Cuevas, Flamenco, and Celebrities--Oh my!

Hola a todos! I hope everyone has had a wonderful weekend—I certainly did! I have been so busy that I haven’t had any time to blog until now, on Sunday, and oh man, I have a lot I want to share!

First of all, something I’ve been noticing around the city that I keep meaning to mention is all the construction. A subway/metro is being built (not sure why, because Granada doesn’t really seem to need a metro to me, but what do I know), so one street over from my house is closed to traffic and literally being dug up, hollowed out, and repaved. At first, I was just excited to have a reminder of home and Cruncher right out my back door, but then I started noticing little things that disturbed me. For example, one day a welder was onsite welding something, and there was a guy standing not three feet away watching the welder—and not wearing safety glasses or any type of eye protection. I was like, dude, there’s a reason welders wear those full-face mask things. Also, I often see workers wandering the jobsites not wearing their hard hat or their high visibility vests. Usually they’ll have it tucked under an arm or something, but sometimes it’s nowhere to be seen. I know I may seem crazy for noticing these sorts of things, but it just struck me that the level of safety awareness or protocol here seems to be drastically different from what I’m used to hearing about and seeing back home. It makes you think—who’s missing the boat here? Are we (Americans) way too precautionary, or are they (in this case, Spaniards) not being careful enough? I feel like perhaps there’s a little of both going on, and also that the issue is never quite that simple. Just food for thought.

Ok, so, back to my awesome weekend. On Thursday night I went out for 1 euro margaritas with a few of my new friends, and that was really fun bonding time, although we didn’t stay out very late at all. Then, on Friday, we had an excursion through our program to go see the cuevas of Sacramonte—the old caves that people (mostly gypsies) created and lived in just outside of where the old city limits were back in the 15th century and up until modern day. Yup, some people still live in these caves in the hillside, although of course not the ones we went wandering through. It was really fascinating to explore these little manmade caves and see some of the furniture and objects they survived with only half a century ago—it reminded me in some ways of seeing staged pioneer houses, with the children’s toys and the washboards and things like that. Like I said, it was fascinating from a cultural and anthropological perspective, but also very humbling on a personal level. I am so very lucky to have been born in a culture and an era in which I have the things and the opportunities that I have. Sometimes I joke around and say that if I’d been born even just a hundred years earlier or in a different country, I may have already died because of my delicate health and temperament, but sometimes I think I may actually be right about that.

The sun was setting as we were walking back from Sacramonte, and the view of the Alhambra and Generalife was absolutely breathtaking. The white walls of Generalife glowing orange, the Alhambra in red, the dramatic shadows, and the clouds creating a dynamic layered background of fluffy pinky white. I tried to take pictures, but how can you really capture that in a picture? You can’t.

I finally got to have coffee with my friend Vicki—with whom I taught a fourth grade Spanish class last year for Core III, and who is also the girl who lived next to me in the Spanish hall last year—and it was so wonderful to see a familiar and friendly face, to chat with someone who already knows me and doesn’t need context to have a conversation that goes beyond “Can you believe all this rain?” and “How are your classes?” I’d really like to make a habit of seeing her a few times a week for coffee or tapas, although our busy schedules will, I am sure, get in the way. Still, it was so refreshing to hang out with her, and I’m looking forward to seeing her again.

Friday night, a group of my new friends and I went out in search of a good tapas bar, and ended up finding a bar at the end of Calle Elvira that had live Flamenco music!! It was so wonderful. I had a glass of Rioja (my new drink of choice) and my little tapa and really enjoyed the experience of being part of a Flamenco performance. The group was made up on a guitarist, a percussionist, and a… clapper? A guy who sat there and clapped. Both the clapper and the guitarist sang, and actually, there was a Spanish girl and her boyfriend right behind me that knew many of the songs and sang along as well! I was surprised to find that I, too, knew a few of the songs they sang—one was a song I have by the Gypsy Kings and another was one that Concha gave me, although I can’t remember who sings it in the recording I have. I really loved the husky voices and the wild guitar, and I was tapping my feet and bopping around as much as I could in the smoky bar packed full of people. It was such a cool way to spend an evening.

On Saturday morning, Concha took me to a museum; she is a supporter of the local orchestra, and occasionally the Friends of the Orchestra group organizes cultural visits or events, so we got in at a reduced price and had a guided tour. The museum was really wonderful; it had a lot of newfangled interactive exhibits as well as the more classic displays of antique dental equipment/toys/a saddle/guitars, etc. There were also panels and drawers you can lift up or pull out to read about certain aspects of Andalucían culture or see and touch different types of materials, trees, fruits, etc. All in all, it was a really awesome museum, and I would love to go back with more time at some point.

The entire time, the tour guide was kind of hurrying us along through the museum. She did a great job of helping us see everything, but we kept asking each other, what’s the rush? What’s up? Also, there was a lot of security outside of the museum, and Concha wasn’t sure why. At the end of the tour, the guide told us, “I’m sorry to have rushed you a bit today, but we have a special visitor arriving soon, and we need to have the museum clear of the public before he gets here.” We all asked, who is it? The mayor? Some local politician? Who? And she said, “No, actually, it’s Antonio Banderas.” OH MY GOD, Concha and I were like, ok, we have to wait and see him. We waited outside in the sunshine (yayyy, it was finally sunny yesterday, but freezing, too!) and in a few minutes there was a hubbub, and sure enough, here comes Antonio Banderas!!! He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and he’s grown this annoying salt-and-peppery beard which makes him look old, but STILL, he was all curly hair and smouldery eyes and guapísimo. And Concha, being the awesome person she is, says to him as he’s passing within TWO FEET OF US, “Hey, pick your head up so we can see your pretty face better, guapo!” And as anyone should react to a tiny and adorable little spitfire such as Concha, he smiled, looked at us and said, “Hola; gracias.” OH MY GOD, GUYS, ANTONIO BANDERAS LOOKED AT ME AND SMILED. I feel like my life is complete! Haha, just kidding, but STILL.

Ok, so then we were walking away to go home, and this whole tour bus of people is following Antonio into the museum—it was the team that worked on the Spanish short film that A.B. produced called “La Dama y La Muerte,” which just won a Goya (Spanish Oscar, for context) and is nominated for an Oscar for Short Animated Film. Look it up on Youtube, it’s fantastic (and not in Spanish, don’t worry). Anyways, the director, writer, and the guy who came up with the concept and orchestrated the whole film is Javier Recio Gracia, and he is probably in his mid to late 20s, very attractive, and probably the nicest young man I’ve ever met. YES, MET. I HELD HIS GOYA. THAT’S LIKE HOLDING AN OSCAR. SORT OF. And he stopped and chatted with me and Concha and a few of Concha’s friends, and let us take a picture with him, and did the kisses on the cheek thing when we left!!! He was soooo sweet, and sooooo attractive, and just very enthusiastic about his art. He won an award for his first film I think last year or a few years ago, and won the Goya for La Dama y La Muerte this year, and is maybe going to win an Oscar!! I was out of my mind gaga over this guy. IT WAS SO COOL!!! (About two hours later it struck me that I should have given him my phone number and I started kicking myself over that, but then I realized that it would have been really random and awkward… but still!!! On the off chance that he would have called me and we could have had a drink and talked about art and creativity and HOW COOL HE IS, I still should have forced myself on him—or, I mean, my number… yeah…)

So, after having met Antonio Banderas and Javier, Concha was like, “We can’t just go home. Let’s go have a beer.” Haha! So she bought be a beer at this little bar and we got these delicious tapas and just kind of let it sink in. Wow! It was a morning I will never forget.

