Today was a good day. Why? Mainly, I didn't have to use my AK, but a few other things were great too. I had my dreaded philosophy midterm and think I did a reasonable job, but given my lack of experience with the Spanish grading system, much less this professor's criteria, it's impossible to estimate my grade. I walked in and he asked--are you going to write in English or Spanish? I had no idea that would be an option, and seeing as everything was in my head in Spanish, I told him Spanish. (Besides, English would be cheating.) Unfortunately, that means I won't get the Erasmus treatment for lack of writing fluidity.
I also found out that I will most likely guide Outdoor Adventures' Grand Canyon trip over spring break. This is excellent for so many reasons: obviously, I finally get to go to the GC (and get paid for it!), it will be a super positive reintroduction to the states, hopefully easing reverse culture shock, and Joel, Patrick, and Lindsay are all signed up as participants. It's going to be hilarious to act professional and guide-y with those three around.
Next, our Intro to Traditional Music class switched professors, and I learned more today (and had more fun) than I did in three months of class with dumbass Manuela. We spent the last half hour learning a folk song and dance from the north of Argentina, then practicing while the professor played the tune on the recorder. Even without that, it would have blown Manuela's classes out of the water: we analyzed a couple of well-chosen pieces of music, which he replayed a few times in between discussions of how to listen and what elements to pick out so the commentary could solidify, as he seamlessly mixed in theory and culture. Also, he's from Buenos Aires. For me, porteños, particularly older ones, exude familiarity and comfort with their accent, communication style, and mannerisms. With a name like Victor Neuman, he's clearly Jewish, and he's just a bit older than my parents. I wonder if his story is anything like my family's? And more importantly, why couldn't he have taught the whole semester?? I just did a bit of google creeping, and aside from his incredible qualifications as a musician and music scholar, he's done loads of work in primary education. No wonder he's good. Universities all over need to realize that the highest honored scholar is not necessarily the best educator.
Another exciting moment was picking up Cien Años de Soledad. Two years ago I tried to read it to brush up on my Spanish. I gave up after looking up every third word for maybe six pages. This time, I could read it as fluidly as English. Hooray for measurable language progress!
Second to last but not second to least, and last but not least: I got another awesome birthday present, this time in the mail, from Alek: an In-n-Out gift card (damn you for teasing me!) and a hilarious, heartwarming written card. And it's just past 7 AM on...wait for it, Wednesday! That means, with slight fudging of time zones, that Joel is getting on a plane to come see me TODAY!!! It was so hard to concentrate on philosophy studying when I was thinking about this, and now I can finally let my mind go wild with anticipation.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Tea Monkeys and California Sunrises
Recently, I've been getting irritated with my roommates over stupid things like cleaning, and...cleaning. The experience has made me that much more grateful that last year and up to next spring quarter, I lived with two responsible, wonderful girls with whom I have zero problems regarding cohabitation or cleanliness.
But today, Max and Juan gave me a belated birthday present, and I couldn't stay mad.
It's a tea monkey! The arms go up and hang on the edge of your cup and the monkey steeps your tea. They also gave me a big bag of mint tea, because "it's the only type we didn't think you had." It was a super sweet present because I constantly drink loose leaf tea, but without a strainer, so I would let the mass sink to the bottom and avoid it/awkwardly strain it with a spoon. Now I have a monkey to help!
A friend now studying in Madrid posted this song on Facebook, and it's way more indie than I can usually tolerate, but it is beautiful in sound and lyrics.
But today, Max and Juan gave me a belated birthday present, and I couldn't stay mad.
A friend now studying in Madrid posted this song on Facebook, and it's way more indie than I can usually tolerate, but it is beautiful in sound and lyrics.
California sunrise, come on and wake me up.
Monday, December 12, 2011
Snapshots of Istanbul
ISLAM
Turkey is politically secular, but considering how negatively the religion is viewed in the States, it was a remarkable opportunity to see a five-day snapshot of life in a country in which 99% of the population is Muslim. Michelle and I estimate that approximately 65% of the women wore hijabs. A few women wore burkas, but according to my guidebook, they are typically tourists from other Arab countries. (Tourists in burkas seemed strange and funny. Clearly, I have my own stereotypes about this chunk of the world.) Obviously, mosques were everywhere, and Christianity could take a lesson from the Muslims on making a gorgeous, tasteful place of worship. As Islam forbids the depiction of Mohammed or the other holy figures, considering it idolatry, the overkill of gaudy altars, overbearing sculptures and tasteless use of gold that is ubiquitous to European cathedrals is absent, instead replaced with tile. Deep blues, bright greens, and crimson reds create swirls of geometric and nature-inspired patterns cover the high domed ceiling to create a beautiful, inspiring, serene space. Shoes are not permitted, but the floors are carpeted.
Michelle and I were typically out and about for two or three of the five daily calls to prayer. As the melodic vocation sounded out from the nearest mosque, the calls from the others in the vicinity would mingle through with similar but slightly offset, slightly different intonation. It was almost harmonic and almost dissonant, eerie, haunting, and beautiful.
MONUMENTS
Aside from mosques, we visited two major monuments: the Hagia Sophia, and the Topkapi Palace. The Hagia Sophia was huge, dark, and impressive, more appealing from the outside than from within. It was made interesting by the contrast of the Christian and Islamic elements, and of course by its historical significance, but was otherwise not as appealing as the mosques or the palace.
The best part of the Topkapi Palace was the harem, room after room entirely decorated in the same style as the mosques: with beautiful, vibrant tile.
INDULGENCE
First, the essential: food and drink. Fresh pomegranate juice on every block, squeezed to order. Salep, a hot, thick, sweet, milky, spiced drink. Ayran, a refreshing mix of yogurt, sparkling water, and salt. Turkish coffee, sweet and strong. Fresh fried fish sandwiches, fried fish everything and anything else, mussels stuffed with rice on the pier, 2 for a lira. Meze, appetizers of marinated vegetables and spreads with bread, and raki, a strong anise-flavored liquor that turns milky white in water. Kebabs and kebab plates, roasted meats piled up alongside heaps of vegetables, yogurt, and pilaf. Yogurt topped liberally with fresh honey, unfiltered to include waxy bits of honeycomb. Indulgent baklava dripping with honey syrup, candied pumpkin, and custard resembling rice pudding. Turkish Delight, a dessert-candy with a gelatinous honey base mixed with nuts.
On my birthday, we went to a historic Turkish bath. We changed into a black pair of underwear, provided by the bathhouse, then entered the round, hot women's room and laid down on our towels on the large stone center. After we had worked up a sweat, an attendant came to each of us and drenched us with warm water, then scrubbed down our bodies. Mounds of bubbles were poured over us, and we were completely bathed. After rinsing off and relaxing in the bath, we got full-body oil massages. Not for the shy, nor for those unable to ignore the strangeness of someone else...washing them, but with those thoughts cast aside, it was blissful.
The next day, we stopped at a cafe near our hostel for some hookah. The guy who worked there bore an uncanny resemblance to Jonah Hill and teased us mercilessly. There, I believe I experienced one of the greatest convergences of sensory pleasure of my entire life: petting the small kitten curled up in my lap, drinking tea, and smoking hookah.
CATS
They're everywhere, but unlike Granada's strays, who are almost all skittish and often mangy or malnourished, these cats were affectionate, healthy, and well-fed. Michelle and I spent a good chunk of each day distracted by particularly cute, cuddly, or playful specimens.
PICK-UP LINES
From mildly corny to doused in cheese, all hilarious. "You dropped something." "What?" "My heart." A sesame-seed heart sprinkled on the large, pillow-like bread that came with the kebab plate. "Españolas? Chicas guapas," from vendor after vendor, although we hadn't mentioned anything about our residency, temporary or permanent. "Sexy," from a 16-ish kid blasting bhangra-like music on pocket speakers. "You want to eat at my restaurant? No? You have a boyfriend?" from the most professional of the restaurant workers. "Ooh, very clean girls," the awkward, yet accurate comment from a man who could apparently sense that we had just taken our Turkish bath.
BAZAARS
When we weren't eating, seeing major sights, or petting cats, we were wandering around bazaars and through quirky shopping districts. There were loads of streets lined with stores selling funky jewelery, hippie clothes, traditional and modern instruments, and art. There were two main bazaars: first, the Grand Bazaar, the largest covered market in the world, which primarily sells jewelery, clothing, ceramics, and silverware (to tourists). If I could remotely justify the cost of shipping a huge, delicate item to the US, I would have bought one of these lamps.
The other is known as the Spice Bazaar, which also sells tea and Turkish Delight (to tourists) before spilling out to a crammed, hectic food market selling vegetables, fish, meat, olives, and cheese, then further out, miscellaneous wares from grills, pots, and kitchen appliances to collections that resemble the random selection in a dollar store.
BARGAINS
As well as restaurants, all of these stores and market booths aggressively recruit their business, and haggling is ubiquitous. The funniest part was that any time I would mention that the same product was being sold for far cheaper elsewhere--sometimes honestly, sometimes to see what would happen--the immediate response was that it was a fake, that it was terrible, that they were lying to me. All we had to do is pause outside of a store (and sometimes not even that) to encounter an enthusiastic shopkeeper urging us to look inside, to see his wares, to make you a deal. Restaurants were the worst: waiters followed us down the street, trying each language in turn to see what would work. They would try to start conversation, usually asking us where we were from.
I had a straightforward attitude to all of this: if someone asked me if I wanted their product, I smiled and shook my head, and if they kept pressing me, which they usually did, the smile dropped from my face, I emphatically said no, and kept walking. Michelle considered that rude, which is fair, although I disagree. I realize that by visiting this country, just as was the case with Morocco, I'm opening myself up to this aggressive tourist-baiting; regardless, from my cultural bias, I'll probably never stop thinking that a stranger ignoring that no means no is about the rudest thing on the planet. When we visited the Asian side, which is less touristy, we were pleased by the relief from these aggressive vendors.
CONCLUSION
Istanbul in one word: color. Rainbow mounds of spices, Turkish Delight, kebab platters, tiles, ceramics and hanging lights, hijabs, scarves, maroon pomegranate juice--the colors spill out of the mosques and explode through the city. A wonderful balance of relaxation and sensory delight, exploration, culture, and history, all very easy on the wallet thanks to the favorable exchange rate. I could have easily spent twice the time in the city, exploring the different neighborhoods we didn't have time to see, and surrounding area. I'm about as bad at picking favorites as I am good at making lists, but I think this is my new favorite European (well, Eurasian) city. After traveling, I always have a moment of discouragement, because each place I visit adds at least 10 more to my dream travel list. What a planet...
