Estoy en España, y estoy viva.

Catedral de Sevilla

Last Wednesday I had school off for Columbus Day (Día de la Raza or Fiesta Nacional), which also happens to be the feast day of Fiestas del Pilar, patron saint of Spain (or just Aragon, I can’t quite figure that one out). I spent most of the day walking around the city exploring, and that evening I wandered into a church that I had only ever seen the outside of until that night. I think it’s called Basilica of Angustias. I don’t think it’s just my own obsession with religious architecture and monotheism; it was difficult to breathe in this chapel simply because it was so beautiful. I sat down and looked around for a long time. When I lay down on a pew to look at the ceiling, a little old lady who had been sitting and praying a few rows behind me came over just to tell me I ought to sit up (‘¡estamos en una iglesia!’). Then she sat down again next to me, I guess just to be sure I wasn’t up to any more funny business.             
             I don’t think she had ever taken a good look at the ceiling.            
             Everywhere I explore, this country impresses me with an inexplicable transience. I feel as if I have visited here before; as if I have re-awoken into a dream from long ago. I can’t believe that I wandered into a 400 year old church before mass, I can’t believe that I saw Guernica (even bigger than I imagined it) in the flesh, or that I was sitting in the living room just a few nights ago, watching a newscast about the ETA ceasefire in Spain, in Spanish. Each time I find a bidet nestled in a private bathroom, I wonder for the millionth time if anyone actually uses these things, and if it is really true that I am right here, right now. Perhaps it is ridiculous of me, to treat this experience as if I had discovered an alternate universe, but I’d rather be a little silly and over appreciative, than forget how extraordinary life is. There is a girl in my program, I don't know her very well, but I am in love with her thoughtful and sincere attitude. We will be driving down the road when she climbs up in her seat and shouts to the entire bus to call our attention to a sunset or some cool ruins (You guys, are you seeing this?). She practically sings; ¡Estamos en España! (We are in Spain!), when we reach a particularly breathtaking lookout point. She's right. We are in Spain and we are young and in the world.

Abandoned church in Las Alpujarras. 

             In Spanish, there are two forms of the verb "to be", ser and estar. Ser describes permanent characteristics, the essence so to speak, while estar is used for provisional states. To say "I am alive" you use estar: "Estoy vivo", because life is transient. The truth is that I love old people, and I believe in being respectful of all places of worship, but I was rather disappointed that I wasn't allowed to lie on my back and gaze at the ceiling of the basilica. I believe we ought to grant ourselves every opportunity to marvel at our own reality.  We must remember that we are alive and that such a condition is a privilege, if we want to be truly self aware. I confess it's easy to forget how impermanent and precious it all is, but I've discovered that new experiences like Spain deepen my perspective and heighten my sensitivity to life. 

The sight of my castigation, can you believe such magnificent places exist?

Day 16, Reflections On A Whirlwind

I've been here for just 16 days, and yet it feels like much longer - probably because so much has happened to me in such a short period of time. This country is beautiful; full of history and culture and art. Everywhere I go there is something new to see and do. I have started classes and I am getting along with my host family swimmingly. I won't do a complete rehash of all that has happened to me, but I would like to give you a smattering of what has happened thus far.

 

Above: the Alhambra, Granada's primary attraction. This magnificent structure is a fortified palace built in the mid 14th century. Until the Christian Reconquest, Granada was the last stronghold of Moorish power, which had ruled much of the Iberian Peninsula including southern Spain (Al-Andalus) since 711 AD. Below: another part of the complex, Palacio de Generalife, one of the complexes connected to Alhambra. It's a steep but lushly forested climb to the Alhambra, and somewhat difficult to acquire tickets, but well worth it. 

 

The two photos above: the Hall of the Abencerrajes, demonstrating the beautiful mocárabe vaulting that characterizes Islamic architecture, and fantastically carved columns. Our guide, who spoke English with the accent of a British dandy and was rather difficult to understand through the static of a headset, tried to tell us something about how much of the artistry lies in the Arabic writing inscribed on the walls. While I admit that my primary motive for selecting Granada as my host city was because it is the least expensive of all the programs I looked at, the infusion of Islamic history and culture here was also a big draw.

The day we drove to Granada from Madrid, we visited the Royal Seat of San Lorenze de El Escorial, which is less than 30 miles outside of Madrid. Today a school, museum and monastery, this place was  the historical royal palace. In order from top; Courtyard of the Kings, inside the Basilica (note the dome), and directly above, the entrance to the Pantheon of Kings. The Pantheon of Kings houses 26 marble sepulchers, containing the remains of kings and queens; in total El Escorial is the final resting place of some 200 royal bodies. It was pretty awesome.

Another picture taken between Granada and Madrid. I love the lone white farm house against the dark, rugged hillsides. Driving down the highway, it is not uncommon to drive past small castles, churches hundreds of years old, and antiquated windmills (amongst fields of sleek, modern wind turbines).

