and started thinking of Him in the way that He whispers inside of me. God no longer serves as an excuse to profess the lies that "i know everything will be better in the end", but rather as knowledge that pain and discomfort are as much of a blessing as times of comfort and happiness.
Never before in my life have I felt alienated by my disenchantment with the concept of getting drunk and partying. Now I feel like it has put up a wall beteween me and most people here because our concepts of "fun" are so completely different. I have met many people who I really like and who I like to spend time with, but I feel that there´s a part of me that has to go into hiding because it has no companion. I suppose I shouldn´t feel that any part of me is missing depending on who I am around, but I´m beginning to see that "independence" is not quite that I always thought it meant.
Jun 10, 2008
entre examenes
Tengo mi primer examen hoy en cuarenta y cinco minutos, pero no estoy estudiando. Estudié esta mañana por dos horas y no tengo miedo del examen, aúnque será completamente en español y tendré que contestar las preguntas en forma de ensayos... está bien.
Quiero escribir una entrada de mi diario que escribí hace unos dias despues de andar por bicicleta por un hora. Espero que les guste
The golden glow of evening always makes me want to write or take pictures or perhaps just sit and watch the edges of daylight slither across the skin of the earth, as if to seduce it into the cool chambers of nightfall. Even the raggiest building or the plainest lamp post comes to life as though the fire on its surface came from within rather than from billions of miles away.n Those last golden drops of the day´s sun are like the nectar of honeysuckle -- sweet for its unique quality and for its scarcity. I have noticed that beauty tends to congregate at beginnings and ends. The sun dances a dance of a thousand colors at the opening and closing of each day; leaves require the most attention in the greenness of their birth and at their melancholy fall to the ground; the beginning of a trip merits months of anticipation and the end glows like a beacon of hope. The middle is often lost between its bookends. i am at the middle of my trip, and the sheen of its newness is wearing down into longing for its end. I think often of the people and comforta that await me, one of which is the satisfaction of looking back. Sometimes things are more beautiful from the end. That is not to say that my eyes have closed to the wonders and adventure that meet them with each rising sun, for i am still under the enchantment of this birthplace of fairy tales. i suppose the dimness of narmalcy and routine has moved my gaze from the sunrise to the sunset.
In the warm summer evening of Nacogdoches i will breathe in deeply the sweet fragrance of true friends. Days in Spain are spent with fellow travelers, but so often the only thing we have in common is the foreign ground beneath our feet. We excercize our senses together, but at the end of the day i am lonely. Although our eyes see many of the same things, they don´t see each other, not really, anyways. As I sleep in the carefully decorated bedroom that I share with my roomate I am lonely for the faces that see through me, and which whom life is a lively dance rather that the restricted movement of traveling with strangers. I do not want this to sound like complaints; the merits of this experience so greatly outnumber the demerits that it is quite easier to write about the latter. And many of the merits are small things -- like the tingling of my palms from riding a bike over cobblestone -- that easily are lost in the big things -- like visiting God´s subteranean sculptures in unas cuevas debajo de una montaña, filled with billows, columns, and spikes of rock and mineral formation. Even thinking about all the wonderful points of my day is sending my mind into a cyclone. For the moment i will just enjoy the sensation of digesting a lovingly-prepared meal to the sweet lullaby of crickets carried into my room on a cool summer night´s breeze.
MMmmmmmm.................
Quiero escribir una entrada de mi diario que escribí hace unos dias despues de andar por bicicleta por un hora. Espero que les guste
The golden glow of evening always makes me want to write or take pictures or perhaps just sit and watch the edges of daylight slither across the skin of the earth, as if to seduce it into the cool chambers of nightfall. Even the raggiest building or the plainest lamp post comes to life as though the fire on its surface came from within rather than from billions of miles away.n Those last golden drops of the day´s sun are like the nectar of honeysuckle -- sweet for its unique quality and for its scarcity. I have noticed that beauty tends to congregate at beginnings and ends. The sun dances a dance of a thousand colors at the opening and closing of each day; leaves require the most attention in the greenness of their birth and at their melancholy fall to the ground; the beginning of a trip merits months of anticipation and the end glows like a beacon of hope. The middle is often lost between its bookends. i am at the middle of my trip, and the sheen of its newness is wearing down into longing for its end. I think often of the people and comforta that await me, one of which is the satisfaction of looking back. Sometimes things are more beautiful from the end. That is not to say that my eyes have closed to the wonders and adventure that meet them with each rising sun, for i am still under the enchantment of this birthplace of fairy tales. i suppose the dimness of narmalcy and routine has moved my gaze from the sunrise to the sunset.
In the warm summer evening of Nacogdoches i will breathe in deeply the sweet fragrance of true friends. Days in Spain are spent with fellow travelers, but so often the only thing we have in common is the foreign ground beneath our feet. We excercize our senses together, but at the end of the day i am lonely. Although our eyes see many of the same things, they don´t see each other, not really, anyways. As I sleep in the carefully decorated bedroom that I share with my roomate I am lonely for the faces that see through me, and which whom life is a lively dance rather that the restricted movement of traveling with strangers. I do not want this to sound like complaints; the merits of this experience so greatly outnumber the demerits that it is quite easier to write about the latter. And many of the merits are small things -- like the tingling of my palms from riding a bike over cobblestone -- that easily are lost in the big things -- like visiting God´s subteranean sculptures in unas cuevas debajo de una montaña, filled with billows, columns, and spikes of rock and mineral formation. Even thinking about all the wonderful points of my day is sending my mind into a cyclone. For the moment i will just enjoy the sensation of digesting a lovingly-prepared meal to the sweet lullaby of crickets carried into my room on a cool summer night´s breeze.
