wahh

I'm leaving Granada tomorrow. what? 

It just hit me when I hugged my sister goodbye.

tears came out of nowhere. 

nevermind I'll be back to visit in 2 weeks.

buenas noches. que descanses bien.

un abrazo, cariño.

My english

is the worst.

ESTOY HASTA LAS NARICES.

This presentation I'm preparing is so boring, I can hardly stay awake. Who cares about my thoughts on second language education in Spain? No one. And, I don't even have the option to sidetrack...it's so much harder in Spanish. My poor class...

hombre!

My second favorite family in Granada- Katie's host family. From the left, 

Katie, Sara, Nabil and Nur. Missing mom! 

Can't. wait. to. eat. American. Happy Mother's Day.

I've been so spoiled as far as food goes, here in Granada. My host mom is a world class cook of Spanish cuisine, which I've appreciated thus far, but one can only eat tortilla de patatas so many times before one wishes she had some chinese food. A cheesesteak maybe. Breakfast at Sabrina's. Pumpkin pancakes on West Ave. I don't even like cheesesteaks that much. And I thought variety was overrated...

Of course, scanning the nytimes today, I came across this article:

http://travel.nytimes.com/2009/05/10/travel/10hours.html?em=&adxnnl=1&adxnnlx=1241985886-FDeGAnm6vxv+xes15yCY/A

Nostalgia is against me.

Fortunately, today was a blessed day, and I don't mean to make a bad pun out of it being Sunday. It was sushi-making day! Helena (my sister), Inés (host mom), my friend Andrew and I rolled sushi for what seemed like hours on end. Then we commenced. I think I ate 15 sushi rolls, 2 inari rolls, 2 or 3 egg rolls, some weird thing with spinach in it, and lots of krupuk. Almost satisfying enough for the month I have left in Europa.

(must've been missing philadelphia rolls.)

Another incomplete picture of my life in Spain

a tiny bit of my stay in Morocco:

Tetuan. But it looks just like Spain.

One of many beautiful parts of Morocco.

So a man was walking his monkey in Asilah one day...

there has to be a joke that starts like this in Morocco.

We all got in on bread making. This is the pueblo house we stayed in in Belouta.

We're all smiling because Jess can't cook for her life.

One of the many amazing meals we had in Morooco. They know how to eat. And they eat more than Spaniards! The idea befuddles me.

Camillo riding. giddy-up.

Wasn't all that exciting, but I didn't expect it to be. 

Me and Stacy in Chefchaouen.

Getting married.

Not a good look for me.

¡Hola brasileña!

Oops, missed another day again. Oh well. Goals are meant to be broken, I think is how that saying goes.

So I think Spain has reached a consensus- I am Brasileña, or from Brazil. Out of all the nationalities I've been offered on the street, Brazil has been the most common. My favorite was Madagascar (what?). 

Almost finished my paper on the teaching of secondary languages in Spain and Amurrica. Then evaluations, a presentation, and I'm done? Time flies, hombre...

Chelsea lost the game against Barcelona last night (pobrecitos), after a ridiculous goal Barcelona made during the 4 minutes of overtime. This means Barça plays Manchester. Oh wait, what? You're not following football? I mean soccer? I think I'm going to miss Europe. 

Pitingo

yesterday's forgotten entry:

Día de la Cruz was much better than expected. There was something going down in almost every plaza (think, one or two plazas per city block). All of the little girls were clad in flamenco dresses, as well as many older women. Plaza de Larga featured anyone and everyone doing some sort of flamenco. Mirador de San Nicolas was full of hippies, as usual, ignoring the rest of the world. It was pretty eventful, and not half as debilitating as Semana Santa. 

I'm raising my kids in Spain, so they have to dress like this. 

today:

Going to see Luis Buñuel's "El río y la muerte" tonight. I'm not sure what it's about, but he was a weirdo so it should be interesting. 

Día de la cruz

Today is día de la cruz, which is when lots of people decorate large crosses with flowers and ask for money and play music and do flamenco and stuff. There might be a little more to that, but this is all I've gathered. Like the traditions of many religious (Catholic) holidays here, the whole affair seems a little sacrilegious to me. To walk around with a cross in one hand, and a box for change in the other? Like my friend Katie put it, "...and I was like, you want money for dressing up your cross? So what. Jesus died on a cross." That said, I'll probably walk around and admire it and maybe drop a euro in someone's money tin, because IT'S SO PRETTY.

here's a photo I didn't take of día de la cruz in the Albaicín:

http://www.andaluciaimagen.com/Plaza-Larga-el-dia-de-La-Cruz--Granada_35452.jpg 

Today is also mother's day here. Friday was also labor day. And yesterday was the big game between Real Madrid and Barcelona. It's like a 4 for 1. 