I know everything else will seem really boring and normal after that story, so I’m just going to leave you with the images of Goyas and celebrities floating through your heads.

OH one last thing, I finally bought myself a new pair of boots to replace the France boots, which are dying—they’re literally starting to come off of the soles in places, which makes them a lot less waterproof. :P

Alright, I love you all!! I hope all is well in your lives.

Pura Vida,
Kelsey

PS. I SAW MYSELF ON TV!!!! Yes, that´s right, I was on Spanish television grinning like the star-struck fool I was as Antonio Banderas walked by!!! IT WAS AWESOME! Concha said it's just the beginning of my life in the limelight :P I love that woman.

A Note of Gratitude

I am so grateful for my wonderful friends—for Kat and April and Rowan and Lydia and Nora and Concha and Zach and Matt and my big brudder and my mama and my daddy and for everyone who has been holding me up and enhancing my life with every positive thought they think about me. I swear to you—te lo juro—that you guys must be sending me some pretty freaking positive juju, because my life has been a series of amazing moments, awe-inspiring moments, and moments of intense connection with the world around me recently. I know it cannot always be wonderful, but I am starting to adhere to the theory that our moments (or day, months, or years, as the case may be) of darkness help us to appreciate the light and the goodness of life when it is good.

GUYS. I am HAPPY. HAPPY. Daily, weekly, from moment to moment, I’m happy. It’s something I didn’t expect to find here, and it really snuck up on me, but here I am, living in a new, strange city and culture and speaking a foreign language and making new friends and I’m HAPPY. Laughter comes easily all of a sudden, and I think I’m smiling more than I have in… too long. France was an amazing experience as well, but I wasn’t happy there like I am here. I was GLAD to be there, but I am happy here, and just happy with life in general here, and God, Universe, Love, whatever might be out there that is bigger than my small self, thank you. Whether or not you had anything to do with me coming here to find my happiness, thank you for my existence, for the opportunity to prove to myself that I am stronger than my circumstances, that I am bigger than bitterness, that I am smarter than stagnation, and that I am braver than I ever thought possible.

Thank you, everyone who loves me and thinks of me kindly and fondly from time to time. You are the hands that propel me upwards and pushed me out that door and onto that airplane—metaphorical and physical—that whisked me away from emotional death to the baby phoenix of new beginnings and new opportunities. My behbeh phoenix is growing healthy and strong and trying out its drying wings. Off we go together into this sweet, small world! Thank you for blowing away the ashes that stifled us.

I love you.

Kelsey


PS. I will blog about this WONDERFUL WEEKEND tomorrow. Stay tuned. It's been exciting. :)

One Month in Granada!

Oof, what a busy week! Wednesday, the 17th, marked one month of me living with Concha, and we celebrated by having wine with lunch and then watching an old Fred Astaire movie on TV that evening—of course, accompanied by wine and chocolate. ;) I also got a wonderful surprise in the mail!!! A Valentine’s day package from my big brudder with chocolates and a sweet card and a movie and a wonderful, soft, pink teddy bear I am naming Rosita—basically “Pinky” in Spanish. It’s nice to have something soft and lovely to snuggle at night. Between Concha and Heashen, I had a pretty fantastic day. :)

Also, my friends and I bought super wonderfully cheap plane tickets to go to Barcelona for a long weekend in April! I am realllly excited; I think it’s going to be fantastic. I can’t wait to start exploring Spain more in earnest—Madrid, Sevilla, Toledo, and Barcelona for sure, and probably Bilbao and Córdoba and Valencia and god knows where else! Spain is such a fascinating and beautiful and historical place, and it’s very different from anywhere else I’ve ever lived or traveled to. I feel so very lucky to be here.

I noticed something about my Flamenco music teacher yesterday as well—the really cute little old man I want to put in my pocket and take home, remember? He has beautiful long fingernails on his right hand, and short fingernails on his left hand. Which means, I believe, that he plays the guitar! You see, I remember from playing the violin that in order to play notes precisely it is important to have relatively short fingernails on your left hand, which holds the strings down. I assume it’s similar with guitar. And I bet you he uses his longer fingernails on his right hand as picks to pluck the strings! Ok, so I might be really wrong, because I don’t play the guitar, but this is my hypothesis, and I’m just super proud of myself for making such a cool observation!

I’ve also been noticing that I seem to have a penchant for depressing music. Haha! It doesn’t bother me, I just think it’s interesting that when I have the choice between happy and sad songs, I usually prefer the sad ones. I don’t think it’s because I’m sad, because I certainly feel quite happy here in Granada—which was, and continues to be, a really pleasant surprise.

Oh my, I am just so tired today! I think it must be because I just finished classes for the week and I still have to go back to school to buy plane tickets to France, and I haven’t really decided on which I want to buy yet. That sort of stress is very exhausting to me. But it’s so worth it—my plan is to fly to Paris to visit Kristin (with Elisa) and take a train to visit Nora in Nantes over spring break. How exciting! But the details always stress me out—hostels and trains and planes and buses, and what all do I need to arrange in advance?! Oh boy. Ok, well, off I go. I send my love, please forgive me if it feels a little lethargic today. ;)

Pura Vida,
Kelsey

PS. It is raining almost constantly. I'm trying to perfect my sunshine dance so that I don't have to buy any damned umbrellas...

Meet my future husband

Written February 16, 2010

I’m listening to wonderful jazz and finally snuggled up on my bed after a long, but productive, day. Tuesdays, a woman comes early in the morning to clean the bathroom and a bit more of the house, because Concha has problems with her back and it isn’t good for her to do too much serious housework—like washing the floor on her knees or something. I always kind of wake up when I hear her working in the bathroom, which is next to my room, and then go back to sleep for another hour or so before I get up for breakfast. I don’t have to be at school until 11:30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I like to get there about 15 minutes early to check my email and say hi to my friends before classes start. I had a great lecture and then a great discussion class this morning, and homework is starting to roll in. All doable, but I was so enjoying such a long vacation! :P Lunch was fantastic today, really scrumptious. We had a fish soup thing—more squidlies, but I’m getting used to eating them now, and have actually started thinking of my stomach as a fishbowl where all the little fishes and squid-ums can have a lovely little party. If anyone had any doubts that I am absolutely bonkers, I think I just did away with them. ;) ;) Anyways, along with the fish soup we had this delicious salad that reminded me very much of ceviche—clams, onions, tomatoes, lemon juice, YUM. And, of course, a hunk of bread and a wonderful Spanish orange—the oranges here are AMAZING.