Turkey is politically secular, but considering how negatively the religion is viewed in the States, it was a remarkable opportunity to see a five-day snapshot of life in a country in which 99% of the population is Muslim. Michelle and I estimate that approximately 65% of the women wore hijabs. A few women wore burkas, but according to my guidebook, they are typically tourists from other Arab countries. (Tourists in burkas seemed strange and funny. Clearly, I have my own stereotypes about this chunk of the world.) Obviously, mosques were everywhere, and Christianity could take a lesson from the Muslims on making a gorgeous, tasteful place of worship. As Islam forbids the depiction of Mohammed or the other holy figures, considering it idolatry, the overkill of gaudy altars, overbearing sculptures and tasteless use of gold that is ubiquitous to European cathedrals is absent, instead replaced with tile. Deep blues, bright greens, and crimson reds create swirls of geometric and nature-inspired patterns cover the high domed ceiling to create a beautiful, inspiring, serene space. Shoes are not permitted, but the floors are carpeted.
Michelle and I were typically out and about for two or three of the five daily calls to prayer. As the melodic vocation sounded out from the nearest mosque, the calls from the others in the vicinity would mingle through with similar but slightly offset, slightly different intonation. It was almost harmonic and almost dissonant, eerie, haunting, and beautiful.
MONUMENTS
Aside from mosques, we visited two major monuments: the Hagia Sophia, and the Topkapi Palace. The Hagia Sophia was huge, dark, and impressive, more appealing from the outside than from within. It was made interesting by the contrast of the Christian and Islamic elements, and of course by its historical significance, but was otherwise not as appealing as the mosques or the palace.
The best part of the Topkapi Palace was the harem, room after room entirely decorated in the same style as the mosques: with beautiful, vibrant tile.
INDULGENCE
First, the essential: food and drink. Fresh pomegranate juice on every block, squeezed to order. Salep, a hot, thick, sweet, milky, spiced drink. Ayran, a refreshing mix of yogurt, sparkling water, and salt. Turkish coffee, sweet and strong. Fresh fried fish sandwiches, fried fish everything and anything else, mussels stuffed with rice on the pier, 2 for a lira. Meze, appetizers of marinated vegetables and spreads with bread, and raki, a strong anise-flavored liquor that turns milky white in water. Kebabs and kebab plates, roasted meats piled up alongside heaps of vegetables, yogurt, and pilaf. Yogurt topped liberally with fresh honey, unfiltered to include waxy bits of honeycomb. Indulgent baklava dripping with honey syrup, candied pumpkin, and custard resembling rice pudding. Turkish Delight, a dessert-candy with a gelatinous honey base mixed with nuts.
The next day, we stopped at a cafe near our hostel for some hookah. The guy who worked there bore an uncanny resemblance to Jonah Hill and teased us mercilessly. There, I believe I experienced one of the greatest convergences of sensory pleasure of my entire life: petting the small kitten curled up in my lap, drinking tea, and smoking hookah.
CATS
They're everywhere, but unlike Granada's strays, who are almost all skittish and often mangy or malnourished, these cats were affectionate, healthy, and well-fed. Michelle and I spent a good chunk of each day distracted by particularly cute, cuddly, or playful specimens.
PICK-UP LINES
From mildly corny to doused in cheese, all hilarious. "You dropped something." "What?" "My heart." A sesame-seed heart sprinkled on the large, pillow-like bread that came with the kebab plate. "Españolas? Chicas guapas," from vendor after vendor, although we hadn't mentioned anything about our residency, temporary or permanent. "Sexy," from a 16-ish kid blasting bhangra-like music on pocket speakers. "You want to eat at my restaurant? No? You have a boyfriend?" from the most professional of the restaurant workers. "Ooh, very clean girls," the awkward, yet accurate comment from a man who could apparently sense that we had just taken our Turkish bath.
BAZAARS
When we weren't eating, seeing major sights, or petting cats, we were wandering around bazaars and through quirky shopping districts. There were loads of streets lined with stores selling funky jewelery, hippie clothes, traditional and modern instruments, and art. There were two main bazaars: first, the Grand Bazaar, the largest covered market in the world, which primarily sells jewelery, clothing, ceramics, and silverware (to tourists). If I could remotely justify the cost of shipping a huge, delicate item to the US, I would have bought one of these lamps.
The other is known as the Spice Bazaar, which also sells tea and Turkish Delight (to tourists) before spilling out to a crammed, hectic food market selling vegetables, fish, meat, olives, and cheese, then further out, miscellaneous wares from grills, pots, and kitchen appliances to collections that resemble the random selection in a dollar store.
BARGAINS
As well as restaurants, all of these stores and market booths aggressively recruit their business, and haggling is ubiquitous. The funniest part was that any time I would mention that the same product was being sold for far cheaper elsewhere--sometimes honestly, sometimes to see what would happen--the immediate response was that it was a fake, that it was terrible, that they were lying to me. All we had to do is pause outside of a store (and sometimes not even that) to encounter an enthusiastic shopkeeper urging us to look inside, to see his wares, to make you a deal. Restaurants were the worst: waiters followed us down the street, trying each language in turn to see what would work. They would try to start conversation, usually asking us where we were from.
I had a straightforward attitude to all of this: if someone asked me if I wanted their product, I smiled and shook my head, and if they kept pressing me, which they usually did, the smile dropped from my face, I emphatically said no, and kept walking. Michelle considered that rude, which is fair, although I disagree. I realize that by visiting this country, just as was the case with Morocco, I'm opening myself up to this aggressive tourist-baiting; regardless, from my cultural bias, I'll probably never stop thinking that a stranger ignoring that no means no is about the rudest thing on the planet. When we visited the Asian side, which is less touristy, we were pleased by the relief from these aggressive vendors.
CONCLUSION
Istanbul in one word: color. Rainbow mounds of spices, Turkish Delight, kebab platters, tiles, ceramics and hanging lights, hijabs, scarves, maroon pomegranate juice--the colors spill out of the mosques and explode through the city. A wonderful balance of relaxation and sensory delight, exploration, culture, and history, all very easy on the wallet thanks to the favorable exchange rate. I could have easily spent twice the time in the city, exploring the different neighborhoods we didn't have time to see, and surrounding area. I'm about as bad at picking favorites as I am good at making lists, but I think this is my new favorite European (well, Eurasian) city. After traveling, I always have a moment of discouragement, because each place I visit adds at least 10 more to my dream travel list. What a planet...
Friday, December 2, 2011
In which I immunize myself from the flu
I'm writing about this, not because it's particularly exciting in itself, but because it's a little difference that really stuck out and that I found oddly hilarious.
I went to the clinic and asked if they could give me the flu shot.
"Do you have it?" the woman asked.
"No, I want to get it," I said, confused.
"You have to buy it in a pharmacy, and if you want, you can come back and we can give it to you," she explained.
I went across the street to the pharmacy, and with dubiousness creeping through my voice, I asked if I could buy the flu shot there. "Of course!" answered the pharmacist, her tone questioning why I wouldn't be certain of such a thing.
So I had the flu shot in my possession, and hell if I was going to some dumb clinic to get an intramuscular injection. I'm a WFR, I'm certified to do this shit. So I came home, did some light reading to make sure I wouldn't kill myself, washed my hands, sterilized my leg, and shot up.
Let's hope I don't get the flu.
I went to the clinic and asked if they could give me the flu shot.
"Do you have it?" the woman asked.
"No, I want to get it," I said, confused.
"You have to buy it in a pharmacy, and if you want, you can come back and we can give it to you," she explained.
I went across the street to the pharmacy, and with dubiousness creeping through my voice, I asked if I could buy the flu shot there. "Of course!" answered the pharmacist, her tone questioning why I wouldn't be certain of such a thing.
So I had the flu shot in my possession, and hell if I was going to some dumb clinic to get an intramuscular injection. I'm a WFR, I'm certified to do this shit. So I came home, did some light reading to make sure I wouldn't kill myself, washed my hands, sterilized my leg, and shot up.
Let's hope I don't get the flu.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Beautiful weekend
On Thursday, I made pumpkin smoothies and turkey pasta and went to a potluck. Although with good people, it was not with close friends; I was invited by Michelle's request. Eventually, I realized my mistake, and my introversion shined as I had nothing to contribute to the connections all around me, nor any desire to force anything out. I left everyone at a bar and walked home to skype with Joel and my family and wish them a happy thanksgiving. Everyone loved the smoothies.
On Friday, we adventured. We went around the corner of Michelle's apartment, marveled at the blazing red of the fall leaves, cuddled with a sweet cat, watched the sun set, admired the infinite beauty of the Albaycin and Realejo, where it's impossible to exhaust the supply of images in the cobblestone sidewalks, graffiti art, and winding staircases peppered with hidden treasures. We filled leftover hours with hookah and tea before speeding to the university's thanksgiving dinner for all us homesick California kids. I had a wonderful time talking with Allie, Gabi, and Lauren, three girls who had always given off great vibes, but with whom I'd never spent much time.
I didn't sleep that night and got out of bed at 7:20 to catch an 8:30 bus to Cordoba. It was completely dark when my alarm went off. I walked up the street and up the stairs to Gran Via as light danced through the alleyways and filled the city. I passed persistent partiers with beer bottles in their hands, still celebrating the previous night. Maddy, Vani and I met up at the bus station and headed off. I made the mistake of trying to read at first, which resulted in relentless nausea for the next three hours of the trip. Once we arrived, we sat in the sun's unseasonably warm glow as we waited for Maddy's friend in the UC Cordoba program to meet us. We wandered the streets of the Juderia, the old Jewish quarter, we saw the blend of history in the Cordoba's famous church-then-mosque-then-cathedral, we ate kebabs, we crossed the river, we wandered some more. Cordoba was charming and beautiful. It was much more like Sevilla than either city is like Granada: fairly flat, absolutely covered in bitter orange trees, highlighted by its patios covered in flowerpots, central monuments surrounded by streets careful to present a charming, antique, cheerful feel, replete with whitewashed buildings, brightly painted signs, eateries, and souvenir shops.
I got home exhausted, elated, ready to sleep for a half day and wake up with the rush of my emotional energy compounded with its physical counterpart, until grumpy folk on the other end of Skype pushed me off my high. I woke up dreading the day rather than ready to seize it, but I'm determined to let the otherwise good vibes of this weekend push me through a productive and satisfying week before heading off to Istanbul!
On Friday, we adventured. We went around the corner of Michelle's apartment, marveled at the blazing red of the fall leaves, cuddled with a sweet cat, watched the sun set, admired the infinite beauty of the Albaycin and Realejo, where it's impossible to exhaust the supply of images in the cobblestone sidewalks, graffiti art, and winding staircases peppered with hidden treasures. We filled leftover hours with hookah and tea before speeding to the university's thanksgiving dinner for all us homesick California kids. I had a wonderful time talking with Allie, Gabi, and Lauren, three girls who had always given off great vibes, but with whom I'd never spent much time.