Me duele la nariz

I've been blowing my nose for like, 2 weeks now. It hurts, it hurts,

and the skin around it is raw. There's no such thing as a soft tissue in Spain,

for your mental notes.

"The apparition of these faces in the crowd

petals on a wet, black bough." (In a Station of the Metro, Ezra Pound)

---these words have been running through my mind all day. thank you james longenbach.

and happy birthday dad! I miss you!! 

reaching social security now!

broma!!

"We've been pompous ever since Columbus couldn't work a compass"

The writing's on the (kitchen) wall. Europe lovez Obamz.

and Spain loves Christopher Colombus.

fun fact!: morocco was the first country to support america's independence. my friend tarik told me this proudly, after which i offered thanks on behalf of my african and native american ancestors. bust! i'm five years old.

thoughts today:

- it's snowing pollen, which is my second greatest fear, after swine flu. but keeping the flu "in perspective"...

- i came up with a great thesis question the other night, after a long conversation about language. unfortunately, i'm an idiot and only wrote down, "the ownership of language". i'll never remember what it was. i guess i at least have a topic.

- i went through 6 packs of tissues yesterday. time to cut the holistic medicinal practice of breathing in the steam of boiling water in order to cure my congestion. it's not working, host mom.

- the birds in Granada sing all day long.

goals today:

- window shop at yokohama? yoksana? whatever the boutique is called, i'm finding it hard not to spend my money there.

- take my book of Lorca poetry and my english-spanish dictionary down to the park. be patient with it.

- write a page of my final project paper. 

- send my pile of snail mail. 

- go to Sacromonte tonight and see a flamenco show. be kidnapped by river gypsies and be forced adopt their culture and lifestyle of singing and dancing and riding in caravans. become the next Carmen Amaya of flamenco.

Goals

I consider this blog failed, in ways. I've done a bad job at updating and have provided a pretty broken portrait of my life here in Spain. And at the same time, I'm not sure I had a specific goal in mind when I started this blog, so it had nothing to fail at really, so much as passively exist.

That said, Spain was a blast. Not that I'm leaving yet, but with 2 weeks left I've begun pre-retrospective meditation. I'd like to think that my time here was spent productively, an immersion engendering some sort of cultural enlightenment, like that I should spend more time eating and less time worrying, but I think I already knew that. On a whole, I'd say Europe isn't all that different from the U.S., aside the rich FASCINATING western history. My 5 days spent in Morocco this past week affirmed my suspicions. I felt, for the first time in a while, absolutely foreign in a foreign land, where women are only seen in the streets shopping or moving from one indoor location to another. It was uncomfortable to see only men, everywhere- populating the cafes and bars and leisurely walking the streets. However, I've never been so catered to in my life. Moroccans are an incredibly hospitable people. I was invited to tea and dinner on countless occasions during the 5 days and to my amazement, they eat more than Spaniards (a great break from Spanish cuisine). Confirms my other suspicion, which is the less that people have, the more they are willing to give. I guess that's less of a suspicion and more of a kind of fact (generally), like the parable of the widow's offering.

So, like I said, didn't do all that much. I mean, I traveled a lot, saw a ton of Spain, met a lot of people, learned a lot of Spanish, etc. But I have little to show for it. And I tend to count my productivity in tangible quantities. wah wahhh.

I have two weeks left in Granada, during which I'll volunteer a lot a ROMI, finish my independent project, and play. This involves more flamenco watching in the caves of Sacromonte and exploring all of the tourist-friendly activities I have yet to accomplish here. Afterwards, I have tentative plans to spend a day in Bath, followed by 5 days between Northern France and Brussels with my dear friend Monica. Then, I head back to Madrid and travel again around Southern Spain with my mother. Por fin, I will arrive either in Paris or Geneva to spend my last 4 or 5 days, taking in all of the Europe I can get and avoiding swine flu. Then I arrive home, which I'm sure I'll be ready for. I miss a lot of things about home, including having a relatively independent life. I'm sure I'll be ready.