After lunch, I went back to school to work out some travel details, and I think I have some exciting trip plans for March and April! Mid-march we have a week off—semana santa, the holy week before easter—and I’ll be heading to France to visit Kristin and Nora and meet up with Elisa! I am very excited. I’ll get to see Paris and Nantes and three of my favorite ladies in the world. :) Now, I just need to book flights and start looking into trains and places to stay. Then, mid-April, I’m going to go to Barcelona with a group of my new friends here! The plane tickets are shockingly cheap, and I am SO EXCITED to spend an extended weekend in this wonderful city. Yay!

Tonight I had the first classes of my Phonetics and Granada Seminar courses with José—the guy who also teaches Tutorías—and OH MY GOD, I am going to marry this man. He. Is. HILARIOUS. I will give you examples (because I’m nice like that):

1. At the beginning of Phonetics, he bumped the cord for the screen that all classrooms have that you can project things on—you know those that are annoying and never stay down when you pull them down? Anyways, so it starts swinging and clicking on the white board like a grandfather clock—tick, tock, tick, tock. And his eyes get huge and he turns and slams his hand onto it and says, in English, “I can’t stand it, it’s like a torture!” It was the cutest thing ever. Then, he put the cord up on top of the white board and it falls down, so he puts it up again and steps back and stares at it for a good thirty seconds. Then, turns to us and in total sincerity says, “I am scared!” I love this crazy v-neck-sweater-wearing Spaniard.

2. He was explaining how different phonemes are formed in the mouth, such as “Guh-guh—like in goose… kuh, kuh—conquer.” When we got to f, he said, “Fff, ff—fugly.” We were all so surprised that there was a pause, and then the whole class burst into laughter. I’m telling you, LOVE HIM.

3. While explaining the different sorts of phonemes we have in American English but aren’t in British English, he used the example of the ‘r.’ I don’t know why, but I just about died from too much funniness when he was saying, “Caaw, caaw, CAR. CAR. Caaaw, CAR.”

4. He speaks English very well, but still has a very Spanish accent and uses this one phrase all the time that just sends us into a tizzy of giggles: “It’s ok?” I don’t know why, just the way he says it is fantastic.

5. At one point while talking about gypsies, I think, he threw out an amazing X-Files reference that just about sent me over the edge. He said, “No one really knows where this custom came from, but it’s like Mulder and Scully, you know? The truth is out there.” This was the moment in which I knew I must marry him. Screw the thirty year age gap and the fact that he may very well be gay; it’s gonna happen.

Another really funny moment from the phonetics class was when he was having us practice our Spanish rolled ‘r’s, and everyone was going, “rrrRRRRrrrr… rrrRRR? RRRRR!!” And I turned to the girl next to me and I was like, “I feel like we’re all hitting on each other; it’s great!” It really was great.

Tonight, Concha fixed me a special dinner. Usually I just have a sandwich and a yogurt, but tonight I had a lovely roasted garlic and leek soup with apple cider vinager sprinkled on top, a small green salad and some fried little ham rolls, which are SO YUMMY. It was really to die for. I’ve kind of just had a to-die-for evening, it would seem. :)

Whoof, I bet you can tell how tired I am from my rather lack-luster entry today, but I really wanted to share about José anyways. I miss you guys a lot; I wish you were here so I could tell these stories over a coffee or tapas instead of over the internet. I’ve been trying to write postcards and letters whenever I have free time, too, because I know getting something personal in the mail is so much better than a blog or even an email. I hope you know how much I love you and can’t wait to see you again!

Pura vida, y que tenga un buen día!

Kelsey

Fish-capades,"to shit a brick," and puppies: just your average day in Granada

Written February 15, 2010

Hola hola coca cola! Haha, oh man, I crack myself up. That was what my high school Spanish teacher said every day to start class, I think. Señora Waldron, you would be so proud of me now! :P Anyways, on to more important things. Today I think I’ll write about the food here, and my classes. Trust me, you want to read this, unless of course your name is Melissa and you can’t stand fish. In which case, maybe skip this one, honey.

The food here is MAGNIFICENT. You know how they say the Mediterranean diet is the healthiest in the world? Ok, so they might mean in Greece or Italy or something, but I’m really praying they mean Spain, because I eat SO MUCH here, and I want to believe it’s good for me. No, guys, you don’t understand, I eat like a horse. Or maybe two horses. I don’t understand where the food goes; every lunchtime I look at the food Concha gives me and I’m like, “No way. No way that all of that is fitting into my stomach.” But GUYS—I’ve started finishing my portions. It’s LOCO. For the first time in my life, I am actually worried about putting on weight. I’m serious. I am praying to the gods of metabolism to help me out here.

Here’s a typical day of eating for me: Breakfast at 9 am, two pieces of toast, a croissant filled with chocolate, a small muffin, café con leche; Lunch at 2:30 or 3 pm, a large green salad with olives and tuna and corn, a large meat soup OR several rather large pieces of fish OR a plateful of paella OR something similar, half a baguette, and a piece of fruit; dinner at 9:30 pm, a ham and cheese sandwich, toasted to deliciousness, and a yogurt or pudding. SO MUCH FOOD. I swear to god I must eat several loaves of bread a week. But guys, the food in delicious. Really amazing. Concha says she’s not the best cook, but I have to disagree; she has yet to make me something I genuinely don’t like. Sometimes I get kind of sick of all the fish, but I’m all about complete cultural adaptation—I’m kind of hardcore, just sayin’—so I just smile and swallow.

Which reminds me to tell two food stories. The first week I was here, she made me a fish soup, which was mostly pretty yummy—potatoes and carrots and broth and what looked like scallops and clams… and then this other fish. It took me a minute to figure out what it was, but then I lifted a tentacle out of the soup. Ah. Calamari. Squid. Hahaha. I looked at Concha eating away and I thought to myself, “As weird as the texture or flavor may be, you can’t offend this lovely woman, who probably is pulling out all the stops for you during your first week here. I bet this is a delicacy. And hey, I’ve swallowed a lot more disgusting things in my life (cow udder? yech). Bottoms up!” And I ate every bite of that soup. It was kind of hard to chew some of the really intact tentacles just because I felt like I, personally, was killing the poor little Squidums, but you know what, that was one good soup.

The second story comes from today, actually. Concha was going to try to surprise me by making me pescado frito—fried fish, a local specialty. But she couldn’t get the frier to work exactly right, and it kind of just turned into grilled fish, which was, again, mostly wonderful! We had this cod-like white fish which was SO YUMMY, and then this chewy ring things—maybe more squid? Or octopus? Or something… I know it was a sea-life thing. And then, the coup de grace: little tiny fishies, eyes and bones and stomachs and everything still intact. I was like, oh hot damn, I don’t know if I can do this one. I watched to see how she ate them, and she just stuck three or four on her fork and popped ‘em into her mouth. Egad. So I copied her, and oh man, I am not really a picky eater, and fish usually goes down fine for me, but these little fishies tasted a little bit too much like little fishies, if you know what I mean. But you know what, I knew she’d tried so hard to make me a nice surprise and it hadn’t turned out how she wanted, and god help me, I was not going to make her feel any worse. So, I just paired the fish-ums with bread or pieces of the roasted pepper salad (DELICIOUS) or other fish bits, and I gobbled them down. Smiling the whole time. And as soon as I finished lunch, I brushed my teeth really well and ate three cookies that my momma back home sent me. SUCCESS.