MMmmmmmm.................
Jun 9, 2008
Three down, three to go.
Ah, another week has begun. And what better way than to begin it with a reflection on the previous one?? This weekend we traveled as a massive group to Cordoba on Saturday to visit the mosque there, which was turned into a cathedral when the Christians took over and didn´t have enough money (because of all the wars they were fighting) to build their own cathedral, so they converted the already standing mosque into their own religious center. I have never studied architecture in the least, but I love learning little tidbits as I see it here. For example, the double arches of the mosque were built in such a way that the weight was distributed not down the columns but outwards toward the walls of the huge building. For that reason the columns on the outer perameters are no longer perfectly vertical -- the weight over the years has slowly pushed them outwards. Also, light for Muslims entered the building from the sides; there were big open doors or open walls around the edges of the building that allowed light to come in from west to east -- pointing in the direction of Mecca. The Christians bring their light in from above, from God. It´s amazing the significance of something that seems so small as the direction of light! The rest of the city was like a postcard. I spent some time wandering by myself (i´m quickly getting tired of being part of a huge group) and watched elderly couples hobble arm-in-arm down the ancient streets, geraniums bursting out of the windows of rows upon rows of whitewashed walls, which appeared like the only clouds against a sky of piercing blue. A small cat in a doorway let me scratch its head -- which for me is a sensation of home. It made me miss my cats. A gypsy woman with her two children emerged from a doorway by where we were standing at one point as we waited to enter a synagogue. First impression: she is so beautiful with her colrfully striped skirt and two beautiful baby girls grasping watever piece of her clothing or hair they can reach. Second impression: she is a seasoned begger -- she knows how to target the tourists and look pitiful just before lunch time, when our bocadillos are still in our bag but already in our minds for lunch. Third impression: she is miserable and desperate, pained at the dehumanization of having to beg for a meal in front of her two sweet little girls, having to pretend not to be offended by the thousands of dollars of tourist accessories -- from digital cameras to fancy walking shoes -- that blurr before her without the compassion to offer her food. Fourth impression: why???? I gave her my bocadillo and had ice cream for lunch instead.
Sautrday evening when we got back I had a hell of a time trying to find out information about the bus schedule for the next day. The United States is incredibly well-organized compared to this country. There were no schedules online, no one would answer the phone, and when I arrived at the station on Saturday nobody was in the information booth and the girl at the ticket stand didn´t know when they would be back. Finally someone showed up, only to inform me that I was at the wrong station. So, I rented a bicycle (which has become one of my favorite pastimes here) and rode to the station on the other side of town. Unfriendly faces met me at the information booth just long enough to inform me of the departure times for the bus to Aracena on Sunday. "Gracias" I responded through the most sincere smile I could muster. The bike ride back cooled my reddened face with the evening breeze and horizontal rays of setting sunlight.
Yesterday a few friends and I did indeed make it to the bus station and find the correct bus and pay the bus driver, and soon we were pulling out of the station quite unsure as to what the day might bring. The small town of Aracena is situated in the Sierra Morena, just north of Sevilla. On a sunday it seemed to be a town populated only by ancient white buildings and pig legs hanging in some of the windows. By some miriacle we managed to follow the scarce signs to what is known as the Grota de Maravillas -- the Goto of Marvels. It is a natural cave filled with the most surreal rock and mineral formations I have ever seen. We toured through the cave, ooh-ing and aah-ing as we went. It truly was spectacular. I managed to sneak some illegal pictures (they don´t let you take your own because they want you to pay 5 euros for the picture they take like at a theme park. or if not that then a post card. thank you, capitalism) so as soon as I figure out how to post pictures I will do so. Even so, they do not do it justice. I felt as though I was in an indiana jones movie, so I kept waiting for some creature to leap out from the crevices at me. After the tour was over, we surfaced into the hot, dry air of outside. My purpose for coming to this town was for the hiking trails through the mountains, so we did our best to follow the map (which left out some streets and didn´t show the names of several of them, although it´s impossible to find the street names half of the time anyhow) to the trail head. For about an hour and a half we tried to find the trail head. Finally we managed to go in the right direction, but it was so late and there was absolutely no shade, so we turned back after about 45 minutes on the actual trail. But it was not a lost day -- despite the detours we saw absolutely beautiful countryside and I was happy to find that the same is true of the country in any country: people are much nicer than in the cities. A truck full of people stopped to ask where we were going and assured us we were going in the right direction, then they offered us some water to salvage our parched lips. We also passed a caballero fully dressed in spanish traje. It was an amazing experience.
I could go on forever -- I have seen, felt, smelled, and thought so much that I can only begin to write it down. And I have a homework assignment to complete before my computer time runs out and then I have to study for the two exams I have this week. Much love to you all -- know that even in the enchantment of this place I miss home and all the people that make it home.
Hasta la pasta,
Catita
p.s. -- when i said i went to a Segolla exhibit last week, I meant Sorolla. oops.
