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.