So, yes, most of the food I eat here is TO DIE FOR yummy, but sometimes I get an odd little fishy and have to kind of grit my teeth to dig into it. Honestly, it is so worth it to me to make Concha feel good, and also because I convince myself that these odd fish bits must be really good for my health, right? Right.

On to the next subject! Which is classes! I am actually really excited about my classes this semester for two reasons: first of all, they seem really interesting and all my teachers seem great; secondly, because they seem a lot easier than what I’m used to. Hallelujah! A vacation after the nose-to-the-grindstone which was la France!!

My first class of the day today was Spanish Culture and Civilization, and it looks like it’s going to be a lecture-and-notes class, but the teacher is really engaging and asks questions for us to respond to, so I don’t think I’ll fall asleep or anything silly like that. Today we went over the history of Spain from prehistoric times until the Spanish Civil War—wow! It was a great overview, and got me really excited to see what we study in this class.

My second class was Translation, and I have to be honest—it will not be NEARLY as cool and inspiring as my Translation class with Francesca last semester. I was literally sitting in class thinking, “I miss Francesca! And translating in class! And Sylvia Plath and Henry James and Toni Morrison!” But you know what, it’ll be a really good, practical class for me to take if I ever need to get work translating for the tourism industry or a school or other academic institution, because those are the focuses of the class, along with translation technique. I’m hoping it’ll be a nice complement to what I learned last semester, and the teacher is, once again, a pretty cool guy, although, sadly, not Francesca. :(

My third class of the day was Tutorías, which I’ll only have once a week, and I really didn’t know what to expect from it. It’s a class of only four students and the teacher, and it’s supposed to supplement our Spanish learning with grammar and that sort of thing. The teacher is named José, and he is a kick in the pants. What a card. He cracks me up. His favorite word in English is “ass,” which he pronounces with a hilarious Chicago accent; his favorite phrase is “shit a brick,” because he says there’s nothing so expressive in Spanish. He says his life changed the day he learned that expression; there is a before and an after the “shit a brick” phrase came into his life, and he tries to use it every day now. He is also in love/obsessed with Diana Ross, and has pictures of her plastered all over his office, where we have class. He says his only hobby is: doing nothing. Haha! And he pronounces “hobby” the Spanish way, with a very guttural ‘h.’ And demands that we do the same. I might be in love with this man. Hahaha, what a character. Anyways, we’re actually going to be studying/learning street Spanish and Spanish slang in that class because we don’t really need to study grammar anymore (or at least he thinks we don’t).

My last Monday class is Flamenco and Traditional Music of Spain. The first day of class, this little, skinny, balding old man walked into the room, and I was like, oh boy, maybe this wasn’t the best class choice. However, as soon as he put on some Flamenco music and started stomping and banging on the desk like a wild man, I realized I’d made a very good choice. He is the most adorable old man ever; I want to put him in my pocket and take him home with me, you know? And he is SO passionate about music, and in particular Flamenco. Flamenco is so much more than just one tune or even one style of song, and it’s much more than just the dance or just the music or just the singing; it’s a whole culture, and there are so many subcultures and categories and important aspects of it. I am so excited about learning about it all and coming home an expert in this beautiful music!!

So those are my Monday/Wednesday classes and teachers in a nutshell. Tomorrow (today by the time I post this), I have Comparative Study of Literature and the Visual Arts with a really enthusiastic and amiable teacher, as well as Written and Oral Expression, which is a required class that I wasn’t excited about it at first, but I love the teacher and I think it’ll be good for my Spanish, so I’m happy with it after all. Yay!

I wanted to mention one more thing before I sign off and go to bed: today, I was feeling kind of delicate emotionally, kind of down. It was one of THOSE days. Today, I saw five different puppies on my walks to school and back. How can you not be cheered up by bouncy, wobbly-on-their-feet, excited-about-life, floppy-eared, big-pawed, puppy-dog-eyed little woggies that almost fall over when they shake? and run up to sniff at your ankles and smile their puppy dog tongue-y smiles at you? And FIVE of them in one day? Ok, universe, I get it, chin up. Thank you again. I love you, too.

Pura vida (evidentemente),

Kelsey

Feliz día de San Valentín!

What a lovely weekend in. I considered going out each of the nights this weekend, but each night I had a really strong sense that I really just ought to stay in and let my body heal a little more from its violent revolt last week. It’s hard to believe that only a week ago I was lying sick as a dog on a hostel bed in Italy, not even sure how I was going to get on the plane the next day. I promised myself I would take it easy this weekend, and I am really grateful I actually followed up on that promise. There are many more weekends to go out and cause trouble; this rainy, cold weekend was a good one to spend inside, bonding with Concha and letting my stomach heal. Even just last night it was feeling a little punky, so I think tea and cookies were a better plan than beer and tapas. Just maybe. :P

Saturday afternoon, Concha and I looked through all my pictures of Morocco and Venice, and then she asked to see pictures from home, so I showed her a lot of pictures from the last few years, either at home or at Scripps. It made me miss you guys a lot. She loved the Melissa/Alayna/Kate/Kelsey pictures from the end of Freshman year—remember those? And she also loved the ones that Matt took of me and of Bellingham this past summer. And she commented on how much Heath looks like Mom, and Mom looks like me, and I look like Dad, haha. And we both commented on how beautiful I look with my natural haircolor, actually. She said, “I like you as a redhead, and I really like you as a brunette, but I think my favorite is when your hair is this nice honey color, how did you do that?” Haha! I was struck by how much I like the way I look with my natural, weird, indefinable hair color as well. I’ve been having a lot of fun playing with colors and stuff, but I think maybe I’ll want to graduate college looking as naturally ME as possible. So maybe this summer we’ll start the transition back to that. We’ll see. You know me; I change my mind at the drop of a hat when it comes to things like this. :P

Oh my, will you look at that. It’s Valentine’s Day. I hope you all have had or are having a wonderful Valentine’s Day. I feel like I should do something to at least recognize the day as it passes. I remember what an absolutely wonderful day it was for me last year. Oh, you know what? Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll make a playlist of songs I’ve been listening to a lot lately so that, if you want, you can go listen to them and feel closer to me, knowing we’re listening to the same music even though we’re thousands of miles apart. Goofy, but I like it. Ok, here goes.
1. Hush Now – Catherine Feeny
2. Why Do You Let Me Stay Here? – She & Him
3. All I Do is Dream of You – Michael Bublé (I definitely dance around my room to this)
4. Rain – Bishop Allen (Every time I get caught outside in the rain, this pops into my head)
5. I’ll Be Seeing You – Billie Holiday
6. Where does the good go? – Tegan and Sara
7. At Least that’s What You Said – Wilco
8. Runaway Train – Soul Asylum
9. For Me, It’s You – Train
10. I Still Don’t Believe You – Catherine Feeny
11. Everything Will Be Alright – The Killers
12. Show Me the Reason – The Cash Brothers
13. Midnight Coward – Stars
14. Portions for Foxes – Rilo Kiley
15. Weakest Shade of Blue – The Pernice Brothers
16. Barcelona – Rufus Wainwright
17. Singing in the Rain – Jaime Cullum (I love this version of this song)
18. I Can’t Stay – The Killers
19. Undecided – The Magic Numbers
20. Perfectly Lonely – John Mayer
21. No Sé Por Qué – Chayanne (Memories from Costa Rica…)
22. Come Downstairs and Say Hello – Guster
23. Quiero Saber – Gypsy Kings
24. War of My Life – John Mayer
25. Volver – Estrella Morente

Ok, so, in looking at this list from an objective perspective, I look like I’m really depressed and heartsick. Hahaha! Don’t worry, I’m not, I just like these songs. And I’ve been having fun looking through my music to find stuff that I haven’t listened to in a long time which I really loved at one point in my life. Also, for some reason, I find that listening to sad music makes me happier sometimes.

