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.................
Jun 10, 2008
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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