Sautrday evening when we got back I had a hell of a time trying to find out information about the bus schedule for the next day. The United States is incredibly well-organized compared to this country. There were no schedules online, no one would answer the phone, and when I arrived at the station on Saturday nobody was in the information booth and the girl at the ticket stand didn´t know when they would be back. Finally someone showed up, only to inform me that I was at the wrong station. So, I rented a bicycle (which has become one of my favorite pastimes here) and rode to the station on the other side of town. Unfriendly faces met me at the information booth just long enough to inform me of the departure times for the bus to Aracena on Sunday. "Gracias" I responded through the most sincere smile I could muster. The bike ride back cooled my reddened face with the evening breeze and horizontal rays of setting sunlight.
Yesterday a few friends and I did indeed make it to the bus station and find the correct bus and pay the bus driver, and soon we were pulling out of the station quite unsure as to what the day might bring. The small town of Aracena is situated in the Sierra Morena, just north of Sevilla. On a sunday it seemed to be a town populated only by ancient white buildings and pig legs hanging in some of the windows. By some miriacle we managed to follow the scarce signs to what is known as the Grota de Maravillas -- the Goto of Marvels. It is a natural cave filled with the most surreal rock and mineral formations I have ever seen. We toured through the cave, ooh-ing and aah-ing as we went. It truly was spectacular. I managed to sneak some illegal pictures (they don´t let you take your own because they want you to pay 5 euros for the picture they take like at a theme park. or if not that then a post card. thank you, capitalism) so as soon as I figure out how to post pictures I will do so. Even so, they do not do it justice. I felt as though I was in an indiana jones movie, so I kept waiting for some creature to leap out from the crevices at me. After the tour was over, we surfaced into the hot, dry air of outside. My purpose for coming to this town was for the hiking trails through the mountains, so we did our best to follow the map (which left out some streets and didn´t show the names of several of them, although it´s impossible to find the street names half of the time anyhow) to the trail head. For about an hour and a half we tried to find the trail head. Finally we managed to go in the right direction, but it was so late and there was absolutely no shade, so we turned back after about 45 minutes on the actual trail. But it was not a lost day -- despite the detours we saw absolutely beautiful countryside and I was happy to find that the same is true of the country in any country: people are much nicer than in the cities. A truck full of people stopped to ask where we were going and assured us we were going in the right direction, then they offered us some water to salvage our parched lips. We also passed a caballero fully dressed in spanish traje. It was an amazing experience.
I could go on forever -- I have seen, felt, smelled, and thought so much that I can only begin to write it down. And I have a homework assignment to complete before my computer time runs out and then I have to study for the two exams I have this week. Much love to you all -- know that even in the enchantment of this place I miss home and all the people that make it home.
Hasta la pasta,
Catita
p.s. -- when i said i went to a Segolla exhibit last week, I meant Sorolla. oops.
Jun 6, 2008
tgif
This will have to be short. I am using my internet time to look up information about traveling to Portugal. The beaches there are apparently amazing, and I´ve found several hostals for around 15 euros a night. Hopefully some friends and i will go 2 weekends from now and have some quality beach time. I´m pretty stoked.
I went to the Museo de Bellas Artes (museum of fine arts) today with some friends and our professor, since he cancelled class today. It was awesome. There was a Segolla exhibit, and it was free to get in. I feel like i don´t know enough about art to fully appreciate it, but it was pretty awesome based on my limited understanding. And in the course of the tour i found out that the same director who did Pan´s labyrinth is going to direct The Hobbit to come out within the next few years. I´m excited. But back to the museum, it was beautiful. The most interesting part to me is to compare the art styles and themes from different eras. For a long time all the depictions of Jesus as a baby look like a miniature adult, except that his body is disproportionate. I am amazed by the incredibly different interpretation of Jesus and his life story. He is depicted as a transcendant infant or a pasty, agonized dying man upon the cross. Always he is distinguished from the rest of the people, never as one of them. And he pains because of the people, not with him. Jesus is so distant to these people, and always has been. I see this place that is the epitomy of a religious nation, and yet I feel like it has missed the point. Jesus was no politican -- he was one of us. He ached with us and for us, and he epitomized the life that we were meant to live. We all wonder about the meaning of life, but it is before our veyr eyes. As americans we all know the stories, and they are filled with such truth. They are not truth themselves, but I see now more than ever that the real message that Jesus brought tells all. The problem is in interpretation.
That turned into a rant...and now i have to go look up bus fares to Portugal. Everything is so expensive here. it´s like it´s priced the same as dollar amounts, but then you have to multiply by 1.5 to convert to Euros. Eughk.
Love love love, and some more love.
I went to the Museo de Bellas Artes (museum of fine arts) today with some friends and our professor, since he cancelled class today. It was awesome. There was a Segolla exhibit, and it was free to get in. I feel like i don´t know enough about art to fully appreciate it, but it was pretty awesome based on my limited understanding. And in the course of the tour i found out that the same director who did Pan´s labyrinth is going to direct The Hobbit to come out within the next few years. I´m excited. But back to the museum, it was beautiful. The most interesting part to me is to compare the art styles and themes from different eras. For a long time all the depictions of Jesus as a baby look like a miniature adult, except that his body is disproportionate. I am amazed by the incredibly different interpretation of Jesus and his life story. He is depicted as a transcendant infant or a pasty, agonized dying man upon the cross. Always he is distinguished from the rest of the people, never as one of them. And he pains because of the people, not with him. Jesus is so distant to these people, and always has been. I see this place that is the epitomy of a religious nation, and yet I feel like it has missed the point. Jesus was no politican -- he was one of us. He ached with us and for us, and he epitomized the life that we were meant to live. We all wonder about the meaning of life, but it is before our veyr eyes. As americans we all know the stories, and they are filled with such truth. They are not truth themselves, but I see now more than ever that the real message that Jesus brought tells all. The problem is in interpretation.