Photographs taken around Granada. There are many beautiful churches right around Granada. Most of them cost just a couple Euro to peek inside; I need to plan a weekend to visit inside each one.

Between Granada and the coast, we drove through areas that were once popular filming locations for spaghetti Westerns (cue Ennio Morricone).

The above dreamscape is from my trip to San José, along Cabo de Gata Natural Park. After being introduced to a beautiful virgin beach, Playa Genoveses, the next morning a friend of mine and I took off on our own, hiked to some breathtaking overlooks, and found our own private cove pictured above (reminds me of something out of the Count of Monte Cristo, even though I know that is hundreds of miles of coastline away). The Mediterranean was warm and beautiful; clear water, fine gold-flecked sand, and where there wasn't sand, the most romantic rock formations climb straight out of the water. 

In the Albaicín, a famous neighborhood in Granada which overlooks the Alhambra. I learned a lot about El Greco when I went to see one of his most famous works, El Entierro del Conde de Orgaz in Toledo. One thing El Greco often does is paint one or two of the subjects of the painting looking at the audience, to gaze directly at the onlooker so to speak. Anyway, this man in the center does a wonderful job of breaking the third wall, not to mention these were the best street performers I'd heard since coming to Spain. 

 

A surprise inside a handsome little antique shop in the Albaicín.

               The Alhambra, as seen from the Albaicín.

¡Bienvenido a Granada! (Settling In)

I took this pair of photographs as the sun was setting, on the bus between Madrid and Granada. 

Despite some jet lag induced insomnia and a fleeting moment of tearful homesickness (upon finding a note from my mom hiding in my suitcase), I felt like a seasoned explorer after a few days of navigating Madrid. Do take note; on a technical level this is hardly true because my program, Academic Programs International, booked and planned almost all transportation, sleeping and sight seeing arrangements. But in more abstract terms, and to give myself some credit, I did feel emotionally well adjusted and fearless. Despite the shock of language immersion, I happily lost myself in the city every evening, and I smirked at my own self reliance when I braved the metro alone to see Picasso's Guernica at the Museo Reina Sofía. However, this feeling of dauntless audacity changed the moment I got off the bus in Granada, as my excitement turned to a knot of nerves. Standing in a crowd of people on the platform as names were called and students were introduced to their host families, I was seized with a sort of giggly panic. What if my host family doesn't like me? What if we can't understand each other? Uh oh, do they know I'm vegetarian? How do you say excited in Spanish? What will my roommate be like? 

What in the world have I gotten myself into?

Our colorful little bedroom, the night we arrived. Also pictured lying our beds, our small tokens of gratitude - gifts to our host mom (I brought peach salsa hecho en Colorado, and a photography book of the Rocky Mountains, water stained courtesy of Iberia Airlines).

My host mom's pajaritos, who live in the kitchen and make mornings especially wonderful. 

A curtain hung up to dry above my bedroom window.

I met my roommate, Jade, and my host parents, Pedro and Encarna, on a crowded bus station platfrom long after the sun had set. We exchanged kisses, loaded up our luggage, and drove home. In the dark of the back seat, listening to Encarna talk to us about how excited she was we had arrived, ask us if we had any pets, if we ate fish; I felt relieved and once again elated. I had fallen into the hands of friendly, caring people, and while I couldn't understand but snippets of what was said to me, nor properly answer a question in complete sentences, I knew I had done the right thing by coming here. When we arrived at the apartment (a cozy three bedroom one bath) Jade and I were shown to our room, and we met our host sister, Maria, the youngest of Pedro and Encarna's four children, who is my age and currently attending school at the University of Granada. We unpacked and sat down with the family to a home cooked meal of tortas españolas (a sort of fluffy egg quiche), salted salad and orange juice.

Later that first night, Encarna and Pedro invited us to watch TV with them in the living room. Jade and I, exhausted and still trying to get our things organized, debated for a long time - would it be rude to decline? Other frivolous yet sincere questions arose. Should we ask if we may put our shampoo in the bathroom cabinet? Are we allowed to walk in the kitchen for milk or a piece of fruit? I've heard it's rude to walk barefoot in the house in Spain, do I need to buy slippers? Will Encarna be offended if I tape up photos of my family on the wall next to my bed, below the framed ... what is that... benediction? Jade mustered the guts to ask for a pair of keys and went out with friends. I wished Encarna and Pedro a goodnight, climbed into bed. I thought about how all of the pillows I've slept on in Spain thus far are these long, soft tubes that fit the head of the bed (and there is never more than one). As I drifted off to sleep, I felt perfectly out of my element, and yet somehow comfortably at home.

The ultimate truth I have learned (thus far) about living with a host family: yes, not understanding one another as a result of a language barrier is very difficult, but what is even more challenging is learning about and getting acclimated to a different culture. Becoming a part of another person's home; being polite, participating in family life, adapting to the way they live, would in many ways be just as difficult if we all spoke the same language.