I swear to god, you guys, I just really love these songs!

Speaking of music, Concha has a huge library of Jazz and classical and pop music, and she’s letting me put it ALL on my computer. Yay! Homework looks like a lot more fun when I have tons of new, good music to accompany it.

So, uh, happy Valentine’s Day! :P I love you all very much—will you be my Valentines? ;)

Pura vida y mucho amor,

Kelsey

PS. If you want to break your own heart, or someone else’s, for that matter, I recommend the song “Ne Me Quitte Pas”—there are many versions out there, just youtube it. Concha’s favorite version is by Nina Simone. I can’t decide which my favorite is. Just thought I’d share, in honor of V-Day. ;)

Encounter with an Umbrella

Written February 13, 2010

I just got back from a wander through Granada in the rain in search of a dictionary, and I have a cute little story to share. When I left home this morning, it was a little chilly but dry. I had a great time poking around in bookshops, and eventually found the dictionary I was looking for, so I bought it and stepped outside to head home—and into the middle of a serious downpour. I wouldn’t have minded so much except for the fact that I had a brand new dictionary to keep dry, but after I figured out how to wrap it in a plastic bag so it wouldn’t get wet, I was able to enjoy the rain for the most part. However, at one point I got to a corner of a relatively busy street where I had to stand and wait for the walk signal to turn green (I wasn’t about to run out into fast-moving traffic, sorry), and that’s when it stopped being too much fun. Walking in the rain is great. Standing in the rain on the corner of a busy street is not so great.

I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye, and noticed the guy a few feet away from me (also waiting for the walk sign) trying to make eye contact. He must have been about mid-twenties, normal-looking, tall, with a big black umbrella. When I looked at him he smiled and stepped next to me so that I was also under his umbrella. I was more surprised than anything, so I just smiled, said “Gracias,” and then kind of went back to looking at the opposite side of the street, clutching my dictionary to my chest. We stood there for probably a good two or three whole minutes before the sign turned green, and then he walked across the street with me before saying “Hasta luego” and heading off on his own.

I just wanted to say thank you, nice young man, for being both respectful and courteous and giving a bedraggled gal a few minutes respite from the rain. I’ve had young men stop me in the streets here before, but only ever to hit on me, and no one has ever offered to let me stand under their umbrella while waiting on rainy street corners before, and let me tell you, I’ve stood umbrella-less on more than a few rainy street corners in my life.

I guess the world isn’t such an awful place after all, is it?

Pura Vida,

Kelsey

A Night in with my Spanish Mama

Originally written February 12, 2010

I have to rave about Concha again, I’m sorry; I bet you guys are tired of hearing how in love with my host mama I am.

First of all, this morning I hung out at home writing and studying and just generally chilling, and Concha kept popping into my room with travel recommendations for the semester and exciting ideas of things for me to do. She offered to dress me up “de gitana”—in some of her traditional Flamenco or “gypsy” dresses—and take pictures of me one day while I’m here. I’m super excited! She’s also hopefully going to teach me Sevillanas, which is a simple type of Flamenco dance. She did a few steps, and I was like, wow, geez, I didn’t know you were a dancer! But apparently she was a really good Sevillanas dancer when she was younger, so of course she’s still got the moves. I also have started noticing that sometimes she sings in the kitchen or when she’s doing housework, and she has a really good voice! I had no idea I was living with such a talented little lady!!

Ok, and now get this. Tonight, I wasn’t feeling particularly well—I had what felt like the beginnings of a migraine—so I decided to stay in and maybe just cool it on the couch and watch TV for a few hours before going to bed early. I know, sounds like a RIVITING evening, but let me tell you, I had SO much fun with Concha. The Carnaval festivities in Cadiz are televised, or at least the stage performances, and so we settled in with a bottle of Spanish wine and chocolate and candied fruit and marzipan and watched some really spectacular performances. I was so grateful to have her there to explain everything to me, because although my level of Spanish comprehension is pretty good and definitely improving, it was very hard to understand some of the comedy and singing groups. Even Concha missed some of what they said, so that made me feel a little better.

So, for those of you who, like myself, know nothing about what Carnaval in Cadiz is like, I’ll explain what we watched: it seems to be a competition between three different types of comedy groups—those who mainly act, those who mainly sing (and I mean, beautiful, talented singers, operatic, some of them), and then the type in between that sings all their jokes but don’t have the same singing chops and the second group. It began as a competition of groups of only the third type, and then expanded to include groups that were more specialized in singing or in skits. There are winners for best performance, best costumes, and I’m sure other things as well. The costumes are usually over-the-top and very professional—I mean, these aren’t back-alley comedy groups; these guys are so prepared and polished that they freaking shine. Or glitter, as the case may be. The jokes are very pointed—critical of the government, education, the economic crisis, and often the groups themselves—and very, very funny. I got some of the jokes on my own, and the rest Concha helped me understand. Of course, there are a lot of sex jokes and stuff like that, too, because the groups have to satisfy both the judges and the audience, much of which is well on the way to sloshed. The audience participates a LOT, too—people will call out certain things and either the performers or the rest of the audience replies. It was an incredible production, really, and I was impressed by how much everyone seemed to know what was going on and what they’re role was in it. One of the skits was set in the American “West”—cowboy, Indians, sheriff, and even the token drunk Mexican wearing his poncho and sombrero. It was hilarious and biting and I was very impressed.

I feel like I just had a really awesome cultural experience with a really helpful guide. And accompanied by really fantastic Spanish wine—Rioja, I think? Never heard of it; tasted very different than the French reds I’m accustomed to; but I like it a lot. It’s got a lot of body and personality—this wine has an agenda and it’s not afraid to tell you! At first I was put off by the aggresiveness, but after a few sips, I got into conversation with it and started loving it. And a great wine paired with dark chocolate, madre mía, que bueno. Ok, I’m sorry, I’ll stop.

Alright, bedtime! I have a feeling I’ll sleep a lot better tonight than I have been lately; I feel good and warm and loved and like the world is alright, you know? Despite illness or sadness or whatever else may complicate my life, I am ok at a very deep level of my being.

Either that or I just drank a third of a bottle of strong Spanish wine in about an hour.

Pura Vida,

Kelsey

Granada! A quick recap of my first few weeks.