That turned into a rant...and now i have to go look up bus fares to Portugal. Everything is so expensive here. it´s like it´s priced the same as dollar amounts, but then you have to multiply by 1.5 to convert to Euros. Eughk.
Love love love, and some more love.
Jun 5, 2008
The eyes of Texas are upon you
Almost through with week #2 of classes -- it´s going both incredibly slowly and unimaginably fast both at the same time. I have an exam on Tuesday as well as Wednesday...aah!! Sometimes I forget that I´m here for school (bah...at least on paper). The good news is that the material is really really interesting. We´re learning a ton about Spanish history, and it is truly amazing. This is the land of fairy tales and of knights in shining armor and kings and everything. The Pyrenees mountains serve as a net of sorts to diferentiate Spain from the rest of Europe, while African and Arabic influnces funnel in through the south. I can´t even begin to count the number of times I´ve accidently stumbled upon an old castle or palace or royal garden or 500-year-old mosque or fortress tower.........
Last night we had another "intercambio" to have time to hang out with some Spanish students, although they all have final exams over the next couple of weeks, so we didn´t hang out very long. Afterwards my friend Chelsea and I went to an Arabic restaurant to get some dinner (although we ordered spaghetti...very NOT arabic). Our waiter knew right away that we were Americans, which is not very uncommon. I don´t know what it is, but Americans just absolutely stick out all the time. Anyhow, then he said "you are from Texas, no?" I don´t know how he knew it. We had only said perhaps one or two words, and neither of us have a Texan accent. When I asked him how he knew, he said it was in the eyes. I still can´t figure it out. Anyhow, the food was delicious and we even got a free dessert out of the deal, not to mention an oversized portion of spaghetti for the regular price. There was also some talk about him looking for a wife so he could start a family, but that´s when we changed the topic. jajaja.
I am trying to work out going hiking in some nearby mountains on Sunday. I love the city here, even though I am not a city person. It´s somehow different, I guess in part because everyone walks everywhere anyways. And bikes -- they have a public bike rental service that is really awesome and I hope it catches on in the states. You have to give your credit card number to a machine so that if the bike is lost it charges you 150 euro, and there´s a 10 euro starting fee and the first 30 minnutes are free and after that its like 1 euro per half hour. Anyhow, it ends up being really cheap and people use them all the time. Still, I want to escape busyness and crowds to find solace in the abyss of nature.
For now, I am going to walk over to some museums with a friend before going to classes. I miss you guys...I wish I could be sharing these experiences with my dearest friends. Every time I leave home I come to realize more and more how wonderful and amazing my friends and family are. So, thanks for being incredible!!!
hasta luego,
catia
Last night we had another "intercambio" to have time to hang out with some Spanish students, although they all have final exams over the next couple of weeks, so we didn´t hang out very long. Afterwards my friend Chelsea and I went to an Arabic restaurant to get some dinner (although we ordered spaghetti...very NOT arabic). Our waiter knew right away that we were Americans, which is not very uncommon. I don´t know what it is, but Americans just absolutely stick out all the time. Anyhow, then he said "you are from Texas, no?" I don´t know how he knew it. We had only said perhaps one or two words, and neither of us have a Texan accent. When I asked him how he knew, he said it was in the eyes. I still can´t figure it out. Anyhow, the food was delicious and we even got a free dessert out of the deal, not to mention an oversized portion of spaghetti for the regular price. There was also some talk about him looking for a wife so he could start a family, but that´s when we changed the topic. jajaja.
I am trying to work out going hiking in some nearby mountains on Sunday. I love the city here, even though I am not a city person. It´s somehow different, I guess in part because everyone walks everywhere anyways. And bikes -- they have a public bike rental service that is really awesome and I hope it catches on in the states. You have to give your credit card number to a machine so that if the bike is lost it charges you 150 euro, and there´s a 10 euro starting fee and the first 30 minnutes are free and after that its like 1 euro per half hour. Anyhow, it ends up being really cheap and people use them all the time. Still, I want to escape busyness and crowds to find solace in the abyss of nature.
For now, I am going to walk over to some museums with a friend before going to classes. I miss you guys...I wish I could be sharing these experiences with my dearest friends. Every time I leave home I come to realize more and more how wonderful and amazing my friends and family are. So, thanks for being incredible!!!
hasta luego,
catia
Jun 4, 2008
sweet, sevillan sweat
Yes, it´s finally hot here, although I use the term lightly. I have known much greater heat, and I know that Sevilla has (and will again soon) too. My host family´s house does not have air conditioning -- only open windows and ceiling fans. I´m actually looking forward to it. There´s something adventurous about falling asleep under a thin blanket of sweat with the buzz of insects in your ears. Well, I guess not everyone would think of this with fondness.