But back to my not failed yet not successful blog, I've decided to update every day for the next two weeks. These entries might not be updates, so much as fleeting thoughts or things I come across. Goal? 

No pasa nada...

...is the way of life in Andalucía. It means, more or less, "don't worry about it, nothing happened, whatever..." A people less worried than Andalusians may be hard to come by. 

So, as a picture's worth a thousand words,

stories from Castaras:

My bed

Annie's bed

Bar hopping. There were two in Castaras.

Breakfast! There are no stores in Castaras but men that deliver food by truck. 

We love the bread man.

False advertising. It took us 3 hours. But then, I guess we scaled a couple mountains on the way. 

This water runs through the village fountains, but we drank it straight from under that rock. 

Us. From the left, Annie, Leigh, Me, Katie.

Me with a tree branch seemed to be a running theme on the trip.

Sorry everything's underlined. I can't get rid of it.

Strange foliage.

Being lame!

This is Leigh after we slid down a mountain, and I could not understate "slid down a mountain" any more. But that was my bright idea. 

We made it to Notaez...We made it to Notaez...I can't believe we made it to Notaez

Kind of like Eden.

Katie tried to pet it. It wasn't having it.

Notaez!

We must've passed this flock of sheep like, 10 times. The shepherd gave no directional help. I think he might've been laughing at us. 

"And Castaras would be back that way."

We made a friend.

Lost again. And giving up.

You can see Africa from here

Last last weekend's trip to Sorvilan:

The small pueblo of Sorvilan, population 261

The treacherous 2 1/2 hour ride there. Some of us had our eyes closed. A blind man appeared out of the fog with a walking stick. It felt profound in some, shallow way.

The view from our abode. You can see the coast of Africa from here (when it's clear of fog).

Hola Enrique. We stayed at his 400? year old house in Sorvilan and he cooked for us. He also led us on a hike through the mountains to the Mediterranean for about 3 hours, and showed us all of the vegetation that grows there, which is basically all of the vegetation in Europe. There are about 100 microclimates in the immediate region which allow every sort of plant to grow. I picked some rosemary, thyme and lavender for my sister, and subsequently lost it, back from whence it came. Next time, Erin.

The sun came out, por fin!

"Come down from the mountains, you have been gone too long..."

That would be Annie and I. 

...more on my death hike through Cástaras to come.

i'm going to update my blog mom, part 2

So, lots of stuff has happened in the past however many weeks, all to show I'm not cut out for blogging. I'm too lazy to update, and suddenly when I do it turns into an lolhumanz page. And speaking of lolcatz, there are close to several million cats that live around the Alhambra, I think. But back to the point I wasn't making...

Where do I begin? 

I'll start with a photo. 

Here we are at a cathedral in Sevilla, the perfect segway. We went to Sevilla and Cordoba two weekends ago on a program "drop off". This means that we were given money and tasks to complete in both cities, which include finding and booking a hostel and transportation, and visiting certain sights/monuments, to conclude with a presentation. The trip was a mini-disaster on some levels, although I discovered Sevilla to be a very liveable city, and so maybe the trip was beneficial to thinking of my life on a larger scale, which I plan to do sometime soon. Anyway, two days before the trip, Andrew (a classmate) went skiing in the Sierra Nevadas and slipped on a patch of ice. A week later, he had a nail through his shoulder and staples in his chest. So, yeah, he couldn't make it. Pobre Andrecito. The beginning of a bad omen.

Saturday was nice, I think, beautiful out? I don't really remember actually, as everything before 3pm lives in that afternoon's dark shadows. Around 3, we stopped somewhere in Sevilla for ice cream. Unfortunately, around 2:55, someone reached into Katie W.'s purse and took her wallet, including her passport, all of her money, forms of I.D. and credit cards. So by 3:05 we're all freaking out, but somehow manage to skype her parents and the bank, contact the embassy and file a police report within 1 or two hours. 

The aforeposted photo speaks otherwise though, doesn't it? We're all extremely content. Despite the mess, it was kind of fun.

