Monday, March 9, 2009
a snapshot: the drive home from Cordoba
The land gradually lifts and dips and forms small, uneven hills. In the places where the grass is rich and green, the contours of the hillsides are much more visible and the shadows produced by nightfall create the illusion that there are much larger depths among the vales. I follow the undulations with my palm, and cusp each mound in my hand for a brief moment, pretending that I gathered the dirt of the earth and swept it into place just as I would a pile of sand on the beach. I like the distorted dimensional perception I have from my seat in the moving bus, and enjoy acting like I can take an active roll in the passing scenery. In the distance, some of the gentle slopes appear purple in color, but I cannot be certain. The land offers so much diversity, and it is easier to appreciate its value because I know as it passes before my eyes, it is for the first and for the last time. I try to permanently store the image in my mind.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Just say yes. How can you even think about turning down oportunities while you are here? Throw yourself into everything whole heartedly. Fill your days with endless wandering through the city. Dare to explore. Talk to people. Learn the language. Learn the culture. Learn what it means to exist in this city, in this moment.
Take a chance.
It is scary subjecting myself to all of this foreigness. I have been shy in utilizing my Spanish, but that ended yesterday. I decided to give up English for Lent. Last year I really tried to do something to better myself and I gave up being outwardly negative, (If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all type deal) and I saw an improvement in myself. I had never really made a sacrifice like that in previous years. To continue in my endeavours of self improvement during Lent, I am going to force myself to speak Spanish. It is working great so far, although it is only day two. I made a few guidelines... 1. Speak Spanish from 9 am - 9pm and 2. Obviously speak in English with people who do not have the capacity to speak Spanish ie: my blog will continue to be in English.
I'm enjoying being a Catholic and being in Spain. I have been trying to sort of chart a new course in which religion plays a different role in my life than it has in the past.
Take a chance.
It is scary subjecting myself to all of this foreigness. I have been shy in utilizing my Spanish, but that ended yesterday. I decided to give up English for Lent. Last year I really tried to do something to better myself and I gave up being outwardly negative, (If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all type deal) and I saw an improvement in myself. I had never really made a sacrifice like that in previous years. To continue in my endeavours of self improvement during Lent, I am going to force myself to speak Spanish. It is working great so far, although it is only day two. I made a few guidelines... 1. Speak Spanish from 9 am - 9pm and 2. Obviously speak in English with people who do not have the capacity to speak Spanish ie: my blog will continue to be in English.
I'm enjoying being a Catholic and being in Spain. I have been trying to sort of chart a new course in which religion plays a different role in my life than it has in the past.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
I FORGOT TO BRING MY CAMERA... WHAT ELSE IS NEW?
"He kept the absolute purity of line in his movements and always quietly and calmly let the horns pass him close each time." - The Sun Also Rises, Ernest Hemingway
Bullfighting is an art form. I recently saw a bullfighting exhibition, and I was undeniably rapt by the motions of the torero. He was elegant and poised as he moved through the small ring. His posture commanded my attention like that of a ballerina. A ballerina moves so as to exhibit her flawless technique, as does the torero. He moved with similar fluidity and precision, but the difference between the two is that the torero’s own life depends on his ability to maintain the perfect stance and execute the correct steps.
There were moments, when from my perceived angle, the bull would disappear behind the banderilla and the torero would look like he was dancing alone on the soft earthen floor. This part is breathtaking, mesmerizing, inspiring. I happened to read about the bull fights in Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises this afternoon, and was pleased to know that he appreciated the spectacle the way I had. However, he has been to a bullfight from start to finish and has experienced the bloodshed that is associated. I hope that I have not been jaded, and can still respect all of it with the same fervor and admiration.
I forgot to bring my camera to La Feria Mundial del Toro, so I have no pictures to share with you. A still shot would not have done justice anyways. I did get the autographs of Finito de Cordoba and David Fandila (El Fandi), two well respected matadors. My friend took a picture of "El Fandi" and I, so keep a look out on Facebook because he was quite handsome!
Bullfighting is an art form. I recently saw a bullfighting exhibition, and I was undeniably rapt by the motions of the torero. He was elegant and poised as he moved through the small ring. His posture commanded my attention like that of a ballerina. A ballerina moves so as to exhibit her flawless technique, as does the torero. He moved with similar fluidity and precision, but the difference between the two is that the torero’s own life depends on his ability to maintain the perfect stance and execute the correct steps.
There were moments, when from my perceived angle, the bull would disappear behind the banderilla and the torero would look like he was dancing alone on the soft earthen floor. This part is breathtaking, mesmerizing, inspiring. I happened to read about the bull fights in Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises this afternoon, and was pleased to know that he appreciated the spectacle the way I had. However, he has been to a bullfight from start to finish and has experienced the bloodshed that is associated. I hope that I have not been jaded, and can still respect all of it with the same fervor and admiration.