I didn't sleep that night and got out of bed at 7:20 to catch an 8:30 bus to Cordoba. It was completely dark when my alarm went off. I walked up the street and up the stairs to Gran Via as light danced through the alleyways and filled the city. I passed persistent partiers with beer bottles in their hands, still celebrating the previous night. Maddy, Vani and I met up at the bus station and headed off. I made the mistake of trying to read at first, which resulted in relentless nausea for the next three hours of the trip. Once we arrived, we sat in the sun's unseasonably warm glow as we waited for Maddy's friend in the UC Cordoba program to meet us. We wandered the streets of the Juderia, the old Jewish quarter, we saw the blend of history in the Cordoba's famous church-then-mosque-then-cathedral, we ate kebabs, we crossed the river, we wandered some more. Cordoba was charming and beautiful. It was much more like Sevilla than either city is like Granada: fairly flat, absolutely covered in bitter orange trees, highlighted by its patios covered in flowerpots, central monuments surrounded by streets careful to present a charming, antique, cheerful feel, replete with whitewashed buildings, brightly painted signs, eateries, and souvenir shops.
I got home exhausted, elated, ready to sleep for a half day and wake up with the rush of my emotional energy compounded with its physical counterpart, until grumpy folk on the other end of Skype pushed me off my high. I woke up dreading the day rather than ready to seize it, but I'm determined to let the otherwise good vibes of this weekend push me through a productive and satisfying week before heading off to Istanbul!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Mantra for tonight
I am thankful for the ability to write coherently and fluidly in both English and Spanish. I am also grateful that I can write rigorous research papers that follow academic norms as well as specific directions regarding format and citations, and that I possess the intelligence and drive to keep looking until I find valid sources that allow me to answer the question at the expected depth. All of these skills will serve me much further than what I will suffer tonight compiling this group essay, dealing with a section that lacks everything outlined above.
[Edit] Even when Word crashes, just as I finish researching and writing her entire section, and doesn't auto-recover any of my work and I have to start over from the beginning.
[Edit] Even when Word crashes, just as I finish researching and writing her entire section, and doesn't auto-recover any of my work and I have to start over from the beginning.
Monday, November 7, 2011
past, Granada Blues Band, future
Friday was a fun day. On the way to get long-overdue mojitos with a few Cali girls, I ran into my first 15-M protest. It was a group of about 150 people who slowly made their way down one of the main streets of the city before gathering in a plaza and chanting some more. It was neat, but too small to be particularly inspiring. I was a fan of their "Tu que estas mirando, tambien te estan robando" chant, aimed not only at the police making sure nothing got out of hand but also at the people walking urgently around the groups, complaining about the obstruction and delays.
After some delicious happy-hour mojitos, a couple of us made our way down to Boogaclub. It's a rock bar that I found out existed last week...on my street. I pass it twice a day on my way to and from school and had somehow managed to completely overlook it as I thought I'd mapped out the block: the tapas bar, the fruiteria, the other tapas bar, the chino, the comic book shop. A somewhat embarrassing observation-fail, but anyway, the club promised live music, the 70s Experience featuring songs by Hendrix, the Stones, Cream, etc, from the Granada Blues Band. They were fantastic, and after they were done playing, the venue put on some very neat electronic-tribal-world beats fusion music. Ignoring the fact that the place was almost empty, Michelle and I danced our pants off along with three other good souls. Once we got a bit tired, we reenergized with kebabs and tequila before heading out to dance at La Sal, one of the city's few lesbian-dominated gay clubs. Unfortunately, we got there just as they were closing, and didn't dance too much more before turning in.
Now it's crunch time. I have no option but to make this month incredibly productive before heading out to travel for most of December. I'll be spending a week in Istanbul with two very cool girls, then a week and a half of school, then, as everyone who reads this probably knows full well, Joel is coming! (!!!!!!!!!!!!) We'll be visiting Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris, and London before heading back for a couple days in Granada.
After some delicious happy-hour mojitos, a couple of us made our way down to Boogaclub. It's a rock bar that I found out existed last week...on my street. I pass it twice a day on my way to and from school and had somehow managed to completely overlook it as I thought I'd mapped out the block: the tapas bar, the fruiteria, the other tapas bar, the chino, the comic book shop. A somewhat embarrassing observation-fail, but anyway, the club promised live music, the 70s Experience featuring songs by Hendrix, the Stones, Cream, etc, from the Granada Blues Band. They were fantastic, and after they were done playing, the venue put on some very neat electronic-tribal-world beats fusion music. Ignoring the fact that the place was almost empty, Michelle and I danced our pants off along with three other good souls. Once we got a bit tired, we reenergized with kebabs and tequila before heading out to dance at La Sal, one of the city's few lesbian-dominated gay clubs. Unfortunately, we got there just as they were closing, and didn't dance too much more before turning in.
Now it's crunch time. I have no option but to make this month incredibly productive before heading out to travel for most of December. I'll be spending a week in Istanbul with two very cool girls, then a week and a half of school, then, as everyone who reads this probably knows full well, Joel is coming! (!!!!!!!!!!!!) We'll be visiting Amsterdam, Brussels, Paris, and London before heading back for a couple days in Granada.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
La Feria
I'm going to take a radically different approach in telling you all about the day spent in Jaen, starting with exploring the city and ending with the Feria de San Lucas.
I got on the Erasmus bus at noon with Juan, Justine, and her friend Nolwenn, another French Erasmus chick, after a difficult night including only 3 shaky hours of sleep. Felt like a wreck.
Flamenco costumes were not limited to that adorable pair of children, and women in the traditional dresses were everywhere. With the atmosphere, the beautiful city, and a little caffeine, it didn’t take long for my frown to turn upside down.
Although beautiful, it was freezing at the top with the windchill, and as my clothing choice evidences, I haven't quite gotten it into my head that it isn't summer anymore. I wasn't too bummed when we started our trek down to the fair. On the way down, I started talking to this guy...from Iraq!
I had so many questions for him. We ended up having an awesome conversation. He's from Baghdad and is working on his Master's in engineering (forget which type) at UGR. We then got to the fair, which was huge, colorful, and packed with people.
It was split up into different branches with categories such as food, bar/discoteca tents, flamenco tents, and games and rides.
When Juan and I bought mojitos, we got free hats. A little loosened up, we wore the ridiculous straw creations with absolutely no shame. At one point, a guy asked me if he could borrow it to take a picture. Of course, I needed one with him too.
The four of us spent the rest of the night dancing at various tent-discos and passing around the hats.
I got on the Erasmus bus at noon with Juan, Justine, and her friend Nolwenn, another French Erasmus chick, after a difficult night including only 3 shaky hours of sleep. Felt like a wreck.
Me on the bus ride. Some of my hair has migrated.
We got to Jaén and decided to ditch the Erasmus group, as exploring a city with 80-ish people is far from ideal. The city was lovely, packed with fairgoers, and all throughout were mini-performances.
Flamenco costumes were not limited to that adorable pair of children, and women in the traditional dresses were everywhere. With the atmosphere, the beautiful city, and a little caffeine, it didn’t take long for my frown to turn upside down.
We wandered upwards and got treated to this view:
After some exploring, we went back to the cathedral to meet up with the group for the 40-minute trek up to the Castilla de Santa Catalina. My tiredness started to catch up with me, but I got a little more caffeinated and waited it out.
At the top, we did some mountain modeling and watched the sunset.
Although beautiful, it was freezing at the top with the windchill, and as my clothing choice evidences, I haven't quite gotten it into my head that it isn't summer anymore. I wasn't too bummed when we started our trek down to the fair. On the way down, I started talking to this guy...from Iraq!
I was really fond of the Cala lily light archways.
Spain is funny about its religious celebrations. They range from traditional to an excuse for a no-holds-barred, massive party.
Juan and I got wrapped up in our conversation and ended up separated from Nolwenn and Justine. For us, the first order of business was food. We sat down at this food tent and spent a while pondering which overpriced fair food seemed like the best deal. We'd almost settled on a hamburger and migas, a typical dish in Murcia and the plate in the bottom left of the picture below. Last minute, when the waiter comes over, we decide, screw that, we're getting something more authentic, so Juan asks the waiter if they have pescadito frito variado (mixed fried fish) for two people. Of course, the waiter says, and goes off. We look at the menu again and realize that the dish is 30 friggin' euros. So I wanted to smack Juan in the face, but it was pretty funny and the food was delicious, so I sort of forgave him.
Mean muggin'
We met back up with Nolwenn and Justine, then headed to the rides. Juan explained this ride as an integral part of his childhood: you go in circles on the train and a clown smacks you on the head with a broom, and if you manage to steal the broom from him, you get to keep it and can ride a bunch of events free.
Whatever works, Spain.
This one was a little different: the clown gave out balloons and little toys throughout, and Juan failed at stealing the broom. Yet due to his enthusiastic effort, the clown gave it to him at the end. Unfortunately, the free ride rule seemed to no longer apply. My Hello Kitty balloon thing had a disconcerting warning at the bottom, advising "Washing hands after play." Wow, thanks for the lead poisoning, China.
We gave away the balloons to some very happy children, who might get lead poisoning.
The next stop was the discoteca section. As we waded through the trash and broken glass built up from a week's worth of partying, I was grateful for my leather boots. The scene, although lots of fun for a mature, responsible woman of 20 whole entire years such as myself, made me appreciate that teenage partying, although far from limited in the States, is not quite this sanctioned.
This 80s band from Murcia was playing in one of the tents. I wasn't too into them, but just another example of what was up.
When Juan and I bought mojitos, we got free hats. A little loosened up, we wore the ridiculous straw creations with absolutely no shame. At one point, a guy asked me if he could borrow it to take a picture. Of course, I needed one with him too.
Humor>how bad I look here.
That is, until around 2, when the exhaustion started kicking in once more. Juan went to hang out with another friend, and the two girls and I went and sat at a table for the last hour and a half until the bus took us back to Granada.
On the walk home from the bus station, for the first time this year, I saw my breath condense in the early morning Autumn air.
