This Is Home

        One of the great things about studying abroad is that not only do you have free reign to travel, but your host city provides you with a playground of opportunity, too. Don't spend too many weekends away or you'll miss the good stuff. In Spain, rather than spending a few hours in class each week and tons of outside of class time studying, you will be in class twenty hours per week for fifteen credit hours, so weekdays are easily filled up with class. If you really want to build relationships with locals and spend time with your host family, it is best to stay at home a lot of weekends, just relax and really experience your host city. Meet for intercambios (language exchanges), hit local hot spots, and take one from the tourists - see and do all the things in the guide book. It is amazing how quickly we take a familiar place for granted, so don't finish studying abroad and realize you never really got to do and see all the wonderful  things offered by your own city.
        Between Sevilla, my trip to Barcelona, and Paris for Thanksgiving weekend, I feel that I have been getting a good balance of time spent here and in other parts of the country. I was tickled to death - talking about getting back during our return trip from Barcelona (after five days), I realized with a start that I referred to Granada as home and didn't think anything of it. Maybe not "home, home" or Home with a capital H, but home, nonetheless. I guess you could say I'm rather attached - to the people and the place. Oh heavens. I know I have seven more months, but it makes me think of how hard it will be to leave here when I have to return to the United States.
         Depicted below, just some photo documentation of things that have been going on, at home in Granada.

La Catedral de Granada... I thought it looked big from the outside; you have to go in to fully appreciate its sheer, overwhelming magnificence. 

 My host mom's delicate little ofrenda to her parents, in our kitchen on Día de Todos los Santos, also known as All Soul's Day. In Spain, this commemoration of deceased loved ones is much more solemn than Mexico's Día de Los Muertos. Encarna and Pepe spent most of the weekend driving to the cemetery to visit and tend to the graves of family members. 

 ¡Perro encontrado! Sadly, feral and lost dogs are a far too common sight in Andalusia, but after seeing this sweet little guy nearly get run over by a car, I couldn't help myself. I was shocked when I called him and he actually came to me and covered my hands in kisses, after that I couldn't just put him back down and send him on his way. The next few days were dedicated to finding a shelter for him... which is surprisingly difficult without a place to keep him, a car, a phone, or mastery of the language - and in a country where the government and the culture have very little tolerance for animals. Without a microchip or collar or a place to keep him, I paid to put him in a shelter (one of two in and around Granada); I cried when I left him there - I hope he finds his family or a new home, and I am still in a constant process of replenishing lost dog signs, which unfortunately get religiously torn down by the street sweepers.  

Chocolate y churros; my first encounter at a local favorite, Cafe Futbol. Unlike many people might think, Spanish cuisine is nothing like Mexican, and churros constitute one of few Spanish-Mexican food crossovers. Churros here aren't like your Taco Bell cinnamon twists, either; they are just fried dough, perhaps dusted with granulated sugar, to be dipped in a mild but delicious chocolate sauce.

A parade of grocery trolleys, hitched up at the front of the supermarket. Grocery stores here are generally much smaller and less comprehensive than in the U.S., (with the exception of Cortes Ingles, a department-grocery-everything-store super hybrid much like Walmart). Unlike my mother, who grocery shops for a small army once a month, people here make fewer purchases, more frequently. Oh, and watch out for the milk. If it comes refrigerated (leche fresca), it lasts three days.

Some beautiful graffiti in a hilly, historic neighborhood, the Albaicín. One of the first things we were taught when we came to Granada? Don't go into the Albaicín at night, because it is difficult to navigate through a labyrinth in the dark, and because it's a shady side of town. Still, I've learned there is nothing quite like a view of the city after the sun has gone down from the Mirador de San Nicolás (a plaza in the heart of the Albaicín that doubles as a look out point).

My art teacher's flat, an enchanting place full of inspiration - I am absolutely in love. High water stained ceilings, a whiskery old dog, antiquated tile floors, enormous windows, an impressive selection of knickknacks and well worn art supplies, and of course his beautiful artwork. I go once a week for two hour drawing lessons. My art teacher is an independent artist from Japan, but he's lived here for 15 years. He is not only very patient with my terrible Spanish and my even more miserable drawing skills, but he kindly nurtures my eccentricities. The night I found the puppy, I called Yoshio and begged him to take the dog until I could take him to a veterinarian after my classes the next day. Then he lets me take pictures of his apartment and introduces me to a girl my age, who is learning English and interested in a language exchange. What a great guy. 

The two pieces in the lower right hand corner are works in progress by other students (wow, I feel incompetent), but everything else is his. My absolute favorite is the portrait of the woman in the upper right hand corner.

 

A charcoal drawing, and some prints of old paintings (discovered in the trash, if I understood correctly).

I tried to explain to him that his apartment is like something out of a Woody Allen movie, but I'm not sure that he understands how completely infatuated I am with his lifestyle.