I forgot to bring my camera to La Feria Mundial del Toro, so I have no pictures to share with you. A still shot would not have done justice anyways. I did get the autographs of Finito de Cordoba and David Fandila (El Fandi), two well respected matadors. My friend took a picture of "El Fandi" and I, so keep a look out on Facebook because he was quite handsome!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Spain 2 – England 0
The Spain v. England soccer game was played in Sevilla on Wednesday night. By sometime late morning, the streets in the center of the city were filled with visitors who had come to support England. I was surprised at how many enthusiastic fans of the opposing team had actually showed up. Walking to and from class, I was not even sure if I was still in Sevilla. Everyone was speaking English. I went to a bar to watch the game. I have always really appreciated how enthusiastic the rest of the world is about soccer. It was fun to watch people getting worked up over the outcome of the game. After the game I went out for drinks with some friends and the night ended well.
After having the same set of directions repeated to me for the fifth or sixth time, I left my apartment to go to the rastrillo. I am not exactly how I would summarize this event, but basically it was a combination craft fair/flea market/festival. My señora suggested that my roommate and I go check it out sometime during the weekend, so on Friday we hopped on a bus and went. The rastrillo was held on three floors of a large hotel. There were so many vendors selling so many different types of goods. On account of the fact that I usually enjoy this kind of thing, I had a great time. It was enjoyable for me to see the craftsmanship of local artisans.
This morning I volunteered five hours of my day repainting the gym of a local elementary school. Painting is tiring, but the end result was worth it, and I had the chance to make a few new Spanish friends in the process. I think it is very important to offer what I can to the community that I am currently living in. Not only do I want to say that I live here, but I want to say that I am a functioning and meaningful part of the community as well. I want to do more than tread on the surface of this culture. I need to swim deep within it. This is something that I spend a lot of my time thinking about. It is no easy task to transplant yourself into a culture that is not your own and be accepted.
After having the same set of directions repeated to me for the fifth or sixth time, I left my apartment to go to the rastrillo. I am not exactly how I would summarize this event, but basically it was a combination craft fair/flea market/festival. My señora suggested that my roommate and I go check it out sometime during the weekend, so on Friday we hopped on a bus and went. The rastrillo was held on three floors of a large hotel. There were so many vendors selling so many different types of goods. On account of the fact that I usually enjoy this kind of thing, I had a great time. It was enjoyable for me to see the craftsmanship of local artisans.
This morning I volunteered five hours of my day repainting the gym of a local elementary school. Painting is tiring, but the end result was worth it, and I had the chance to make a few new Spanish friends in the process. I think it is very important to offer what I can to the community that I am currently living in. Not only do I want to say that I live here, but I want to say that I am a functioning and meaningful part of the community as well. I want to do more than tread on the surface of this culture. I need to swim deep within it. This is something that I spend a lot of my time thinking about. It is no easy task to transplant yourself into a culture that is not your own and be accepted.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Sevilla reintroduced itself to me today. The sun is shining for the first time in a couple of weeks, and the city's facade has completely changed. For instance, my view from the fifth story window of my apartment is of a row of other similar apartment buildings. I had not considered it to be anything special, nor had I deemed it anything remotely close to picturesque. However, all things are capable of changing unexpectedly.
My BEFORE view during the seamlessly ending week of rain - - I am able to see slabs of whitewashed concrete and dirtied plaster whose surfaces are cracked and flaking. This texture gives off the impression of sloppy craftsmanship and careless maintenance. Each building is geometrically similar in design, in that they are all simply square or rectangular in shape. Where each side meets another, a right angle is created. There are no slanting rooftops or arching window frames to add charm or aesthetic value. Instead, there are only sharp corners and straight lines for the eye to lazily trace. A large number of television antennae disrupt any chance at taking pleasure in the skyline, the way they abruptly and haphazardly stick out from the rooftops every five to ten feet. The perceived color palette is, at best, a muted one. Multiple shades of grey blur and distort my perception of the buildings having any dimensionality. It is difficult for the eye to distinguish between the abysmal sky and the walls of the buildings.
My view NOW that the sun has come out to play - - I must be in a new city, or at the very least looking out from a different window. The sunlight has transformed the appearance of the apartment buildings opposite me, offering what must be a view worthy of the Gods. Whereas before the structures maintained an offensive disposition, they now offer an invitation to enjoy them. It really is the color that is most spectacular. Obviously the buildings have not physically changed; they just appear wholly different than before. The evening sun projects its color upon the walls of the apartment buildings, and the color is so alive that it looks like a new coat of paint. The amazing thing about the color is that it is not flat, it is so tonally dynamic. A multiplicity of pink, orange, and yellow hues can be seen and the juxtaposition of the newly colored wall against the blue sky is inspiring. The lighting makes me search out details of the apartment buildings that I had overlooked before. I find myself having to turn away at some moments because the sight is almost blinding at times.