Yesterday two flamenco musicians came to do a "demonstration" of sorts, showing us different styles of flamenco and the rythms that make them distinct. I could have listened to them all day. I have never seen someone clap so passionately -- the basic rythms of flamenco are typically held with clapping and foot tapping, although a modern twist on flamenco is the introduction of the cajon from Africa and Latin America. The movement of the guitarist´s fingers was as much as dance as the feet of the dancers, and the percussionist´s hands seemed to know either other´s palms and the surface of the cajon like old friends. i have always admired improv musicians, in large part because i have never been able to become one myself. These guys were incredible. I fully intend to find more live flamenco to enchant me.
My dreams have been disturbing my real life lately. I wake up with the bitter taste of a meaningful dream on my tongue, and the dream continues to play in some distant room of my mind. I dream about people from my past, situations I have imagined before, and strange twists on the people of my present. They make me want to cry, not always because they are sad, but because in a place where everything is strange and new I cannot understand the fleetingness of these dreams that are equally strange. I have also been doing a lot of thinking in my dreams, pondering things that puzzle me during the day. I suppose it´s a convenient use of my time, since thinking can consume so much of it sometimes.
Supongo que debo escribir en español para practicar, pero es muy dificil. No queiro que haya gente que no pueda entender, entonces no voy a escribir cosas muy importantes en español. Es incredible la diferencia entre el español de los EEUU (mexico) y España. Cuando estaba en mexico entendi muchisimo, pero aqui si no pongo mucho atencion yo entiende mucho menor. El ecento es muy rico, y muchas personas comen sus s´s. El "lisp" tambien existe, pero es diferente que pensaba yo. Esta noche voy a un intercambio, donde estudiantes españoles quedan con nosotros para mostrarnos los lugares donde salen los españoles y para que nosotros podemos practicar español y ellos pueden practicar ingles. La ultima vez que teniamos un intercambio, paso muy bien. La comida fue incredible y despues fuimos a un bar para charlar. ¡¡¡Los españoles viven en los barres!!! Toman una cerveza antes de cenar, comen tapas antes del almuerzo, toman un cafe en la mañana y tambien en la tarde. Siempre hay gente en los barres, pero casi nunca hay borrachos, aunque sean americanos. Me choka que la mayoria de los estudiantes de ISA estan aqui porque es legal tomar alcohol. Pues, no es la unica razon, pero toma un gran parte. A mi me gusta tomar un sangria o un tinto de verano o cerveza con limon, pero no hay razon para estar borracha. Ay, dios mio.
Pues, me voy. Espero que entiendan mi español, y ¡¡tambien que me dejen comentarios!!
Ciao,
Catita
Yesterday two flamenco musicians came to do a "demonstration" of sorts, showing us different styles of flamenco and the rythms that make them distinct. I could have listened to them all day. I have never seen someone clap so passionately -- the basic rythms of flamenco are typically held with clapping and foot tapping, although a modern twist on flamenco is the introduction of the cajon from Africa and Latin America. The movement of the guitarist´s fingers was as much as dance as the feet of the dancers, and the percussionist´s hands seemed to know either other´s palms and the surface of the cajon like old friends. i have always admired improv musicians, in large part because i have never been able to become one myself. These guys were incredible. I fully intend to find more live flamenco to enchant me.
My dreams have been disturbing my real life lately. I wake up with the bitter taste of a meaningful dream on my tongue, and the dream continues to play in some distant room of my mind. I dream about people from my past, situations I have imagined before, and strange twists on the people of my present. They make me want to cry, not always because they are sad, but because in a place where everything is strange and new I cannot understand the fleetingness of these dreams that are equally strange. I have also been doing a lot of thinking in my dreams, pondering things that puzzle me during the day. I suppose it´s a convenient use of my time, since thinking can consume so much of it sometimes.
Supongo que debo escribir en español para practicar, pero es muy dificil. No queiro que haya gente que no pueda entender, entonces no voy a escribir cosas muy importantes en español. Es incredible la diferencia entre el español de los EEUU (mexico) y España. Cuando estaba en mexico entendi muchisimo, pero aqui si no pongo mucho atencion yo entiende mucho menor. El ecento es muy rico, y muchas personas comen sus s´s. El "lisp" tambien existe, pero es diferente que pensaba yo. Esta noche voy a un intercambio, donde estudiantes españoles quedan con nosotros para mostrarnos los lugares donde salen los españoles y para que nosotros podemos practicar español y ellos pueden practicar ingles. La ultima vez que teniamos un intercambio, paso muy bien. La comida fue incredible y despues fuimos a un bar para charlar. ¡¡¡Los españoles viven en los barres!!! Toman una cerveza antes de cenar, comen tapas antes del almuerzo, toman un cafe en la mañana y tambien en la tarde. Siempre hay gente en los barres, pero casi nunca hay borrachos, aunque sean americanos. Me choka que la mayoria de los estudiantes de ISA estan aqui porque es legal tomar alcohol. Pues, no es la unica razon, pero toma un gran parte. A mi me gusta tomar un sangria o un tinto de verano o cerveza con limon, pero no hay razon para estar borracha. Ay, dios mio.
Pues, me voy. Espero que entiendan mi español, y ¡¡tambien que me dejen comentarios!!