Sevilla, Not Seville

        The semester before I left for Spain, I sought out and grilled a ton of study abroad alumni about their experiences. I distinctly remember this one guy I was introduced to at a party, who had gone to Spain for a month the summer before through a CSU program led by one of my old Spanish professors. I think the reason why I particularly remember this encounter is because, when I asked him how he liked Seville ('suh-vill') he pointedly corrected me in Spanish; Sevilla (Seh-vi-ya). At the time I thought he was just being a total ass hole. 

        Fast forward six months, and I was just now having difficulty remembering the phonetics of its English name. Sevilla, syllables to roll off the tongue, embodies the rare elegance of this city. It is quintessential southern Spain, a lively 2,000 years old, the historic and cultural capital of Andalusia, and the setting of Bizet's Carmen. A few hours from Granada by bus, Sevilla is an absolute dream of cobblestone streets, horse drawn carriages, warm light and women wearing elegant, colorful clothes and horserace hats. A friend of mine who has spent a lot of time traveling in France, says she thinks of it as the Spanish equivalent to Paris.

La Catedral de Santa María de la Sede, or simply la Catedral Sevilla, third largest cathedral and the largest 

Gothic cathedral in the world. ("Let us build a church so beautiful and so great that those who see it built 

will think we were mad.")

Our first night we sat and listened to live flamenco music in this classy little bar (many thanks to Rick Steves). Even more popular than flamenco around here is a simple, beautiful dance called the Sevillana. Spoiler: I've since learned that this is an old Castilian folk dance and didn't originate here as suggested by its name - still, it is tenderly loved in Sevilla). 

A ginormous stained glass window in la Catedral. 

Construction on the cathedral began in 1402 and was completed in 1506.

Religious art out your ears, and of course, 150 grams of Christopher Columbus' body, 

are housed here in this converted mosque. The original structure was the Almohad Mosque,  (1198) 

but after the Reconquista in 1248 and a bad earthquake that damaged the temple in 1356, 

the mosque was almost entirely rebuilt as a Christian cathedral. 

View of the Sacristía Mayor dome from la Giralda; a minaret (tower leftover from the Muslim mosque), 

now capped with a Roman Catholic bell tower. Many thanks to my highly entertaining Historia del Arte professor, who makes information like this memorable.

Horse and carts, cobblestone streets and labyrinths of antiquated architecture

 contribute to the general ambiance of this city.

The famous Esperanza Macarena de Sevilla, in the Basílica de la Macarena - you can barely see the tears of crystal on her face (and yes, as a matter of fact this neighborhood in Sevilla is where the Macarena song comes from).

Outside the Real Alcázar de Sevilla (Alcázar of Seville), a royal palace that was originally a Moorish fort.

Beneath Real Alcázar, the Chamber of Secrets - or los Baños de Doña María de Padilla (Baths of Lady María de Padilla), rainwater tanks named after María de Padilla, who poured boiling oil on her face to disfigure herself, became a nun and moved into a convent, all to dodge the advances of Peter the Cruel, king of Castile and León between 1350 and 1369.

Plaza de España in the evening ....you can also get a pretty good look at this 

Sevillian centerpiece in Star Wars: Episode II, on Naboo.

        My favorite parts of Sevilla; la Parque María Luisa (a sprawling urban oasis that gives City Park in New York a run for its money), trying to dance salsa to flamenco music amongst some very amused locals, and stopping to pet a horse each time I passed through the Plaza Virgen de los Reyes. But the icing on the cake was a panoramic bike tour, right before we left to return to Granada. When we set out for Plaza de España it had just begun to rain. Hard. (First time we'd seen rain in Spain after weeks of being here, and it was right as we were setting out on a parade of bicycles). It was slick and cold and difficult to see, but I was thrilled to be alive and bicycling and out in the rain. Just as we arrived in Plaza de España (abandoned by the usual throng of tourists, who had taken cover), the rain let up and the sun came out, and we took off across the plaza. It was so beautiful; I haven't felt so indescribably, perfectly happy in a long time. I remember thinking at the time - I hope that this is what it is like to die. 