It is not only this one view that has been transformed. The whole city now radiates.
My BEFORE view during the seamlessly ending week of rain - - I am able to see slabs of whitewashed concrete and dirtied plaster whose surfaces are cracked and flaking. This texture gives off the impression of sloppy craftsmanship and careless maintenance. Each building is geometrically similar in design, in that they are all simply square or rectangular in shape. Where each side meets another, a right angle is created. There are no slanting rooftops or arching window frames to add charm or aesthetic value. Instead, there are only sharp corners and straight lines for the eye to lazily trace. A large number of television antennae disrupt any chance at taking pleasure in the skyline, the way they abruptly and haphazardly stick out from the rooftops every five to ten feet. The perceived color palette is, at best, a muted one. Multiple shades of grey blur and distort my perception of the buildings having any dimensionality. It is difficult for the eye to distinguish between the abysmal sky and the walls of the buildings.
My view NOW that the sun has come out to play - - I must be in a new city, or at the very least looking out from a different window. The sunlight has transformed the appearance of the apartment buildings opposite me, offering what must be a view worthy of the Gods. Whereas before the structures maintained an offensive disposition, they now offer an invitation to enjoy them. It really is the color that is most spectacular. Obviously the buildings have not physically changed; they just appear wholly different than before. The evening sun projects its color upon the walls of the apartment buildings, and the color is so alive that it looks like a new coat of paint. The amazing thing about the color is that it is not flat, it is so tonally dynamic. A multiplicity of pink, orange, and yellow hues can be seen and the juxtaposition of the newly colored wall against the blue sky is inspiring. The lighting makes me search out details of the apartment buildings that I had overlooked before. I find myself having to turn away at some moments because the sight is almost blinding at times.
It is not only this one view that has been transformed. The whole city now radiates.
Monday, February 9, 2009
This is a very unorganized post
10 Highlights from my visit to Granada
The view from St. Nicolas
Being accosted by a gypsy woman
The tea
My walk from the center of town to our hotel, which was 20 minutes up hill
Visiting the tomb of Isabel and Ferdinand
Receiving free tapas with every drink I ordered
Staying out dancing until 6 in the morning (and subsequently getting only one hour of sleep)
The Alhambra
New Spanish friends
Being bombarded by the aroma of burning incense in many of the street shops
It was about a three hour bus ride to get to Granada from Sevilla, and one thing I can never get enough of is being on the road. Our route along the highway took us through miles and miles of farm land that is lined with olive trees. I did not know that they were olive trees at first, so that was something new I learned. Seeing all of the trees in their precisely organized rows made me wonder how you actually harvest olives. I think that would be a daunting task . . . I also saw a group of four people trying to pull a horse drawn cart out of a muddy gully. I hope they had good luck in removing it from the ditch.
In Granada, the streets are treacherously narrow. I thought the streets in Sevilla were too small, but now I know better. "Look both ways before crossing the street," has become a sort of daily mantra that is repeatedly cycled through my brain. However, I learned that the buildings were purposely constructed in such close proximity to one another so that the streets could remain cool in the unbearable heat of the summer months. It becomes more and more obvious to me that the Spanish are extremely practical people.
The view from St. Nicolas
Being accosted by a gypsy woman
The tea
My walk from the center of town to our hotel, which was 20 minutes up hill
Visiting the tomb of Isabel and Ferdinand
Receiving free tapas with every drink I ordered
Staying out dancing until 6 in the morning (and subsequently getting only one hour of sleep)
The Alhambra
New Spanish friends
Being bombarded by the aroma of burning incense in many of the street shops
It was about a three hour bus ride to get to Granada from Sevilla, and one thing I can never get enough of is being on the road. Our route along the highway took us through miles and miles of farm land that is lined with olive trees. I did not know that they were olive trees at first, so that was something new I learned. Seeing all of the trees in their precisely organized rows made me wonder how you actually harvest olives. I think that would be a daunting task . . . I also saw a group of four people trying to pull a horse drawn cart out of a muddy gully. I hope they had good luck in removing it from the ditch.
In Granada, the streets are treacherously narrow. I thought the streets in Sevilla were too small, but now I know better. "Look both ways before crossing the street," has become a sort of daily mantra that is repeatedly cycled through my brain. However, I learned that the buildings were purposely constructed in such close proximity to one another so that the streets could remain cool in the unbearable heat of the summer months. It becomes more and more obvious to me that the Spanish are extremely practical people.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
RUNNING ON FUMES
I just Spent the weekend in Granada. It was fantastic! I cannot wait to describe everything I saw there. I have only slept for a total of five hours in the past two days . . . just imagine the possibilities.
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