Hello again! I guess it’s probably time for me to talk about Spain a little, huh? Oh boy, where to begin? (By the way, you guys should definitely send me questions or topics you want me to write about so that I don’t run out of fun stuff to say.)

Well, I think it might be best to begin at the beginning and work my way towards now. Getting here to Granada was probably the most difficult—not logistically, but mentally and emotionally. I remember standing in the Dallas airport as my flight was boarding, crying on the phone with my mom and feeling SO tempted not to get on the plane. But, I did get on the plane, and although I cried quite a bit and it was a pretty miserable 8 or 9 hours, I made it to Madrid, and once I got off the plane there, I felt a LOT better. People were speaking Spanish and strutting around in their European clothes, and I said to myself, “Ok, you can do this. You WANT this. This is important to you, and you’re not going to let life’s unexpected shiftings ruin a wonderful opportunity for you, are you? NO.” And I got my old French strut going and sashayed on over to my gate. There were a ton of other Americans in my program on my flight, and we were all nervous together (although it made me feel all old and wise to be able to say, “It’ll be ok, guys, trust me—I’ve done this before”). I bonded with a few girls waiting for our bags once we got to Granada, too, and ended up taking a taxi to the hotel with them. It was pretty funny, because we were a huge group of clueless American students, and no one wanted to take the lead and figure out if we should take a bus or taxis, so this guy (I still cant remember which guy, and there’s only like six in my program, oops, I must have been really tired) and I were like, OK, GUYS, FOLLOW US, and we took off and got everyone lined up, and then hopped in the first taxis and off we went! I was so proud of myself.

I have to say, I definitely saw myself at the beginning of last semester in the faces of every single one of my peers that day, and I said to myself, “Wow, look at how far you have come, Kelsey, when it comes to facing your fears and walking straight into the face of danger—and with a smile! And think of how far each of these fresh, scared young faces is going to come over the course of the next few months—and think of how far YOU will come, too, even farther than you can imagine in this moment.” And it made me feel really good about my decision to come to Granada. I think I didn’t get to appreciate how much growing I did last semester when I was home over Christmas because there was too much else going on in my life, but I’m beginning to really acknowledge it now. It makes me think that, despite everything which may have gone wrong or may have SEEMED to have gone wrong, something went right, because I did what was right for me, even when it was almost too hard. I stayed true to myself in the face of failure and rejection and the Unknown, and I came out the other side still standing. I have an inkling that somewhere down the line, I will look back and see that everything happened just as it should have in order for me to grow and become the person I am becoming. WOW, right?!

Then, of course, I got to the hotel and absolutely crashed. I was so exhausted that pretty much as soon as I’d taken a quick shower and sat down, I started bawling and decided to take a nap. It was a good decision. After my nap, I wandered around the area near the Cathedral without really knowing where I was or where I was going, and when I got back to the hotel, I ran into the girls I’d taken the taxi with and a few others and we went out to get tapas and sangria for dinner. Another great decision. I got to have some bonding time with some really nice girls who are now my friends, and the sangria was delicious.

The next day, we met our host families! My host mama is the bestest ever. Her name is Concepción, but she goes by Concha, and she is a very short, rather round and really lovely little Spanish lady who is probably in her late 50s or early 60s. I think I’ve described her to various people as a very cheerful watermelon with appendages, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. She is the cutest little lady ever—and I mean little: when I wear shoes with any heel at all, I feel like I tower over her. And everything in the house is pretty low to the ground accordingly, so I sort of feel like I’m living with a hobbit. She is widowed and has no children, but she does have siblings (not sure how many, although I know she has a brother who died of cancer a few years ago and a sister who won a car on a gameshow when she was my age). She loves game shows, and our favorite is Pasapalabra, a word game one, and I’m getting to the point where I can understand the announcer (who speaks at hyperspeed) and sometimes I can actually say the answer before the contestants! I’m very proud of myself. She collects fridge magnets and cool trinkets from her travels, which have taken her as far as Egypt, Greece, Scotland, and Morocco. Concha was absolutely charmed by the gifts I brought her from home, and the day after I gave them to her, she had gone out and bought me a special mug all of my own that I can use here and then take home when I leave “to remember my time in Granada, ” she said. I was so touched that she had gone out of her way to get me a beautiful little ceramic mug, and it’s very traditional of Granada in decoration. I love my mug. :) Concha also loves movies, and she goes to the cinema with her friends a few times a week, usually. She is also super smart—she knows so much about Granada, and Spain, and the world in general. Sometimes I think she knows more about the United States than I do! She has also read a LOT in her life, and she has opened up her personal library to me if I want to read some García Lorca or Cervantes while I’m here. I think I will take her up on the offer! She watches a lot of TV, but she is often working on an embroidery project or something else while watching the news or whatever is on. I feel like I’m a lot more caught up on world news since I’ve been here just from talking to Concha and watching the news with her on occasion. Basically, I love Concha and I think she is the greatest little Spanish lady in the world. Oh, and, she says her doctor told her she has to lose ten kilos (oy! that’s a lot!), so she’s going to start going swimming every Tuesday and Thursday while I’m in my morning classes. She’s already lost over a kilo! Holy cow! I’m very proud.

Oh, and, one last rave about my awesome host mama—when I went to Morocco, I had a cold, so she made me a special bocadillo (sandwich/sack lunch) and stuck in an orange, a yogurt, and two little chocolates “para mimarme”—to spoil me. It was the sweetest thing ever. AND, when I went to Venice, she made me TWO bocadillos complete with fruit and chocolates. OH, AND, one night after I had been crying on the phone with my mom at home, I told her that I was a little homesick (and that I was sad because my boyfriend had just broken up with me, blah blah, we bonded, it was great), but not to worry about me. The next night, she fixed me a hamburger for dinner to make me feel less homesick. She could have fixed me freaking grits or a baloney sandwich or anything, just knowing that she had gone out of her way to fix something she’d never made before to make me feel better and more at home absolutely FILLED me with warmth and goodness. This is a good woman I’m living with. She has a wonderful heart. And now whenever she can tell I’ve had a hard day, or when I just get back from a long trip, she fixes me hamburgers. :) It makes me extraordinarily happy. As in, incandescently happy. Her desire for me to be happy is palpable, and she does a good job.

So anyways, orientation was pretty cool. We got to do a little guided sightseeing of the city, which was nice, but I’ll definitely have to go back to all the places we went now that I actually have a good feeling for the city. We walked up through the Albaycín, a beautiful neighborhood of whitewashed buildings on the sister hill of the one the Alhambra is on. At the top, there was a gorgeous viewpoint of the Alhambra which we took some pictures at—I’ll try to add a picture to this post if I remember. While we were at the viewpoint, two guitarists and a singer sat down at the foot of this really tall cross and started playing traditional Spanish music. Dare I say Flamenco? I’m taking a class about Flamenco music, but I’m still not sure where the line is drawn between Flamenco and other traditional styles. Anyways, it was BEAUTIFUL. Just la guitarra, las palmas, y la voz. ENCHANTING. That’s when I really started falling in love with Granada, I think—at the top of the Albaycín, looking at the Alhambra and the Sierra Nevadas in the distance, listening to this incredible music—and there was even an ADORABLE PUPPY rolling around on the ground near the musicians!!!! Can you imagine how high in the sky I was in that moment?! REALLY HIGH.

