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.