So...more stuff. We went to the Alhambra finally--the bomb it was. I'm over being sick for the past few weeks, which is pleasant for everyone. My host mom's still an amazing cook, and I'll probably be fat when I leave. She made truffles for Andrew and they healed his torn shoulder ligaments. We have french visitors in my house that speak little to no Spanish and so I try to communicate in my broken French. Of course, my sister speaks a little bit French and English, German and Russian. Her boyfriend speaks perfect French, Spanish, Arabic and Rifeño, which is a dialect of Berber (he's from Morocco). I...well, I'm still overexcited when people mistake me for being hispanic. One guy told me I looked like his dominican housemaid on the bus. I'm also called "morena" sometimes on the street, which just means a dark, hispanic girl. Only when I speak more than one sentence do I give myself away. 

I've started working at ROMI, which is an organization for gypsy women, immigrants and their children. There are mostly immigrant children in my neighborhood (less gypsies) from everywhere. I changed my photography idea to dance, assuming it'd be easier to teach ballet classes than struggle with the language barrier in a photography class (since it's in french, anyway). It turns out, offering my dance abilities means that I also could teach Theater ("High School Musical" was mentioned?), Music and English. Hah. Of course, I agreed. Negotiating in Spanish is beyond me. Fortunately, it's less work than I imagined. There are other volunteers- a guy from Belgium, a girl from Japan, another girl from Italy- so, we'll all be working together. My first day was spent teaching English to this hilarious kid from Pakistan and helping with a fiesta for visiting Italian kids, which consisted of Spanish Guitar playing, Flamenco and hip hop dancing. I love it there. 

So, that's some of what's been going on. We're going to a small village next weekend to do a sustainable development seminar. We're also hiking and going to the beach, which I can't wait for. The week after, my good friend Leigh is coming for the week from Berlin and we're camping in the Sierra Nevadas that weekend, which I imagine I will be too lazy to write about. And so this post covers a bit of the past and the future.

I leave you now with an image of the Alhambra from school:

that's a hippie. They're all over the Albaicín. Some sit around there, Mirador de San Nicolas, and play music all afternoon. We have ideas of joining them, and breaking out in something like "britney: unplugged". 

And, more pictures from the Albaicín:

Right here

hasta luego.

perpetual vacation. i mean, school.

hi from skool!

Nick sez ola! Nick iz pale. 

it's like lolcatz, but with people.

I'm going to update my blog mom, part 1

PART I

My gross generalizations of what Spaniards find important:

1. Food. Everything revolves around what you're going to eat and when you're going to eat it. Let me expound:

Breakfast is often composed of a tostada (toasted bread, usually with tomato and olive oil) and cafe con leche, traditionally light so that you're completely starving by lunchtime. Because your body refuses to function properly without sustenance, and God forbid you eat in public, you must go home midday (2, 3 pm) in order to revive yourself. This involves binge eating for at least an hour. Dessert is not to be left out, ever-- don't forget this could be that last meal you ever eat (so the psychology goes). Forced into a coma by 4 or 5 regularly leaves you in indecision-- do I return to work? Or do I watch this afternoon's documentary special on anthrax poisoned hippos?* If you guessed the latter, you are correct. By evening, you still aren't hungry because you ate 3 times your body weight in the afternoon. Don't let this deter you-- you are your only limit. You are the only thing standing in the way of a plate of tapas. But sit down, and eat them instead. And Granada is the only place in Spain where tapas are free with any drink you buy. So, wait until 11 to eat (because you're not still completely full by then) and skirt sleep for the sake of food. 

*yes, I watched this. 

2. Spain, specifically. And particularly, not Europe. And no, Spaniards are not European, they are Spaniards. An autonomous empire, you might guess, if you talked to one of them. Have they seceded from the EU? Maybe. Spain is not a country, it's a continent.

3. There are more peluquerías, or hair salons, than people that have hair. Getting yer hair did is a weekly maintenance. I think even all the hippies in the Albaícin get their dreadlocks done, which are unreal. And by unreal, I mean, how do you dread a mullet?? Which I call, by the way, the dreaded mullet. Anyway, the haircuts are truly pieces of art, like a Dalí painting you wouldn't want hanging in your bedroom but you could admire at a museum. (from a distance)

4. Dogs here are like mob bosses-- they run the town. Everyone has a dog, and everyone's dog owns them. A dog on a leash, well, it happens, but more likely, the dog is at liberty to roam and caga wherever it likes, and it's "owner" follows it around. And I've never seen so many in one place, in my life. There's also no enforcement of the, pick up your dog caca law. It's gross.