It was so cold I grew even more facial hair.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Filosofizin'
This past week, I've been preoccupied with school. I dropped my Power in the Modern Age class, leaving me with my final four, and I'm increasingly realizing that it will not be as low key as I'd thought. After I get back from winter break, I'll feel the crunch of papers, projects, and finals all right away, unless I actively fight the illusion of infinite time that this side of Christmas creates. For example, contrary to the stereotype, studying ancient philosophy to the level of being able to explain it myself is significantly more challenging than getting stoned, eating Cheetos, and wondering if our universe is a grain of sand under a giant's fingernail. Despite the challenging levels of abstraction, it's fascinating to see the conclusions of the first people who tried to explain the world through deduction, without invoking mythology. For example, Thales, one of the very first Western philosophers (~500 BCE) concluded that all matter was one substance at its core, which he determined to be water. We can laugh, or we can consider: while all matter is not water, all matter is atoms. Although misguided, he proposed the idea of the fundamental building block. Given the lack of modern science, even some Greek myths show surprising, albeit anthropomorphic corollaries to the modern theories, such as the idea of an initial vague 'Chaos' from which the earth, the oceans, the sky, and everything else, including the gods, and later humans, was born. It's not quite the Big Bang, but the Chaos concept seems closer than the far more recent Judeo-Christian Genesis.
I don't have much to tell about my other classes, except for that they're going fairly well despite the general wow-this-will-be-harder-than-I-thought. But tomorrow I'm going to the Feria de San Lucas in Jaén, the capital of an adjacent Andalusian province through an Erasmus trip. The bus leaves at noon tomorrow and gets back in the wee hours of Sunday morning, so I'm sure it will be quite the adventure...
The other day I had a great conversation with my mom (Hi Mommy!) and I told her that I didn't feel like I was, ah, changing, the way study abroad is supposed to do to you, although I told her that now, the idea of moving across the country for work or whatever comes after seems totally reasonable whereas before it seemed super scary, almost unimaginable. According to her, that's a big deal. So it has been noted :)
I don't have much to tell about my other classes, except for that they're going fairly well despite the general wow-this-will-be-harder-than-I-thought. But tomorrow I'm going to the Feria de San Lucas in Jaén, the capital of an adjacent Andalusian province through an Erasmus trip. The bus leaves at noon tomorrow and gets back in the wee hours of Sunday morning, so I'm sure it will be quite the adventure...
The other day I had a great conversation with my mom (Hi Mommy!) and I told her that I didn't feel like I was, ah, changing, the way study abroad is supposed to do to you, although I told her that now, the idea of moving across the country for work or whatever comes after seems totally reasonable whereas before it seemed super scary, almost unimaginable. According to her, that's a big deal. So it has been noted :)
Monday, October 10, 2011
10/10/11
What I've been doing:
--Going on my second wind. I didn't post for a little while because I was on a bit of a low and didn't have much to say, but I'm in love with life here all over again. All of it. From my walk up the hill to class, to my stop at the fruteria to get some veggies for dinner, to the October weather in the high 80s, to laughing-until-I-cry conversations with my roommates or coming home to find that one of them made fresh-baked crepes, or pasta, or lentils...all the daily routines are wonderful, not to mention the extraordinary, the day trips, the longer excursions. It's all a dream.
--Checking out Camborio for the first time, and shortly, the second. It's a discoteca in the hills of the Sacromonte, and like all the homes of the neighborhood, the club is built into a cave and the terrace is right across from the Alhambra, which is lit up beautifully at night. This gives it a very, very cool ambiance.
--Going on a really neat hike in the Sierra Nevadas out of a town called Monachil with my roommates and a whole load of my French roommate's friends. The hike went over a bunch of hanging bridges over the river, then to an area where we had to walk along a narrow ledge above the river while rock formations stuck out, minimizing the ledge-space to occasionally scary levels, then up to some amazing views of the Sierras. I was pleasantly surprised by the group's willingness to scramble up sketchy ass slopes and peaks for random summitventures. We also passed an absolutely killer rock climbing area replete with anchors suitable for both lead and top rope climbing, and with walls that looked doable for a beginner but entertaining enough for more advanced climbers. MUST...FIND...CLIMBING PARTNER! We also had a hysterical conversation with an eccentric Spanish grandma who asked me in slightly more vulgar terms if I was of the heterosexual persuasion, after being told that I didn't get it on with either of my male roommates.
--Going to class. As of today, I've finally had all my classes! I'm super excited for sociology of education because I get to do my presentation on problems facing teachers today and can draw upon my international experience. In anthro of religion, my group will present on Hinduism. The Power in the Modern Age has a professor with some very obnoxious postmodern-type ideas, such as that there are no errors in history and that I only think there are because I'm from the US. Still, I like the people in the class and the discussion-based style breaks up the monotony of lecture. That alone might make me stay in that class over intro to traditional music, which has so much potential but is made awful by an hour and a half of theoretical lecture per class before we actually get to see/hear anything.
--Workin' out. Gym membership, spin class, wassup?
--Learning that the Modern Age is not our current, very modern age, but in fact the time from the end of the 15th century to the 18th. Dammit, history, stop making me look dumb.
What I've noticed recently: it's becoming hard to back-translate situations, phrases, and words into English when recounting stories, and that Spaniards' relaxed attitudes about class also manifests itself in a lack of self-consciousness about speaking up, answering professors' questions or asking their own, and giving a lengthy, genuine response if that's what they feel like doing at the moment.
--Going on my second wind. I didn't post for a little while because I was on a bit of a low and didn't have much to say, but I'm in love with life here all over again. All of it. From my walk up the hill to class, to my stop at the fruteria to get some veggies for dinner, to the October weather in the high 80s, to laughing-until-I-cry conversations with my roommates or coming home to find that one of them made fresh-baked crepes, or pasta, or lentils...all the daily routines are wonderful, not to mention the extraordinary, the day trips, the longer excursions. It's all a dream.
--Checking out Camborio for the first time, and shortly, the second. It's a discoteca in the hills of the Sacromonte, and like all the homes of the neighborhood, the club is built into a cave and the terrace is right across from the Alhambra, which is lit up beautifully at night. This gives it a very, very cool ambiance.
--Going on a really neat hike in the Sierra Nevadas out of a town called Monachil with my roommates and a whole load of my French roommate's friends. The hike went over a bunch of hanging bridges over the river, then to an area where we had to walk along a narrow ledge above the river while rock formations stuck out, minimizing the ledge-space to occasionally scary levels, then up to some amazing views of the Sierras. I was pleasantly surprised by the group's willingness to scramble up sketchy ass slopes and peaks for random summitventures. We also passed an absolutely killer rock climbing area replete with anchors suitable for both lead and top rope climbing, and with walls that looked doable for a beginner but entertaining enough for more advanced climbers. MUST...FIND...CLIMBING PARTNER! We also had a hysterical conversation with an eccentric Spanish grandma who asked me in slightly more vulgar terms if I was of the heterosexual persuasion, after being told that I didn't get it on with either of my male roommates.
--Going to class. As of today, I've finally had all my classes! I'm super excited for sociology of education because I get to do my presentation on problems facing teachers today and can draw upon my international experience. In anthro of religion, my group will present on Hinduism. The Power in the Modern Age has a professor with some very obnoxious postmodern-type ideas, such as that there are no errors in history and that I only think there are because I'm from the US. Still, I like the people in the class and the discussion-based style breaks up the monotony of lecture. That alone might make me stay in that class over intro to traditional music, which has so much potential but is made awful by an hour and a half of theoretical lecture per class before we actually get to see/hear anything.
--Workin' out. Gym membership, spin class, wassup?
--Learning that the Modern Age is not our current, very modern age, but in fact the time from the end of the 15th century to the 18th. Dammit, history, stop making me look dumb.
What I've noticed recently: it's becoming hard to back-translate situations, phrases, and words into English when recounting stories, and that Spaniards' relaxed attitudes about class also manifests itself in a lack of self-consciousness about speaking up, answering professors' questions or asking their own, and giving a lengthy, genuine response if that's what they feel like doing at the moment.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Reminders of home, like lab
Being abroad lends itself to appreciating certain things I would not be able to stand back in the States, just because they remind me of home. I first noticed this when I began to enjoy spending time with someone who I found incredibly annoying. I couldn't figure it out until I realized that the odd, very indirect connection that this person has to my life back home was subconsciously comforting.
(Advisory: the rest of this post has almost nothing to do with being abroad.)
I noticed the second one a couple days ago when I finally started counting the spots from my last timecourse in lab. (I just have to finish before I go back home, it really makes no difference when I do it.) But I put it off because counting spots sucks. I look at my images, try to figure out whether a cell is a single budding cell or two separate ones, can't reach any definitive conclusion, then freak out because I feel like my counts are arbitrary and I can't do science. It's a reminder of how dumb I felt the whole time I tried to get the ropes of being in a lab, how I messed up every time I felt comfortable enough to work without the tech holding my hand, how the size of the lab and the shared space made it awkward to figure out silly things like which chemicals and which dirty glassware bins were ours, how I didn't know how much I should be helping with making media/cleaning/other maintenance since I wasn't work-study and the other undergrads were, how I couldn't synthesize and correlate the scientific concepts in my head to what was going on in front of me, how I got overwhelmed by the idea of creating original experiments to answer an original question, how it got awkward since I was always too dazed and tired to talk to people and make friends (although I blame the mono for that one), how bored I was sitting in front of the microscope and taking images. In a one sentence summary: how it started to convince me I'm not cut out for grad school or lab work and made me feel like shit.
DAMN, IT FELT GOOD TO WRITE THAT ALL OUT.
Well, my point was that for a minute, it was kind of comforting to count spots, but now I've taken off the rose colored lab goggles and it sucks again. On the upside, I'm glad I have this time to reflect on my plans for the future, to review yeast genetics/genetic techniques, and to catch up on all those journals.
(Advisory: the rest of this post has almost nothing to do with being abroad.)
I noticed the second one a couple days ago when I finally started counting the spots from my last timecourse in lab. (I just have to finish before I go back home, it really makes no difference when I do it.) But I put it off because counting spots sucks. I look at my images, try to figure out whether a cell is a single budding cell or two separate ones, can't reach any definitive conclusion, then freak out because I feel like my counts are arbitrary and I can't do science. It's a reminder of how dumb I felt the whole time I tried to get the ropes of being in a lab, how I messed up every time I felt comfortable enough to work without the tech holding my hand, how the size of the lab and the shared space made it awkward to figure out silly things like which chemicals and which dirty glassware bins were ours, how I didn't know how much I should be helping with making media/cleaning/other maintenance since I wasn't work-study and the other undergrads were, how I couldn't synthesize and correlate the scientific concepts in my head to what was going on in front of me, how I got overwhelmed by the idea of creating original experiments to answer an original question, how it got awkward since I was always too dazed and tired to talk to people and make friends (although I blame the mono for that one), how bored I was sitting in front of the microscope and taking images. In a one sentence summary: how it started to convince me I'm not cut out for grad school or lab work and made me feel like shit.