We also went to the Alhambra as a group. For those of you who don’t know, haven’t looked it up, or I haven’t already explained it to, the Alhambra is the old Moorish city/palace/fortress on the hilltop overlooking Granada that was the last Moorish stronghold during the Christian Reconquista of Spain. It is absolutely decadent. The architecture, the gardens, the rooms upon rooms, the maze that is the cellar, the fact that there are MULTIPLE palaces, as well as a summer house for when they got bored of their normal palaces—GEEZ. It’s awesome. I took lots of pictures which are on facebook, and you can also google image search it and gawk your heart out. Or come visit me and we can go see it together!! Haha!

The first few times I walked alone to the school and back home, I was a little nervous, but now I have an established route, as well as variations if I feel like switching things up. I love my normal route because I get to walk next to a river for awhile. The river is different every day—it was tumultuous and muddy the first few days we were here, then it kind of calmed down and grew smaller and more tranquil for awhile, and now that the rain is back, it’s muddy and rushing again. I love that there is a river to walk next to, I feel like that is so good for me, being the water baby I am. Sometimes there are geese on some of the little sandbars in the river, and sometimes they’re all tucked into themselves, asleep. It is super cute, and I keep meaning to take my camera to school so I can take a picture of them.

I feel like I’m being really random. I hope that doesn’t bother anyone. I’m just writing things as they come to my mind, and I know you probably have tons of questions and are frustrated with all my bouncing around, but give a girl a break, I just finished being sick and doing my first week of school! :P Speaking of school! I tested into the higher level, yeah I know, no surprise, but I was still nervous, yeah, also no surprise. I am taking the following classes: Monday and Wednesday I have Spanish Civilization and Culture, English/Spanish Translation, and Flamenco and Traditional Spanish Music; Tuesday and Thursday I have Comparative Study of Spanish Literature and the Visual Arts and Spanish Written and Oral Expression. I also have a few sort of quarter credit classes—Phonetics, Tutorias (still not sure what this is), and Granada Seminar (in which we will learn about specific cultural stuff, like Flamenco, bullfights, olive oil, wine, etc.). All of my classes seem great so far, and I like the looks of all of my teachers. I think most of our grades will be based on in-class work, participation, and the two tests we’ll have over the course of the semester. Sounds manageable! And, if you notice, I have no classes on Fridays. Yay! Three day weekends ALL the time! Which means more travelling, I hope! I really want to explore Spain—Barcelona, Madrid, Toledo, Bilbao, Sevilla, etc—as well as the rest of Europe. I know it’s ambitious, but I have faith that I can stretch my moneys and make it happen. Besides, there are only a few places I absolutely HAVE to go, and then everything else is gravy.

Alright, it’s time for me to get some sleep (I am writing this at home and will post it later), so I will have to sign off for now. If you have made it this far reading everything I’ve written, geez, good job! Keep up the good work! I promise I wont always write so much and so often, but it’s been really nice to get this all down, even if it is a jumbled mess. Better a jumbled mess in a blog than in my head. :) I miss you guys a lot, and I hope your lives are as rewarding and invigorating as mine has been of late, but with a little less illness. ;)

Love, and pura vida,
Kelsey

Venice and Carnivale!!

Hola otra vez! First week of classes for me is over, and everything is going well! But before we get to that stuff, let’s tackle Italy, shall we?

OH, I almost forgot to mention something from Morocco that I left out of the last blog—the Hammam. A Hammam is basically a public bathhouse where many Moroccan’s go to about once a week to get reallllly clean. The way Sarah (our guide) explained the Hammam experience is that it’s “like taking a bucket bath in a sauna.” Which is pretty much exactly right. A lot of people were pretty nervous about it, and some didn’t even go, but because I’ve done public baths before (thank you, Japan!) and I was really jonesin’ to get clean, I was very eager to go see what this Hammam thing was. It seemed a bit like a pool in the sense that there are changing rooms where you get nekid (or put on a bathing suit or underwear if you’re modest, which none of the Moroccan’s did—I left on my panties so as not to traumatize my more sheltered peers, but definitely went topless—imagine trying to get clean while still wearing a bra, it sounds annoying, right?). Then, you take your towel, your little scooper cup, a scrubby glove they gave us and this special Hammam soap, and go into the washing room. That room is warm and steamy and very slippery. You take a big bucket and fill it with water, then stake out a corner and get down with your bad self. Haha. The special Hammam soap smelled kind of weird, but it got me cleaner than I think I’ve ever been in my life—it must have special exfoliating stuff, plus special moisturizing stuff, because I felt all happy and clean and soft afterwards, and not TOO much like I’d just scrubbed off the top five layers of my skin. It got pretty packed in there because we were a rather large group of Americans, plus our Moroccan helpers, plus normal Moroccans who looked seriously peeved to have their weekly cleaning ritual interrupted by these weird, bathing-suit-clad foreigners. (PS. We went to a women’s Hammam—yes, there are also ones for guys, gentlemen.) I was very glad we got to go to the Hammam, because it seems like it’s a pretty unique and fascinating part of their culture, and I was also extraordinarily grateful for the opportunity to get seriously clean—and I DID feel like I stayed clean for the next two showerless days. Hallelujah!

Alright, vamos a Italia! Directly after getting back from Morocco—and I mean RIGHT away, as in, about ten hours later—I hopped on a bus, a bus, another bus, a plane, yet another bus, a train, another train, and then one final bus to get to our hostel in Venice, Italy. It was an epic voyage of over 13 hours, no joke. Happily, our transportation costs were minimal, but even so, next time I might splurge and cut out a few of the buses or something. The first night we arrived in Venice at around seven or eight, so we decided to go into town for dinner and a night walk through the water city, and it was absolutely magical. I tried to take a few pictures, but they weren’t turning out so I just put the camera away and enjoyed it. Venice at night is… like being in a dream world. The water is a beautiful deep blue-green, and it almost shimmers. (I bet the canals are actually really nasty, but they look pretty!) I felt like we were going to turn a corner and suddenly be in 15th century Venice, walking shoulder to shoulder with people straight out of history, or maybe fairy tales… or maybe my dreams.

The next day, we spent all day just walking around the city, popping into little tourist shops and mask shops, and getting lost and finding our way back to familiar turf. I think the entire time we were in Venice we consulted our map maybe three times, because honestly, it’s more fun not to. I have to say, I probably spent too much money on little glass trinkets (a little family of glass crabs? Yes, please!), but I also have to say, WORTH IT. I’m not a huge souvenir person, so I know when I like something, and I know what I’m willing to spend my money on. Plus, I saved on food. That’s coming up. Anyways, that whole day was fantastic, and by the end of it, we had seen pretty much each touristy sight in Venice plus quite a bit of the more backstreet, residential areas. I was proud. Tired, but proud. (OH, and we definitely had gelato every single day. Pistachio, tiramisu, lemon, chocolate, nutella, berry, etc…) We went back to our hotel satisfied and conked out.