Ciao,
Catita
Jun 3, 2008
it´s a beautiful day in the neighborhood
Well, I wish there was something exciting to write about, but I´ll admit that monday evenings are not very eventful here. We had a meeting last night about the trip to Morocco, and I think many of the people were scared upon hearing their warnings of the likely sickness we will encounter, toilets that are nothing more than a hole in the ground, people begging for money, and having to bargain for everything. I know I am meant to travel because this news had the complete opposite effect on me. I want to see dirt, I want to smell filth; I want my eyes to be peeled opened by the caloused fingers of reality. I wish I could spend more time there in more of a living rather than touring style. As tourists we will be targeted as moneybags, and I sadly accept that I will only be able to see a sliver of this culture because of my tourist eyes. I am loving this trip, but it also makes me look forward to eventually traveling on my own and being able to settle into different cultures in a new way -- not afriad of dirt as I pave a path that is truly my own.
I ate a hamburger yesterday. Well, that´s what they called it anyhow. It was a hamburger patty on the same kind of bread that i have with practically every meal with a slice of cheese and a slice of onion. It was delicious -- finally some red meat!! But my stomach soon reprimanded me for my rash retreat to familiarity.
The home situation was feeling particularly optimistic yesterday, for no reason in particular. When I came home Esmerelda met me with a lengthy explanation for why the hot water went out three times that day because the changing winds blew out the pilot light on the water heater...I understood practically every word she said. (Catie-1, Español-50) We chatted again about how wonderful Morocco is; she is very excited for me that I get to go. We also chatted about beaches and how preciosos they are in Portugal. I read. Dinner was delicious, and she appreciated our compliments. I went to sleep quite content, and dreamed for the first time that I was in my own room.
I went and sat in a cathedral that I pass on my way home yesterday. I needed to let myself sit silently in the refreshing presence of God and let myself be reminded that there is something much bigger than me and the world that passes through my eyes. I sat, and I felt sad. Sad because all things religious in Spain are gold-plated beneath the layers of time. I wanted to find softness in my heart by gazing into the porcelain eyes of the virgin Mary, but I found nothing but porcelain. I closed my eyes, sighed, uttered the name that taken too often and too lightly, and left.
I ate a hamburger yesterday. Well, that´s what they called it anyhow. It was a hamburger patty on the same kind of bread that i have with practically every meal with a slice of cheese and a slice of onion. It was delicious -- finally some red meat!! But my stomach soon reprimanded me for my rash retreat to familiarity.
The home situation was feeling particularly optimistic yesterday, for no reason in particular. When I came home Esmerelda met me with a lengthy explanation for why the hot water went out three times that day because the changing winds blew out the pilot light on the water heater...I understood practically every word she said. (Catie-1, Español-50) We chatted again about how wonderful Morocco is; she is very excited for me that I get to go. We also chatted about beaches and how preciosos they are in Portugal. I read. Dinner was delicious, and she appreciated our compliments. I went to sleep quite content, and dreamed for the first time that I was in my own room.
I went and sat in a cathedral that I pass on my way home yesterday. I needed to let myself sit silently in the refreshing presence of God and let myself be reminded that there is something much bigger than me and the world that passes through my eyes. I sat, and I felt sad. Sad because all things religious in Spain are gold-plated beneath the layers of time. I wanted to find softness in my heart by gazing into the porcelain eyes of the virgin Mary, but I found nothing but porcelain. I closed my eyes, sighed, uttered the name that taken too often and too lightly, and left.
Jun 2, 2008
Lunes Lunes...
Back at school again after a 3-day weekend, and it is both calming and distressful to return to some sense of routine. How can I settle into anything and call it "normal" in this place that is all so new and exciting to me??? I can tell you one thing that is becoming monotonously normal - the food. I eat the same toast with the same jam for breakfast every day, a bocadillo every day for lunch, and she has about 4 dinners that she cycles through. Tonight it´s garbonzo bean soup...again. Haha. I complain, but there could be far worse things that could happen to me or that could be going into my stomach.
Anyhow, I suppose I should update on the past 3 days that i was unable to post for.
Friday was el dia de San Fernando III, who is the patron saint of Sevilla, and so we didn´t have classes. I went with 4 other girls to Italica, a small, ancient Roman city about 15 minutes from Sevilla by bus. After looking like idiotic Americans who don´t know how to use the bus system, we finally made it to the bus stop in Italica. The remains of a Roman colesseum are the most impressive part of the area. We walked through, imagining as we walked through the corridors gladiators preparing to face either death or victory. We imagined where the kings and queens might sit, and the children who attended these spectacles of mercilessness so that some day they might be so hardened to brutality that they could serve in the most fierce army the mediterranean world knew. It was a beautiful day, despite a forecast of cold rain. We took our time roaming through the streets of a long dilapidated city, admiring the marble corpses of statues of gods or wistful maidens. After exploring for a while, we went to the streets of the small town of Santiponce which houses Italica, and eventually found a sweet little cafe to stop in for a lunch of arroz con pollo that was absolutely delicious. We came back to our host home for dinner and some rest before meeting up with some other ISA students to go watch Indiana Jones at a nearby theatre that sometimes shows english movies. It was amazing. I strongly suggest that everyone go see it because it is....hilarious. Funny in a similar way that "I downloaded a ghost" was funny.