DAMN, IT FELT GOOD TO WRITE THAT ALL OUT.
Well, my point was that for a minute, it was kind of comforting to count spots, but now I've taken off the rose colored lab goggles and it sucks again. On the upside, I'm glad I have this time to reflect on my plans for the future, to review yeast genetics/genetic techniques, and to catch up on all those journals.
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Real classes!
In theory, I had 5 classes in my first two days. In practice, I had 1. The last one I'm signed up for, cell bio, doesn't start until the end of November and is an intensive, 8-hour/week course. I will end up dropping two classes. So, let's see how the ones I supposedly had went:
1) Sociology of Education
--Canceled because the first years had orientation stuff instead.
2) Anthro of Religion
-business as usual
3) Distribution of Power in the Modern Age
--Prof never showed up.
4) History of Ancient Philosophy
--Found out it was in a different building, spent 45 minutes looking for that building, didn't want to walk in half an hour late.
5) Intro to Traditional Music from Around the World
--Prof never showed up.
...Welcome to Spain, along with a dash of silly international student not knowing where to go.
So, Anthro of Religion! That seemed alright. I realized that it might not be the right class for me. As an atheist antitheist, I struggle with what drives people to religion and how adamantly they defend it despite the ever growing bodies of knowledge that fly in the face of traditional beliefs. I also don't buy live and let live and defend my choice to respectfully confront religious people about their beliefs, because when people base votes on religious principles, it affects me whether or not they're in my face about it. I don't understand how religious moderates defend cherrypicking the aspects of the religion that suit them. (Et cetera, cutting myself off before this turns into a novel-length rant on religion.) But I think I'm done. I spent about three hours a week during my freshman year of college discussing religion and everything related, and have had that simmering in my head since. I get it: lightning was inexplicable so had to be a supernatural being, thousands of years later we understand lighting but comfort and familial indoctrination make it difficult to break the cycle. I like to present my perspective to religious people in appropriate situations, but I'm not sure I care about studying it in what is guaranteed to be an obnoxiously PC academic setting.
1) Sociology of Education
--Canceled because the first years had orientation stuff instead.
2) Anthro of Religion
-business as usual
3) Distribution of Power in the Modern Age
--Prof never showed up.
4) History of Ancient Philosophy
--Found out it was in a different building, spent 45 minutes looking for that building, didn't want to walk in half an hour late.
5) Intro to Traditional Music from Around the World
--Prof never showed up.
...Welcome to Spain, along with a dash of silly international student not knowing where to go.
So, Anthro of Religion! That seemed alright. I realized that it might not be the right class for me. As an atheist antitheist, I struggle with what drives people to religion and how adamantly they defend it despite the ever growing bodies of knowledge that fly in the face of traditional beliefs. I also don't buy live and let live and defend my choice to respectfully confront religious people about their beliefs, because when people base votes on religious principles, it affects me whether or not they're in my face about it. I don't understand how religious moderates defend cherrypicking the aspects of the religion that suit them. (Et cetera, cutting myself off before this turns into a novel-length rant on religion.) But I think I'm done. I spent about three hours a week during my freshman year of college discussing religion and everything related, and have had that simmering in my head since. I get it: lightning was inexplicable so had to be a supernatural being, thousands of years later we understand lighting but comfort and familial indoctrination make it difficult to break the cycle. I like to present my perspective to religious people in appropriate situations, but I'm not sure I care about studying it in what is guaranteed to be an obnoxiously PC academic setting.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Bureocracy and immigration
Today I had to go back to the oficina de extranjeros for what should have been my second of three visits to get the equivalent of my green card for the year. Due to my misunderstanding the schedule, it was actually my fourth of what would be five. When I went to the bank to try to pay the required fee before returning, my identity number was denied, so I had to make an extra trip to the oficina and miss class. I was pissed. This is a process which started last January with the submission of my papers, started to become a huge headache in April when I lost my wallet/had to get things expedited/go through loads of bullshit/jump through hoops to come in time. I couldn't believe I was still having problems. But I try not to rage too hard at logistics, and I thought of a story my dad told me about my great grandfather during World War II. He was trying to escape Nazi Germany and after what must have been a huge uphill battle, finally managed to get the immigration papers. When he was waiting in line at the consulate, the Argentinan consulate officer ripped them up and told him he would never leave anyway. He managed to get new ones and get his family to Buenos Aires, where my family outside the nucleus still lives. [Edited to correct the mistakes from my memory of the story.]
I've realized it's futile never to get frustrated or upset about my life given that people are starving/being killed/etc. If you're one of the very rare people who actually lives and thinks that way, high five, but it's natural to weigh our lives by our own circumstances and our surroundings. "Cheer up, there are kids starving in Africa" is not an appropriate response to "I'm upset about my breakup." That said, I took a moment to appreciate that despite what appear to be constant blocks in my way, I am going through this irritating process to study and have fun in a country that appreciates my presence. There was a legal way for me to leave the US and to enter Spain. I am not:
-escaping persecution
-escaping political corruption
-going to a new place desperately without any concrete prospect of money or a job, simply because of the increased chance of my survival or my family's.
Not to mention that there's no doubt that no matter how many trips I have to make to the office, it will all work out and they're not going to kick me out of the country.
I've realized it's futile never to get frustrated or upset about my life given that people are starving/being killed/etc. If you're one of the very rare people who actually lives and thinks that way, high five, but it's natural to weigh our lives by our own circumstances and our surroundings. "Cheer up, there are kids starving in Africa" is not an appropriate response to "I'm upset about my breakup." That said, I took a moment to appreciate that despite what appear to be constant blocks in my way, I am going through this irritating process to study and have fun in a country that appreciates my presence. There was a legal way for me to leave the US and to enter Spain. I am not:
-escaping persecution
-escaping political corruption
-going to a new place desperately without any concrete prospect of money or a job, simply because of the increased chance of my survival or my family's.
Not to mention that there's no doubt that no matter how many trips I have to make to the office, it will all work out and they're not going to kick me out of the country.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
this and that
What have I been doing recently?
--Going to class, while managing to skip only the few days the profs take attendance. Typical. Unfortunately they're not nearly as fun, nor enlightening as those in Cadiz. The fact that I have five of them instead of two and that the professors are way less personable doesn't help my attention span.
--Going to botellon for the first time. It's a huge, illegal but condoned gathering of youngsters pregaming. You can find one in almost any Spanish city. If you're not familiar with the term "pregame," you're probably one of my readers who needs to smile, move on, and imagine me doing stretches before a nice game of kickball.
--Buying a pair of genie pants. They're blue and flowery and gorgeous, but I'll have to grow a moderate sized pair to wear them in the states.
--Eating lots tapas and kebabs, as our Creator willed us to do whilst residing in this fine city. And it will be good unto your tastebuds and wallet but inflate thine waistline, thus sayeth the Lord. The best tapa you shall experience as of the 15th of September will have been a full avocado served with potato salad and half a toasted roll with olive oil.
--Getting sick. I had random stomach pains for about a week, then got a moderate fever which trailed off after a day, then more regular stomach pains. Time to go to the doctor and make sure it's not a potentially serious infection.
--Visiting a teteria, an overpriced yet delightful Moroccan-themed hookah and tea bar, of which there are loads.
--Noticing that I'm getting more comfortable with my Spanish. It's easier to transmit my personality through the language, I can remember obscure vocabulary when people ask, and on the rare occasion that I can't think of the word, I can quickly explain what I mean and the native speaker will produce the word for me.
I said a post or two back that I owed more on my immediate, general love for this city. I've indirectly covered a lot, but here is the rest, modified from parts of emails to Joel and to Tess:
Granada is surrounded by mountains--notably the Sierra Nevadas on one side, but by hills in all directions. Actually imagine a bowl in which the bottom is the center of the city: bigger apartment stores, shopping districts, offices, apartment buildings, the university. As the bowl starts to curve upwards, you get to districts like the Albaycin and the Sacromonte, with white sugar cube style houses draped with grapevines, morning glories, and other creeping plants. And of course, when the city ends, the mountains keep rising upward to the rim of the bowl. It looks more like pictures I’ve seen of Greek islands than what I expected in Spain.
The city has a seemingly endless supply of bars, hangouts, nightclubs, mountains, cool people, lax professors, and nearby excursion sites to keep me more than entertained for the next five months. The Arab quarter, the Albaycin, is full of awesome hippie stores that all sell the same gypsy pants and long skirts and hookahs and teas and bright beautiful wall hangings. Actually, the tea here is amazing. They sell it in huge bins with spots of all different colors from the mixes of plants and herbal flowers with names like Suenos de la Alhambra and Pasion de Granada.
One of the main hippie-gypsy-store streets in the Albaycin.
And that's all for today. I think that covers enough general Granada information. Now back to the mess of picking real classes for the semester, which start the week after next!
Thursday, September 8, 2011
A marginally related post about loving life
The other day I was overflowing with happiness and made this list. Not in order, not complete.
THINGS I'M EXCITED ABOUT
Going to Smokeeaters when I get back and getting wings and beer
Going to Plainfield and not getting kicked out after 9
Going to Exploratorium After Dark events
My apartment here
My apartment mates
Meeting Spaniards as well as Erasmus students from all over Europe
That my foot's well enough to start working out again
Traveling during winter break with Joel
The fact that I've made some radical friends in the California group
The new season of Community
Going to the Sierras
Traveling EVERYWHERE
EVERYTHING. I LOVE LIFE RIGHT NOW
THINGS I'M EXCITED ABOUT
Going to Smokeeaters when I get back and getting wings and beer
Going to Plainfield and not getting kicked out after 9
Going to Exploratorium After Dark events
My apartment here
My apartment mates
Meeting Spaniards as well as Erasmus students from all over Europe
That my foot's well enough to start working out again
Traveling during winter break with Joel
The fact that I've made some radical friends in the California group
The new season of Community
Going to the Sierras
Traveling EVERYWHERE
EVERYTHING. I LOVE LIFE RIGHT NOW
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
A more boring post about finding my apartment
Apartment hunting in Granada is crazy. During late August and September, the city gets an even coating of paper from the flyers advertising apartments. The ads range from totally uninformative to questionable-sounding propaganda. There's no well-used website and people rarely respond to emails, so you call hundreds of numbers from flyers and have thousands of awkward conversations that sound like this:
"I'm calling about the apartment."
"Ok"
"Is it still free?"
"Yes"
"Can I see it?"
"Yes"
"Ok, when?"
"Whenever."
"Umm, ok, can I go over now?"
"Yes"
"Vale vale vale. Vale vale."
"Vale?"
"Vale!"