Barcelona: Down the Rabbit Hole

        After five weeks in Spain, I had begun to worry that I was still too reliant upon other people to guide and encourage me in my travels. I had attended well-oiled trips put on by my program; orientation in Madrid, Cabo de Gata, Toledo and Sevilla - all wonderful experiences for which I had to do absolutely nothing but pack some clothes in a bag and climb onto a bus. Ok, so I found a bus and visited Las Alpujarras one weekend. Big whoop. Had I crossed the world just to meekly hide in my bedroom and travel no more? Was I afraid or just lazy?
        Barcelona was such an amazing place; quirky, surprising and unbelievably diverse. Beyond the influence of Gaudí, this city reminds me of a metropolitan wonder land unlike anything Lewis Carroll could have cooked up. However, I need to be fair and credit some of my favoritism for Barcelona towards the trip itself. Barcelona was a landmark; the first place I’ve ever travelled outside of the country entirely on the tide of my own thirst for adventure. I recruited a couple of friends, researched the hostel, booked the flight, figured out all transportation, read a guidebook, picked up a map and took the city by storm. 
         While I wasn't alone - I had a pair of wonderful travel companions - I'm proud to say that this trip was my baby, and I planned and navigated almost exclusively. I guess you could say that I feel like I proved myself to myself in Barcelona. During our overnight stay in the Malaga airport, waiting for our early flight, I hunkered down in a cafe booth with a cup of coffee and Lonely Planet, and wrote down my own personal, day-by-day itinerary (sounds compulsive because it is, but the payoff? I felt like I did and saw all of the best of Barcelona by the time we left). I, someone with no natural sense of direction, wielded our tourist city map like a wizard, and when we had to plan our way back to the airport for 4 o clock in the morning (oh those cheap, painfully early morning flights), I called and booked the taxi, in Spanish. Besides a little difficulty finding the underground hearse museum, deciphering between Catalan (a hybridization of Spanish and French spoken in that region of Spain - weird), and sleeping in a dorm style hostel room with some very rude French students, I breathed a sigh of relief when we arrived back in Granada... my independent travel had gone off without a hitch. Barcelona made me feel young and alive and dauntless. I have the desire to experience the world - all I need to do is trust that I can fend for myself in the great blue world.

Mercat de Plaça de Catalunya

Strolling down Las Ramblas, stopping to smell the tiny flowers.

Chocolate champiñones, part of a mind boggling selection of sweets in Mercat.

We met Aslan and some of his brothers in Plaça Carbonera (and of course we each
had to take a picture riding a lion).

Port Vell at night; this boat is a part of the maritime museum collection -
we got to climb on board and explore.

Inside a beautiful little church that we happened to stumble upon, the Capella de Sant Cristófol.

Beneath the city, in the underground exposition of Museu d' História de la Ciutat;
the exposed ancient Roman ruins of Augusta Barcino.

Directly above the Roman ruins, another layer of Catalan history; la Capella Reial de Santa Agata.

The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia, completed in 1450.

Sepulcher of the Count of Barcelona, Ramon Berenguer I, 

founder of the second Romanesque Cathedral (1058).

In the courtyard of the Barcelona Cathedral.
(There were also white geese in a little fenced in area, that was kind of random.)

Eglésia de Santa Maria del Mar, built between 1329 and 1383 and situated in the swanky 

La Ribera neighborhood (I just never get tired of Gothic cathedrals).

The crypt in Santa Maria del Mar was supposed to be closed, but I managed to pull the door open and went down anyway - turns out some guys about my age were using it to change before a
ceremony about to start in the chapel. Whoops. I asked them if they minded and they just
seemed to think it was funny. Anyway, I was very pleased with these photographs.

Looking out over the city from the entrance of Park Güell.

Whimsical designs by Gaudí in Park Güell.

Just outside the Museu Nacional D'Art de Catalunya - many tourists mistakenly go to the Museu Picasso because of the headliner name, but this is the collection to see in Barcelona.

Pieces seen while wandering through the Gothic, Renaissance and Baroque halls. Much of this collection was rescued from old churches before their destruction, and the stark contrast between these well aged religious works and the modernity of the museum's clean, white, modern walls is thrilling. 

My favorite piece in the museum: Sacrifici d'Isaac by Giambattista Piazzetta (1714).

Upstairs in the modern art wing: Nen malalt (Octavi, fill de l'artista) by Ricard Canals (1903).

A pensive man in the Jardins Joan Macagall in Montejuïc, overlooking Barcelona.

Gaudí's Casa Batlló - we didn't go inside because it was 13 euro for student and we were all pretty broke at that point, but apparently the interior structure and embellishment is even more impressive.

In Casa Amatller (also along the famous Manzana de la Discordia on Passeig de Grácia) 

this one by another Modernist architect, Puig i Cadafalch, completed in 1900. 

Of course, what we've all been waiting for, the jewel of the Catalan Modernista movement; Antoni Gaudí's  la Sagrada Família (Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família, or the Basilica and Expiatory Church of the Holy Family). Begun in 1882, it is expected to reach completion in 2025. This was taken from the angle of the Nativity Façade.

Gaudí's Sagrada Família demonstrates both his mathematic genius, with geometric elements to the design,  and his appreciation of nature, with columns and natural light that uncannily resemble a forest.

Inside la Sagrada Família: a church truly unlike any you've ever seen.

In the center of the church, a view of the ceiling and the four evangelists;

 Juan (eagle), Mateo (angel), Marco (lion),  Luca (bull). 

On the door of the Passion Façade and the main entrance, Latin for 'what is truth?' 

The austere, almost skeletal Passion Façade over the main entrance.

Museu de Carrosses Fúnebres: translation, our own personal basement hearse museum, 

a deliciously eccentric, macabre collection of hearses dating from the 18th century.