Saturday morning we woke up and headed out for the 30 minute walk to the meeting point from which we were leaving for Granada. I listened to "Kite Runner" on my ipod for the 3-hour bus ride through the mountains, and before I knew it we were unloading outside our hotel. Our group had the first scheduled tour of La Alhambra, which was the last moorish stronghold in Spain. It is a palace, fortress, and gardens, all styled by Arabs with Muslim significance. It was so incredibly beautiful, and also very interesting to see the difference between Christian and Muslim architecture. Muslims believe it is sacreligious to have faces or animals in their decorating because it´s too much like idols - the religions that Mohammed originally had to face were very ceneted on idol worship, many of which were in the form of animals. Parts of the Quran are inscribed on the stucco walls, and many of the windows are covered with wooden lattice so that women, who are not to be seen by men, can look on without being seen. There are many fountains, and our guide repeated several times that the music of La Alhambra is the sound of music. I like that. After the tour we had some down time in which I got a quick nap and then we grabbed some dinner -- the best food I have eaten this whole trip. Granada has a very strong african and middle-eastern influnce, and the restaurant where we ate was Turkish food. We practically inhaled it. That night they took us for a quick walk - which was more like a brisk hike - up to a patio type area up high in the city from which we had a beaituful of the illuminated Alhambra, and beyond that the Sierra Nevada mountains illuminated just barely by the remaining daylight reflecting off of their snowy peaks. This was a bitter-sweet experience, because although it was beautiful, I felt as though we were intruding on something sacred with our loud English, expensive cameras with their ceaseless flashes, and painted faces posing for facebook pictures. A small group of gypsies was seated on some benches smoking cigarettes and playing guitars. I couldn´t understand the words they were singing, but I imagine they were probably singing about spoiled American kids who see the world through a digital camera screen and dollar signs. And those same kids were circled around listening in fabricated appreciation of these people, although most of these kids couldn´t see past the dirt. I don´t pretend to be above materialism. In fact, I realize that the reason for most things bothering me about people, especially people my age, is that I either see it or fear seeing it in myself. I´m just saying what I saw. Anyhow, we listened to a few songs and then headed out to go see a flamenco performance in a small venue tucked in the side of the mountain. I have never seen a dance that is more soulful. I am convinced that their minds thought nothing of the intricate steps of their feet and tossing of their skirts, but rather that their hearts pounded the rythm intensely through their veins and into their muscles, as though telling their own life story through movement. By far the most "spanish" experience so far: sipping sangria while watching flamenco.
Sunday we had free time until we left at 2, so I explored the city with some friends and we found an artisan´s market filled with beautiful things mostly from north Africa. I bought a moroccan tea set - my most exciting purchase of the trip. I ran out of money so I didn´t eat lunch before getting back onto the bus to finish my audiobook over the winding mountain roads once again.
Finally a break through at home - i played cards with my host sister for about an hour last night. I had already gone exploring for nearly 2 hours and it was another hour and a half until dinner. I couldn´t stand sitting silently in my room for all that time. I taught her some games, we played "ir pescado" and "rapido" and a few other games. It was great, and she is just as cute as she can be. I didn´t feel judged, and that is very refreshing. Our host mom confronted Rachel last night about the fact that she never talks, which is honestly because she has no faith in her ability to express herself in Spanish. We are confounding to our host mom: we like eggs for breakfast, bring tons of luggage, and are always tired when we come home. Well, at least she´s had international students before so I don´t think she takes any of it personally. This morning i was opening up my bocadillo to examine its contents and she walked in...I think she thinks I didn´t like it and that´s why i was looking. I told her I was just seeing what kind of sandwhich it was.
I feel like my Spanish is getting worse. I understand it much better, but I hardly speak it. And when i do I am intimidated so my tongue refuses to sculpt smooth, beautiful words, and instead jagged chunks of something that is barely recognizable as Spanish fall out of my mouth. I haven´t started dreaming in Spanish yet. Although I did have a strange dream last night. All these people from my past like Katie Festervan and Morgan Benton and Dylan Bagget were there, as well as some of my current friends and some random people from this trip. We decided to put on a play for our parents, in which we switched roles and played like we were the grown-ups. I realized I was playing my mom. We realized after a while that the grown-ups weren´t watching any more and were not interested in our little game, but we kept on playing grown-up, much like playing house when we were little. Maya, of course, was the best at playing grown-up. I couldn´t decide if I was going to play a little baby, a college student, or a mother. Hmm...deep...
Well, I guess this is already too long, so I should check out for now. Hopefully I will write more tomorrow. I love hearing from you guys...comments are great (wink wink, i miss you and want to hear from people I love...)
hasta luego!!!
Anyhow, I suppose I should update on the past 3 days that i was unable to post for.