Then you go see millions of apartments, many of which are old, dirty, or have inhabitants that don't appeal to you, or who don't want people who are only staying for only six months. Then you find yours.
I got it easy. I have the keys to the third place I saw. The first piso I saw was of the disgusting variety. The second was very elegantly put together, but the landlady was openly overbearing. I went to my third with Allie and Anna, two friends who had seen around twenty places. I'd seen the ad, so I had priority out of us three. A calm Spanish guy greeted us and showed us around. The place was definitely nice and so was he. The rooms were well lit, the kitchen and common area were spacious and relatively modern, the price was good, and the location was super convenient. Anna and Allie were awed and told me repeatedly that I had to take it, that it was amazing, and that they were jealous of me already. Well, shit, I'd only seen three places, but my laziness and impulsiveness couldn't argue with that kind of logic. I told Juan that if he wanted to give me the room right now, I'd commit. He told me that was fine and I chose my room of the three. The other two girls left and I stayed to chat with Juan. He's 19, studying primary education, a footballer, and a fantastically chill dude. He told me that now, filling the other two rooms would be up to both of us. We agreed on no native English speakers, one guy and one girl, and no two people of the same nationality.
When I went back this afternoon, he had a list of names a mile long of people who had come to see it and loved it. I hoped I hadn't pressured him into giving me the room without sufficient time to put me into the pool. He assured me that it was not the case and that he'd chosen me too. I was psyched. I struggle with interviews and don't usually make good first impressions, so it was cool to know I'd actually won the personality contest. Eventually, I met a very friendly French girl with whom Juan had gotten along well and who was ready to commit, and we gave her the third room. Now, we have one more to fill. To round out the genders and to give Juan a chance to practice the language, it will ideally be a German dude.
PS: Spanish spoken with a French accent is strange and beautiful.
"I'm calling about the apartment."
"Ok"
"Is it still free?"
"Yes"
"Can I see it?"
"Yes"
"Ok, when?"
"Whenever."
"Umm, ok, can I go over now?"
"Yes"
"Vale vale vale. Vale vale."
"Vale?"
"Vale!"
Then you go see millions of apartments, many of which are old, dirty, or have inhabitants that don't appeal to you, or who don't want people who are only staying for only six months. Then you find yours.
I got it easy. I have the keys to the third place I saw. The first piso I saw was of the disgusting variety. The second was very elegantly put together, but the landlady was openly overbearing. I went to my third with Allie and Anna, two friends who had seen around twenty places. I'd seen the ad, so I had priority out of us three. A calm Spanish guy greeted us and showed us around. The place was definitely nice and so was he. The rooms were well lit, the kitchen and common area were spacious and relatively modern, the price was good, and the location was super convenient. Anna and Allie were awed and told me repeatedly that I had to take it, that it was amazing, and that they were jealous of me already. Well, shit, I'd only seen three places, but my laziness and impulsiveness couldn't argue with that kind of logic. I told Juan that if he wanted to give me the room right now, I'd commit. He told me that was fine and I chose my room of the three. The other two girls left and I stayed to chat with Juan. He's 19, studying primary education, a footballer, and a fantastically chill dude. He told me that now, filling the other two rooms would be up to both of us. We agreed on no native English speakers, one guy and one girl, and no two people of the same nationality.
When I went back this afternoon, he had a list of names a mile long of people who had come to see it and loved it. I hoped I hadn't pressured him into giving me the room without sufficient time to put me into the pool. He assured me that it was not the case and that he'd chosen me too. I was psyched. I struggle with interviews and don't usually make good first impressions, so it was cool to know I'd actually won the personality contest. Eventually, I met a very friendly French girl with whom Juan had gotten along well and who was ready to commit, and we gave her the third room. Now, we have one more to fill. To round out the genders and to give Juan a chance to practice the language, it will ideally be a German dude.
PS: Spanish spoken with a French accent is strange and beautiful.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Real life, Granada
It was a lovely Saturday afternoon in Sevilla. The previous day's thunderstorms had lowered the temperature to a surprisingly pleasant 30 degrees or so, as compared to the city's typical summer days of 35-40. I sat outside at a restaurant along with new UC friends Gayatri and Anna, and Javi, their friend from Granada. The food was wonderful: salmorejo (a thicker version of the better known cold soup gazpacho), fried eggplants with honey, spinach with chickpeas, potatoes with mildly spicy sauce, and a jar of sangria. A nearby musician played the guitar and sang, hoping for a few coins. All along the sidewalk were umbrella-covered tables and colorfully tiled buildings. It was blissful and perfect. "Doesn't it feel like you're in Disneyland?" Javi asked us. Sort of. No, I realized. This feels amazing, but this is real. I'm living in a country where the old city centers actually look like this and eating out during a weekend feels like this. Until now, I haven't been altogether there, neither in Cadiz nor in my travels. Now, I am mentally here. This, alongside today's observation that the sunshine in Granada is the same as in Davis (which is surprising given that Granada is at 2000 feet higher elevation) made me feel at peace and at home.
Granada is covered in spray-paint art. I am reluctant to call it graffiti. Every storefront has a metal cover that slides down when the store closes during siesta and in the evening, and most stores have painted theirs with a representative piece of artwork. Some are literal: a bakery with a display of pastries, a glasses store with a glamorous woman wearing a classy pair. Some are unrelated and just pretty, such as a scene from nature. Needless to say, when the city shuts down, wandering the streets provides a different, but equally beautiful experience. But this art isn't limited to storefronts. Imagine a graffiti-laden part of an urban city--SF, Oakland, you name it. Imagine all those walls, murals, sides of buildings, alleys, covered in scrawled letters and some more intricate designs. Now, imagine that instead of aesthetically questionable scribbles, the walls become canvases for artwork: intricate, realistic faces, abstract scenes, surrealist figures conveying political messages. The best ones will use elements of the building, such as cracks, holes in the wall, or air vents as the foundation of the scene. Here, I will break my "go look at my pictures on Facebook" principle to show you one piece that does all of the above.
For you non-Spanish speakers: "Homes without people, people without homes, street that talks!"
Of course, I have more to explain about this city, but that's all the blog-energy I have for now.
Granada is covered in spray-paint art. I am reluctant to call it graffiti. Every storefront has a metal cover that slides down when the store closes during siesta and in the evening, and most stores have painted theirs with a representative piece of artwork. Some are literal: a bakery with a display of pastries, a glasses store with a glamorous woman wearing a classy pair. Some are unrelated and just pretty, such as a scene from nature. Needless to say, when the city shuts down, wandering the streets provides a different, but equally beautiful experience. But this art isn't limited to storefronts. Imagine a graffiti-laden part of an urban city--SF, Oakland, you name it. Imagine all those walls, murals, sides of buildings, alleys, covered in scrawled letters and some more intricate designs. Now, imagine that instead of aesthetically questionable scribbles, the walls become canvases for artwork: intricate, realistic faces, abstract scenes, surrealist figures conveying political messages. The best ones will use elements of the building, such as cracks, holes in the wall, or air vents as the foundation of the scene. Here, I will break my "go look at my pictures on Facebook" principle to show you one piece that does all of the above.
Of course, I have more to explain about this city, but that's all the blog-energy I have for now.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Prague, Vienna, and Budapest
I am now in the mind-blowing city of Granada at the amazing residencia where we’ll stay for the first month, after which we’ll move into apartments. But I’ll rave about this city and its awesomeness soon enough—for now, I have to cover my travels.
Prague: A better version of Venice. Like Venice, it’s somewhat small and jam-packed with tourists. Differently from Venice, the city is clean, interesting, and far more beautiful. I spent the first day wandering about and visiting tourist destinations with a Canadian girl I met, discussing life and the politics of our countries. That evening, we tried to go to a club, but it turns out that Sunday is not a big day for going out. Go figure. Nevertheless, the next day was spent lying in bed, listening to the rain, and eventually, watching Harry Potter in English. On the third day, I wandered a bit more, hitting a few tourist spots I’d missed on the first day (museum highlights included the Museum of Sex and the Museum of Communism) but also taking the time to explore the different interesting neighborhoods. That’s when I fell in love with the city, for a few reasons:
1) As I was in the Jewish quarter, I overheard a tour guide telling the story of the Golem, a clay monster animated by a famous rabbi who came to life and protected the synagogues and the Jewish communities in times of need. I’d heard the story of the Golem among the millions of wonderful Jewish folktales I heard as a child, but it seemed incredible that I was in the city where one of the major legends had originated.
2) In one market selling various fresh groceries as well as souvenirs, I saw stands selling these hilarious little witch decorations, with a little doll sitting on a tree branch who would cackle, pump her legs up and down and have glowing red eyes with either a sound or motion sensor. After passing by the stand, I noticed that puppet and marionette stores were all over the city. Finally, I appreciated the prevalence of fairy-tale, gingerbread house style buildings: in addition to the big castles, there were a number of normal-sized buildings with little turrets, that were perfectly rounded, that had quirky, imaginative decorations, that somehow seemed to be part of a fantasy world rather than our own.
With all that put together, I appreciated that Prague is a fairytale city that has inspired fairy tales and legends of its own. It’s magical.
Vienna: Not my thing. It has an incredible history and some of the best museums in Europe, but it felt like a big urban city like any other that just happens to have some museums in it. (However, if you really like classical art, opera, and classical music, it’s probably the place for you.) After two days of feeling totally uninspired by the monuments and museums, I decided to spend my third day in a suburb called Grinzing, home of the city’s best known heuringen, or wine taverns. It felt like a charming town of its own in the Viennese countryside (which, by the way, is incredible. On the train ride from Prague to Vienna, I had my eyes glued to the window as I watched the forest pass by). I took a short walk in the hills and had a lovely picnic lunch on a field surrounded by forests, overlooking the valley of the city. I also met a guy named Paul, who asked me if I knew where to get a drink, then told me his life story, which involved skateboarding in Cameron Park, a moderate interest in neuroscience, interning for an oil company in Texas, doing lots of drugs, stopping most of them when his best friend died of a heroin overdose in his arms, growing medical marijuana, not being as dumb as he looked, and having a beach house where Ron Paul is from. (Kid is also 20, by the way.) Anyway, Vienna isn’t a bad city. It’s full of modern culture and would be a lovely place to live. For instance, I ran into a free outdoor film festival while wandering around the city, and had a delicious dinner of chicken tikka masala and a mojito from different food stands.