5. Fútbol. That means soccer. And we all knew that. And perhaps this should've been #1. But this is no particular order...so, it's like this: girls don't really play soccer. They also don't run outside, which I've learned by the look my sister gives me every time I say, "I think I'll go for a run".  Also, the "look" for girls right now is to dress like guys- huge baggy pants hanging to show your boxers and maybe a beater or big jacket. It's heinous. But, dare I say, they pull it off? And they do, so very well. 

Guiris,

Buenas tardes. I just ate enough to feed a family of Siberian tigers, and I know this because I watch the Spanish equivalent of animal planet with my adopted mom, Ines. We also watch what I call "Spanish Jeopardy" and "Spanish Wayans Bros.", and sometimes, "Spanish Disney-Channel Show". There's also a bizarre series where grown men do 4th grade science projects and interview famous people. Will Smith was on the other day, who, so I've learned, is a prized actor among Spaniards. I think myself the prized neighborhood guiri (foreigner) by virtue of association (we're both from Philadelphia).

That said, I'm here in Granada after a grueling 5 hour trip last week (2 weeks ago?), and I'm making myself at home. The city sits just at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas, and my school overlooks the Alhambra. I'm living with Ines and her daughter Elena, who has been in Berlin and upon her return, I found myself suffering from only child syndrome. Fortunately, she's very very cool and I'm quite over the fact that Ines is her mother and not mine (really). They've both been wonderful in showing me Granada and Ines cooks a traditional Spanish meal for me every day, which is much more than I could ask for. That said, I only go out for ethnic food, pizza and Moroccan tea. The age old question can rest--yes, all you need is good food to be happy. 

My typical schedule starts with school from either 9-12 or 9-2:30 (alternating every day), and I go home for siesta (feast followed by nap) at 3. Between 4:30 and 9 is playtime and we eat dinner around 9:30 or 10:00. On weekends, Spaniards go out around 11 or 12 for tapas, which are basically free meals that come with your purchased drink, and they hit the discotecas around 2-3 (to stay out until morning). Us Americans have yet to acclimate to this schedule- I don't think most of us have made it past 3.

Cultural activities are also a very normal component of the day. Last night, we went out for dinner and flamenco and tonight, we're going to see Federico Garcia Llorca's play, "Bodas de Sangre". Speaking of Spanish, I am happy to say I have been mistaken several times for being able to speak Spanish. Understanding Spanish is very dependent on who's speaking. Andalusians have some of the most incomprehensible accents (lisping their c's, dropping s's off of every word) and they speak ridiculously fast. Fortunately, I'm adjusting relatively quickly, the result of hearing so much every day. 

Next week, I'm presenting a project proposal to Granada Acoge, an organization that works with immigrants to Granada, to teach a group of kids some form of elementary photography. This would combine everything I want to do here (work with kids, work with excluded minorities, work with photography) and would give me an opportunity to speak with people (children) who probably have worse grammar than I do. Still, it feels slightly impossible, given that I've never taught a group of 20 kids anything in English. If I can't teach, I'm hoping they'll at least let me play with them. 

I feel myself quickly integrating with the warm culture here. People are easy to speak to and love to strike up conversations with strangers. I'm also "suffering" with them, as the bus workers are on strike (La Huelga) and what should be a 20 minute bus trip to school sometimes takes an hour and a half (while the workers take a smoke). The strike or manefestacion of the strike actually happens right in front in my apartment complex every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. It's really wonderful to see the community's support for the men and women on strike, despite that they have to arrive late to work 3 times a week.

So...that's all and a lot for now. I have to leave this tea house as it's getting packed and I've only spent 2 bucks here. 

Ciao Madrileños

Finalmente, estoy en Granada.

It's one of the most beautiful places I've ever seen. Beats Madrid, no doubt.

A few photos:

Brown Sugar? My host family has good taste.

El Zaidin (a barrio of Granada).

My bedroom. 

La Cocina (the kitchen). I spend a lot of time in here standing over my host mom's shoulder (she's tiny), talking about food and politics and other things of which I have no vocabulary in Spanish, yet. 

Elena's drawing of Tarek. He's a year or 2 older than me, a Moroccan friend of the family, and comes around just about every day to help me do things (buy a phone, hook up the internet, etc), because Elena's in Berlin. He and Ines (my host mom) like to have friendly arguments over whether foods are Arabe or Español. They're actually pretty funny together. 

And some photos from Madrid

More to come from my daily walk about in El Albaicin (a barrio across from El Alhambra).