Friday was el dia de San Fernando III, who is the patron saint of Sevilla, and so we didn´t have classes. I went with 4 other girls to Italica, a small, ancient Roman city about 15 minutes from Sevilla by bus. After looking like idiotic Americans who don´t know how to use the bus system, we finally made it to the bus stop in Italica. The remains of a Roman colesseum are the most impressive part of the area. We walked through, imagining as we walked through the corridors gladiators preparing to face either death or victory. We imagined where the kings and queens might sit, and the children who attended these spectacles of mercilessness so that some day they might be so hardened to brutality that they could serve in the most fierce army the mediterranean world knew. It was a beautiful day, despite a forecast of cold rain. We took our time roaming through the streets of a long dilapidated city, admiring the marble corpses of statues of gods or wistful maidens. After exploring for a while, we went to the streets of the small town of Santiponce which houses Italica, and eventually found a sweet little cafe to stop in for a lunch of arroz con pollo that was absolutely delicious. We came back to our host home for dinner and some rest before meeting up with some other ISA students to go watch Indiana Jones at a nearby theatre that sometimes shows english movies. It was amazing. I strongly suggest that everyone go see it because it is....hilarious. Funny in a similar way that "I downloaded a ghost" was funny.
Saturday morning we woke up and headed out for the 30 minute walk to the meeting point from which we were leaving for Granada. I listened to "Kite Runner" on my ipod for the 3-hour bus ride through the mountains, and before I knew it we were unloading outside our hotel. Our group had the first scheduled tour of La Alhambra, which was the last moorish stronghold in Spain. It is a palace, fortress, and gardens, all styled by Arabs with Muslim significance. It was so incredibly beautiful, and also very interesting to see the difference between Christian and Muslim architecture. Muslims believe it is sacreligious to have faces or animals in their decorating because it´s too much like idols - the religions that Mohammed originally had to face were very ceneted on idol worship, many of which were in the form of animals. Parts of the Quran are inscribed on the stucco walls, and many of the windows are covered with wooden lattice so that women, who are not to be seen by men, can look on without being seen. There are many fountains, and our guide repeated several times that the music of La Alhambra is the sound of music. I like that. After the tour we had some down time in which I got a quick nap and then we grabbed some dinner -- the best food I have eaten this whole trip. Granada has a very strong african and middle-eastern influnce, and the restaurant where we ate was Turkish food. We practically inhaled it. That night they took us for a quick walk - which was more like a brisk hike - up to a patio type area up high in the city from which we had a beaituful of the illuminated Alhambra, and beyond that the Sierra Nevada mountains illuminated just barely by the remaining daylight reflecting off of their snowy peaks. This was a bitter-sweet experience, because although it was beautiful, I felt as though we were intruding on something sacred with our loud English, expensive cameras with their ceaseless flashes, and painted faces posing for facebook pictures. A small group of gypsies was seated on some benches smoking cigarettes and playing guitars. I couldn´t understand the words they were singing, but I imagine they were probably singing about spoiled American kids who see the world through a digital camera screen and dollar signs. And those same kids were circled around listening in fabricated appreciation of these people, although most of these kids couldn´t see past the dirt. I don´t pretend to be above materialism. In fact, I realize that the reason for most things bothering me about people, especially people my age, is that I either see it or fear seeing it in myself. I´m just saying what I saw. Anyhow, we listened to a few songs and then headed out to go see a flamenco performance in a small venue tucked in the side of the mountain. I have never seen a dance that is more soulful. I am convinced that their minds thought nothing of the intricate steps of their feet and tossing of their skirts, but rather that their hearts pounded the rythm intensely through their veins and into their muscles, as though telling their own life story through movement. By far the most "spanish" experience so far: sipping sangria while watching flamenco.
Sunday we had free time until we left at 2, so I explored the city with some friends and we found an artisan´s market filled with beautiful things mostly from north Africa. I bought a moroccan tea set - my most exciting purchase of the trip. I ran out of money so I didn´t eat lunch before getting back onto the bus to finish my audiobook over the winding mountain roads once again.
Finally a break through at home - i played cards with my host sister for about an hour last night. I had already gone exploring for nearly 2 hours and it was another hour and a half until dinner. I couldn´t stand sitting silently in my room for all that time. I taught her some games, we played "ir pescado" and "rapido" and a few other games. It was great, and she is just as cute as she can be. I didn´t feel judged, and that is very refreshing. Our host mom confronted Rachel last night about the fact that she never talks, which is honestly because she has no faith in her ability to express herself in Spanish. We are confounding to our host mom: we like eggs for breakfast, bring tons of luggage, and are always tired when we come home. Well, at least she´s had international students before so I don´t think she takes any of it personally. This morning i was opening up my bocadillo to examine its contents and she walked in...I think she thinks I didn´t like it and that´s why i was looking. I told her I was just seeing what kind of sandwhich it was.
I feel like my Spanish is getting worse. I understand it much better, but I hardly speak it. And when i do I am intimidated so my tongue refuses to sculpt smooth, beautiful words, and instead jagged chunks of something that is barely recognizable as Spanish fall out of my mouth. I haven´t started dreaming in Spanish yet. Although I did have a strange dream last night. All these people from my past like Katie Festervan and Morgan Benton and Dylan Bagget were there, as well as some of my current friends and some random people from this trip. We decided to put on a play for our parents, in which we switched roles and played like we were the grown-ups. I realized I was playing my mom. We realized after a while that the grown-ups weren´t watching any more and were not interested in our little game, but we kept on playing grown-up, much like playing house when we were little. Maya, of course, was the best at playing grown-up. I couldn´t decide if I was going to play a little baby, a college student, or a mother. Hmm...deep...
Well, I guess this is already too long, so I should check out for now. Hopefully I will write more tomorrow. I love hearing from you guys...comments are great (wink wink, i miss you and want to hear from people I love...)
hasta luego!!!
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