Budapest: AWWWW YEAHHH. So cool. SO friggin’ cool. Well, actually, friggin’ hot. It was about 100 degrees the whole time, with limited relief at night, so I didn’t have the energy to go to a fraction of the places I wanted to visit. I’m still trying to process the city, as I can’t quite figure out how to describe what struck me as so damn neat about it. It was beautiful and picturesque. It had hills to explore with remnants of ancient buildings, as well as interesting neighborhoods with unique stores and unique vibes. Anyone who feels like they can’t be impressed by any more buildings, castles, or interesting architecture should go. One of my favorite stylistic elements was the use of faces and figures in doorways and as decorations on buildings. It also didn’t hurt that the hostel where I stayed was rad. There seems to be a newer trend of hostels that feel like hotels with bunk beds. This was the only hostel of the three that fit my image of a nice, but real hostel: small, a cozy common area with a couple of slow computers, some couches and a kitchen, a cheap, simple option for dinner, and a cozy bar offering beer in the evening. Given the vibe and size, it was actually possible to meet people, including the staff, who took a few of us out after work to a ruin bar. These are Budapest staples: large, outdoor garden bars decorated as though a thrift store exploded all over the walls. There were old bikes painted all colors hanging from the ceiling, a gnome in a hammock, old bathtubs and sinks all around, not to mention the industrial vibe from the gears and chains…very odd, but a very cool vibe. I had a lovely dinner of kabobs while overlooking the river with what we called the Meeting of the UN: a Spanish guy, a French guy, a British guy, and myself.
Obligatory introspection: last year while traveling, I specifically noted that although traveling alone was not nearly as scary as I’d imagined, I would never do it in a country where I didn’t speak the language. I just did it for two weeks, and it was generally not any more stressful than traveling alone anywhere else, mostly due to the fact that I was traveling to big European cities where most people speak enough English to get by, or are at least used to dealing with dumb tourists who don’t speak their language. As the Spanish proverb goes, nunca digas: de este agua no beberé. (never say: I’ll never drink that water.) A friend oh-so-cleverly noted after I posted that proverb on Facebook that he had that attitude once in Mexico, then spent two days throwing up. Idioms.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
-intertravel-
Prague was amazing. Even my one day in Madrid wasn't too shabby. Now I am in Vienna. Unfortunately both the last hostel and this one have pay-by-the-minute internet so I can't spend tons of time blogging, but rest assured that I am taking notes of absolutely everything so that I can clog the interwebs with stories upon returning to Spain. :)
Vienna was not as awesome as I'd anticipated, but has some lovely sites.
A little introspection: I've realized that I'm not as introverted as I'd come to think. I thought traveling alone would be heavenly, but at this point, not having someone, anyone with whom to share all of this experience, with whom to pass the time on metros and trains, to face the awkwardness of language and cultural barriers, to take risks and explore further is becoming a drag. Better to say: I'm picky about traveling companions, and I'd rather travel alone than with most people, but with a well-chosen buddy far above no one at all.
Vienna was not as awesome as I'd anticipated, but has some lovely sites.
A little introspection: I've realized that I'm not as introverted as I'd come to think. I thought traveling alone would be heavenly, but at this point, not having someone, anyone with whom to share all of this experience, with whom to pass the time on metros and trains, to face the awkwardness of language and cultural barriers, to take risks and explore further is becoming a drag. Better to say: I'm picky about traveling companions, and I'd rather travel alone than with most people, but with a well-chosen buddy far above no one at all.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
sugar cube villages, protests, long distance
Hello readers! Last week I had a paper and an oral presentation, so I didn’t feel too inclined to hammer out a post, but I have a few things to discuss.
1) Our third and final excursion was to Zahara de las Sierras, a pueblo in the mountains. It’s one of a series of famous Andalusian villages called Los Pueblos Blancos, on account of their homogeneous paint job. Looking out over the buildings, I felt like I was in a children’s book. We took a brief trek up to the remains of a fairy-tale-worthy ancient castle perched on a hilltop, where we were treated to an incredible view and many a photo opportunity. Afterward, we went to an olive oil mill where we were supposedly going to have an olive oil tasting. I regretted having forced down the huge, bland baguette-and-ham sandwich in my lunch bag when, on top of bread and olive oil, they pulled out wine, jamon, embutidos, olives, tortilla de papas, and beer. We then had a brief tour of the mill, but it was a stifling 100+ degrees so none of us paid much attention. All filled to the brim with knowledge, liquid happiness, salt, and fat, we went to a small man-made lake to cool down, and thus ended our delightful day.
2) My history class has been nothing short of awesome. Never before had I felt the continuum between history and current events the way I do now. I think that part of that is because the US has been fairly static: we’ve been a democracy since our foundation, we have democrats and republicans, and we’ve generally been ok. We’re in some wars now, which are quite important, but we don’t feel the effects of our past wars. There’s now, and there’s history. Spain, on the other hand, is constantly changing. They’ve only been a democracy for 35 years now, before which they were under the dictatorship of Francisco Franco. Spanish citizens don’t have to be particularly old to remember a time when things were drastically different. Moreover, the professor tells the story of the country in such a riveting way that it makes me feel like I’m watching a suspenseful TV show. (“Awwww shiiit, Ferdinand II got SCREWED, what’s he going to do now?”)
Part of the professor’s passion stems from the fact that he is an active member in the 15-M movement. If you’ve heard anything about riots and protests in Madrid for the past few months, it’s this. It started on May 14th, when a group of about 50 people congregated in Madrid’s Plaza del Sol to protest the governmental policies that have led to the current economic crisis. They decided to camp in the plaza overnight, which was legal, but at 5 in the morning, police violently dragged them out. A video of the brutality went viral, and the next day, the 15th (hence, 15-M), 20,000 protesters congregated in the square. The protests went on for a while in big cities all over Spain, but slowly, they lost their momentum. (Just the other day, there was a huge resurgence. It’s not over yet, folks.) However, what’s cool about the 15-M isn’t their protesting. Here in Cadiz, for example, a group of them took over an abandoned, dilapidated building that was destined to be a tourist hotel, spent tons of energy cleaning it, remodeling it, and installing electricity, and began to use it as a community space. They now offer a series of free classes, from elementary education to music to exercise. They’re starting a book collection for a community library. As I explained all of this excitedly to Joel the day we learned about it, he noted that offering community classes isn’t going to create more jobs and/or fix the economy. Yes, but:
1) It accomplishes more than yelling and holding up a sign, and it gives the protesters credibility by showing that they are more than chants and signs.
2) It directly works to create positive change within the community, which would be the end goal of large-scale political reform anyway.
3) It’s symbolic of the fact that if the government doesn’t help the people, the people will help themselves.
So it may not create jobs or fix the economy, but it still strikes me as very powerful.
3) Ending with a little meta and a confession. Stop here if you’ll feel awkward about me spilling my soul to you or think that feelings are boring.
Other than the last post, I've focused this blog on what we’ve done, without a lot on my feelings or reactions, which is not like me. This is mainly because my feelings haven’t been nearly as great as they should have been considering that I’ve lived in a dream world for the past month, not only being abroad but also having the chance to settle into Spain in the paradise of this beach town. I felt a little guilty for my withdrawn attitude and for having spent too many afternoons/evenings on the Internet when I should have been out. I’m far more resistant to change than I’d like (high school to college, letting go of breakups, etc) and being happy with a long-distance relationship after spending every night and many days together during an amazing 6 months has been hard. (For the record, not on account of the decision to do an LDR. Zero doubts.) In two days, it’s 7 months, and I’ve finally started to accept the situation, feel better, and immerse myself in life here.
Anyway, we only have four more days of class left, then it’s time for TRAVELXTRAVAGANZA! Stay tuned for my solo-badass-adventures through exotic, mysterious Eastern Europe, including Prague, Vienna, and Budapest.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
A few observations
1) Small Spanish children, in addition to all being incredibly cute, seem much more eloquent than their same-aged US counterparts. I considered that it might be my own bias from Spanish being harder for me than English, but decided that it was a real phenomenon. My hypothesis so far is that Spanish parents use much less baby-talk than we do (while still being very affectionate).
2) I've heard a fair number of people in the program talk excitedly about how much better their Spanish is going to get this year--all in English. In fact, few of us speak Spanish outside of the classroom. While it's likely that once we get to our actual cities of study, the amount of Spanish spoken will go up, I'm still left wondering: do they think it will happen by osmosis? We're here NOW. Like, this is Spain, this is the place where you wanted to come to practice your Spanish. (But Sonia, you speak English too, what gives?) My excuse is that I'm already confident in my Spanish. While it's not perfect, I can say whatever I want, whenever I want, to anyone I want, and once I'm not surrounded by other Americans, I'll be comfortable falling into a Spanish-speaking routine.
3) In this program, we have a wide range of Spanish-speaking levels, from those who can barely string a few words together to a couple native speakers who are more comfortable with Spanish than English. When I hear some of the people speaking Spanish or see their level of comprehension, I wonder how they'll survive. Spanish university is still real university: professors talk quickly, papers are graded stringently. As they said in the orientation, they're not going to be sympathetic that you're a charismatic Californian who doesn't speak the language very well. Imagining myself at that level and being asked to do university-level work sounds absolutely horrifying, and I can't help but wonder why some people made this choice. Of course, this is compounded by observation 2, as many of the weakest speakers are the shyest about their speech. That said, I wish them the best of luck and hope that I'm merely being cynical. This has to happen every year, and I'm sure almost everyone does decently.
4) I've now had two dreams in Spanish :)
5) To my ear, the most distinct aspects of the Andalusian accent are the pronunciation of "ch" as "sh" and the elimination of the final consonant. So, "Hay muchos pasteles" would be "Hay musho pasteleh." (Or maybe "pahteleh." I can't figure out the internal S right now.) I find the "sh" sneaking its way into my own diction, although I've only had one instance of the Spain-wide lisp.
2) I've heard a fair number of people in the program talk excitedly about how much better their Spanish is going to get this year--all in English. In fact, few of us speak Spanish outside of the classroom. While it's likely that once we get to our actual cities of study, the amount of Spanish spoken will go up, I'm still left wondering: do they think it will happen by osmosis? We're here NOW. Like, this is Spain, this is the place where you wanted to come to practice your Spanish. (But Sonia, you speak English too, what gives?) My excuse is that I'm already confident in my Spanish. While it's not perfect, I can say whatever I want, whenever I want, to anyone I want, and once I'm not surrounded by other Americans, I'll be comfortable falling into a Spanish-speaking routine.
3) In this program, we have a wide range of Spanish-speaking levels, from those who can barely string a few words together to a couple native speakers who are more comfortable with Spanish than English. When I hear some of the people speaking Spanish or see their level of comprehension, I wonder how they'll survive. Spanish university is still real university: professors talk quickly, papers are graded stringently. As they said in the orientation, they're not going to be sympathetic that you're a charismatic Californian who doesn't speak the language very well. Imagining myself at that level and being asked to do university-level work sounds absolutely horrifying, and I can't help but wonder why some people made this choice. Of course, this is compounded by observation 2, as many of the weakest speakers are the shyest about their speech. That said, I wish them the best of luck and hope that I'm merely being cynical. This has to happen every year, and I'm sure almost everyone does decently.
4) I've now had two dreams in Spanish :)
5) To my ear, the most distinct aspects of the Andalusian accent are the pronunciation of "ch" as "sh" and the elimination of the final consonant. So, "Hay muchos pasteles" would be "Hay musho pasteleh." (Or maybe "pahteleh." I can't figure out the internal S right now.) I find the "sh" sneaking its way into my own diction, although I've only had one instance of the Spain-wide lisp.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
continent-hopping, beach towns, camels
aka, the long, crazy story of last weekend.
Our excursion on Friday was to Tarifa, the city at the southernmost point of Spain, and the ruins of Baelo Claudia, an ancient Roman city. Tarifa was a fantastic town. As a surfing hotspot, the main street was remarkably reminiscent of Santa Cruz or Santa Barbara, but combined with the interspersed historic buildings and narrow, alley-like streets that create the magic of classic European cities. During the day, it was pleasant and sleepy, but when we returned in the evening, it transformed. The streets were filled with good-humored people going to tapa and cocktail bars, restaurants, musicians…just delightful. We had a couple of drinks, but as three other guys and I had quite the plan for the next day, we had to turn in.
Backing up: after visiting Tarifa during the day, the “cultural excursion” (ok, field trip) continued to the ruins, which were fantastic, then to the beach alongside. Three guys had booked a hostel in Tarifa with plans to go to Morocco the next day. For no particular reason, I had brought my passport with me, and spur of the moment, I decided I wanted to go too. I got the go-ahead to crash on their floor for the night, and just like that, I was about to check another continent off my list.
We got to the port at 9 in the morning, bought a ticket package that included the ferry ride, a tour, and lunch, got our passports stamped and got on the ferry. At the port in Tangier, we met up with our 8-person group, and Ahmed, our tour guide.
“Ah, San Francisco, do you know the beat poets?” Ahmed asked excitedly upon finding out where I was from.
“Yeah, I do,” I answered.
“You don’t know who they are,” he said, apparently under the impression that I was trying to appease his madness.
“Really, I do!”
“Who are they?”
“Allen Ginsberg, uh, Jack Kerouac…” I trailed off, trying to remember others.
Ahmed was very excited. “And William Burroughs! All of them came to Morocco in the 1950s, I spent a lot of time with them,” he told us in his curious accent that had at least French, Arabic, and British influences. I was awed.
“And on our right, you are about to see where we’ll eat lunch,” Ahmed said excitedly as we began the first part of the tour: a drive through the newer part of Tangier. As we turned a corner, none other than the Golden Arches came into view. “Burgers! Fries! Eh?” We all looked at one another with raised eyebrows and feigned enthusiasm. “I’m kidding,” Ahmed continued. “We’ll eat traditional Moroccan food.” What a joker.
“One euro to ride them, free to take pictures,” we were told, as we made our first stop. We pulled over on the side of the road where an elderly Moroccan man was leading two camels down a stretch of dirt, each with an excited tourist perched on top. Daniel was the first one of our group to ride the camels, and he had a lovely trek down and back along the path. With some trepidation, I stepped up to ride next, alongside Ari, another one of our group. As Ari tried to get on, the camel jerked sideways and Ari quickly stepped off. “Glad I have this one,” I thought. Yet we successfully mounted the kneeling camels, grabbed onto the handles, and were off. I’d ridden a horse before and been fine, but stirrups make an incredible difference. This was scary as hell. I squeezed the camel with all my inner-thigh strength and made it to the end of the stretch. The elderly man turned the camels around and we were headed back. However, I’d spoken too soon about choosing the right camel. In the middle of the path, the camel kneeled down and rolled over on its side with a thud, crushing my foot and pinning my leg underneath its body. I screamed out of pain and fear. I don’t remember it being more than a few seconds, but apparently it was about a whole minute of yelling and camel-pinning before the man got the camel standing again. I clutched my toes, convinced they were broken. The van driver jumped out with some cream that he rubbed on the scrapes on my ankle and knee and wiggled all my toes, which was excruciating, not to mention idiotic. “Nothing’s broken,” he said. I wasn’t convinced, but as the adrenaline wore off, I realized that the pain was tolerable and calmed down.
I hobbled back to the van, realizing that if I walked on the inside of my foot and didn’t put any pressure on or bend my last three toes, I could stay mobile. At our next stop in front of the market, we stopped in a pharmacy and Ahmed procured ibuprofen and Tylenol with codeine to ease the pain and swelling. All three of the guys told me emphatically that if I wanted to go back then or at any point during the day, it would be no problem. As I could move my body in a forward direction, albeit slowly, without putting my foot in additional pain, I decided to continue.
Our next stop was the market. Besides freshness, a major difference between European markets with vendors occupying individual stalls and conventional grocery stores is that meat vendors tend to be less euphemistic. The first time I saw entire plucked chickens on a meat counter in Florence, I was fascinated and disgusted and took loads of pictures. That was tame compared to the Moroccan market. One vendor was enthusiastically hacking at a camel’s head, while a pile of fur-covered, freshly chopped legs lay in an inelegant pile in the corner. Another displayed a row of glassy-eyed goat heads. Yet the mountains of exotic-smelling spices, fresh fruits and vegetables, and gigantic bins of glistening olives presented a far more appetizing scene. The fish market was a huge, chaotic room packed with fish and seafood of all shapes, sizes, and colors, so fresh that the smell wasn’t bothersome.
After the market, we walked through the Medina, the old part of the city, which was similar to the historic district of any European city: sleepy, narrow, labyrinthine streets lined with tall buildings coated by crumbling layers of white paint, a few scattered stores, and the occasional Moroccan man or pair of hijab-sporting women. We walked until we reached the restaurant for lunch, which was an elegant building covered with brightly painted tile mosaics on the inside and outside. Lunch, which was included in the tour, consisted of fresh-baked bread, a tomato-based vegetable soup, beef kebabs with spicy sauce, and couscous topped with an incredible chicken-vegetable curry. For desert, we had tea cookies and sweetened whole-leaf mint tea. Although this meal would have been wonderful at any point, it was particularly appreciated after a couple weeks of the repetitive, plain Spanish food at the residencia.
“It’s siesta time! Of course, we have siesta here too!” Ahmed announced as he led us through the hallways of a nearby building until we reached a room filled with brightly colored rugs. We all sat on benches around the edge as two men began unrolling carpets until they had covered the majority of the empty cement room with the tapestries. Meanwhile, they gave us a brief talk, informing us that their carpets were hand-sewn, dyed with all-natural dyes, were lovely on the floor or on the wall, and came in different colors. We all braced ourselves for the sales pitch, but after a few minutes of talking, the man concluded with: “Thank you for listening to my presentation. You may look around now.” Indeed, the strange situation, the absence of a sales pitch, and the abrupt awkwardness of the ending left us looking around at one another confused and amused. Yet we walked around examining the rugs, whose intricate patterns were truly beautiful. When I have 1100 euros to spend on a carpet, I know where I’m traveling.
The next stop was at “an authentic Berber pharmacy.” We walked inside and jars of spices, bags filled with plants and jars of creams lined every wall, yet the presence of another tour group getting a presentation led us to question the authenticity of that particular pharmacy. Our presenter described an assortment of their products including cooking spices, perfumes, essential oils, makeup, and healing ointments. Whenever he presented a new cream or perfume, he dabbed some on each of our hands so that by the end, the three guys and I all smelled of a delightful combination of roses, vanilla, menthol, musk, orange blossom, and others.
“Ok, now the buying,” he told us, and put a plastic bag in each of our hands. “Who wants a bag of garam masala? 2 euros. Very good for fish. Ok, no one? Three, two, one, ok.” He put it down. “Who wants this arnica cream? Very good for muscle pain. Ok, no one? Three, two, one, ok.” And on he continued, running through the entire list of products once more. One woman bought chapstick.
Before I describe the last stop at a jewelry store, I should explain the street vendors. They’re not like street vendors anywhere else I’ve visited. They follow you down the streets, shoving their jewelry/drums/toy camels/wallets/geodes in your face, haggling with you even as you repeatedly and emphatically inform them that you’re not at all interested. “Very good deal. 5 euro. 4 euro. 2 for 5. 2 euro. Ok, what price do you need to buy it?” (“None. I have one wallet. I don’t want two.” And what the hell am I going to do with a toy camel?) Luckily, if you ignore them, they’ll usually go away. While annoying, it’s not unsafe.
Now, back to the jewelry store. I wasn’t too interested: the style of jewelry over there is a bit heavy for my tastes; besides, this was all really expensive. The shopkeeper saw Ari pick up and examine a necklace and went to talk to him. “Very nice, very nice. This is 120 euro,” he told Ari, who quickly put the necklace down. The shopkeeper began to bargain with Ari. After some time, during which Ari tried to explain very politely that he’s a damn college student and isn’t going to spend 120 euro on a dumb necklace with a rock in it on a whim (highly editorialized), our tour guide came over and said something to the shopkeeper in Arabic. (I got the impression that the stores we visited on our tours weren’t supposed to pressure us into buying anything.) The man backed off, but returned soon enough, asking Ari for an offer. I was frustrated on Ari’s behalf. “Three euro,” I said from off to the side. The shopkeeper turned to look at me.
“How’s your foot?” he asked.
“Uh, it’s ok,” I answered, puzzled.
“It won’t be ok if you keep saying things like three euro. This is real silver and gemstones,” he said angrily.
“Man, I was just joking, it’s obvious that he’s not gonna buy it, so I was saying maybe if it was 3 euro he would…” I said, trying to explain myself. They take their bargaining seriously over there. Another street vendor got offended when Reid (our third UC-er) spoke to him in Spanish. “Do you speak to your mother and father in Spanish? Come on, talk to me in English, in your mother tongue,” he told him. I consider pressuring someone to buy your product for a good ten minutes a lot ruder than making a joke out about that situation (much less speaking Spanish) but hey, that’s the culture. If I want, I can leave.
Which I did, a short while later, just after hearing the Call to Prayer broadcasted on speakers installed throughout the city. When we made it back to the shore of Tarifa, we all shared a similar, interesting sensation of homecoming. Seeing signs in Spanish and hearing families speak the language on the street were very comforting: although we’ve only been there for two weeks, it’s starting to become the norm. Despite my camel-flattened foot, I returned to Cadiz feeling more balanced and grounded than I have since arriving.
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