Circa 5 am, I woke up with violent stomach pain. It literally felt like my stomach was on fire, and it was also distended. I tried to just drink some water and go back to sleep, but no dice. Long story short, I threw up three times before Darynn, the girl I was travelling with, woke up at around 10am. She was really kind and went out and bought me saltines, iced tea, and sprite, but I still threw up one more time around noon before my stomach decided to calm down and cooperate. I was really weak and feverish for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t lie on my sides without significant abdominal pain. I definitely didn’t eat anything other than saltines for the rest of the day, but my stomach was still way bigger than normal and painful.

The next day, we went out during the afternoon and evening, because it was Saturday and the opening day of Carnivale. I struggled a lot and had to take a lot of sit-down-and-clutch-my-huge-stomach moments, but I still really enjoyed myself somehow. My mom says I must have been delirious, and I think I have to agree. I didn’t eat any solid food that day either, but I did have some yummy minestrone soup broth for dinner! And after dinner was the opening show of Carnivale on Piazza San Marco!! I wore my mask—bought in a backstreet artisan shop where we saw the dude making masks in the back room—and we joined the crowds of excited tourists. There were a LOT of French people there, and this one really sweet old French guy who was there with his wife gave me some gummy bears to help my throat because I got a really bad cough about halfway through the show. (I think it was the smoke—everyone smokes like a chimney in Europe—ok not everyone, but you know.) I was so happy I could thank him sincerely in his own language.

Oh man, let’s talk about language confusion in Italy. I kept being like, “Quiero, uh, chocolate, I mean, chocolato, et, euh, limon, umm, limone? Merci—uh, I mean, Grazie. SHIT.” My brain literally wanted to explode sometimes. Everything was allllmost Spanish, but then again some things were more like French…. but the pronunciation and the tone seemed almost completely foreign, and incredibly intoxicating. I wished so much that I spoke Italian, but each time I tried, I think I failed miserably. But then once I got back to Spain I was saying “Scuzi” and “Grazie” for a whole day before I got back into Spanish, so maybe I have an aptitude for Italian? Maybe I’m lying to myself. :P

Anyways, our last day was probably the most exciting of all, even though we only had half the day to spend in Venice. Carnivale was really getting into swing, and we saw two parades, both of which I didn’t really understand but thought were awesome. We also spent some time just hanging around San Marco taking pictures of all the crazy awesome costumes people were wearing. After awhile, I kind of stopped taking pictures and just enjoyed the experience of being transported to a different era by all the activity and the masks and extravagant clothing. It was really a once in a lifetime experience, I think, and it completely made me forget about my awkward stomach, which I very much appreciated.

I cheated and bought two masks. Ha! I was like, shoot, I can’t buy anything REALLY big and cool because I have to take it back in my tiny book bag, and ryanair won’t let me have anything outside of that bag. So I picked a simple one out that I really like—you’ll see it in some of my pictures, it’s magenta and gold and really lovely, I think. THEN, I found a blue-green one that was a little smaller but really brought out the color in my eyes and that I just adored and it wasn’t THAT expensive, so I said, why not? And I’m really glad I did. I think there’s no better souvenir from Carnivale in Venice than real, beautiful masks, and I’m for sure going to hang them on the wall in my apartment when I decorate this summer. (I bet some of you are going, what is this apartment she keeps mentioning?! Surprise! I’m flying solo this summer and I’ll have a place of my own in the Ham! Yay!)

The trip back to Granada wasn’t quite as grueling because we took the train to Bergamo on Sunday night and spent the night in a hostel before our 6:30am flight back to Sevilla on Monday morning. I also found it helpful that they played a dubbed version of that movie with Ashton Kutcher (where he goes to visit his black girlfriend’s family and her dad give him hell) on the bus from Sevilla to Granada—what was the name of that movie? Anyways, it’s really hilarious when it’s in enthusiastic Spanish and you’re delirious from lack of sleep and food. :P

Wow! I’m very proud; I was super concise about Venice. I hope I didn’t forget anything. Oh! I just found something I jotted down in my notebook while in Venice and think would make a good little conclusion to this post:

“Venice is so magical, and I feel so good and at ease here. I’m glad we came; I can’t imagine a better place to be right now. It’s weird to think of going back to life in Granada after being in Morocco and Venice. What an intense week of experiences and LIVING—what pure, unadulterated life. Thank you, universe, for restoring my sense of wonder and gratitude, and for giving me these beautiful experiences which remind me of two things I’d forgotten—-hope and joy.”

Pura vida, queridos.
Kelsey

Morocco/Marruecos/Maroc!

Oh my goodness, first real post! Yay! Well, let’s start with Morocco and Italy while they’re fresh on my mind. OH MY GOD YOU GUYS. I think I am the most fortunate person in the world. Both Morocco and Italy were AMAZING. Doing a play-by-play might be a little much, so I’m going to try to organize by highlights.

The most incredible thing about being in Morocco was meeting all of these wonderful, generous, lovely people. With the program my program went with (how many programs? there will be a test later), we stayed with a host family for two nights in Rabat, the capital city. My friend Rachel and I stayed with a young couple, Fatima and Saïd, I think, and they’re ADORABLE 2 year old daughter Ghita. (At first we thought her name was Rita because they pronounced it as if the first sound was a very guttural French ‘r.’) Ok, no seriously, the pictures of her and us are really cute, sure, but they DO NOT do her justice. This girl is not only the most charming child I’ve ever met, but also the most gorgeous and cute. She is going to have the boys lining up across the freaking city when she gets to be our age. No seriously, guys. And she was SUCH a daddy’s girl, it was so adorable. She always wanted to give him kisses and he coddled her and clearly loves her to pieces. He had her do her “top model” walk for us—she strutted across the room grinning with one hand on her hip and the other on her head, it was maybe the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I almost died of a cuteness-overload-cardiac-arrest right there on their Moroccan sofa. And she is obsessed with two things—Dora the Explorer (she showed us her Dora backpack) and makeup. Whenever Rachel or I got out lip gloss or anything, she would get SO EXCITED, and she had this little foundation compact she carried everywhere, and whenever she could get it open (it was complicated, ok?) she would smear it on her face and her parents would get all exasperated and wipe it off and close the compact, and the process would start again. Oh my goodness, I feel like I’m writing ridiculously bad run-ons, but I can’t express to you all enough how much I fell in love with this little girl. It was really hard not to kidnap her when we had to leave. REALLY. HARD.

Her parents were so great as well. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree—Fatima (probably mid to late 20’s) is absolutely beautiful, so you can see where Ghita gets her good looks. Both Fatima and Saïd were super sweet and engaging and welcomed us into their family as if we’d been there all along. They both speak great English; I think Saïd might work for some foreign relations branch of the government? And Fatima graduated college with an English degree and is looking for a job doing… something with that. The first night we were there, Saïd had a very earnest conversation with us (mostly him talking and us agreeing) about how many Americans or westerners in general have a very bad image of what it means to be “Muslim” or “Arab,” and how incorrect that image is. He assured us that he didn’t care what religion we did or didn’t practice, that he respected us for how we behave and what we do, and not who we worship. He also explained that the general tenants of Islam are those of generosity, brotherhood, and love, and that there are extremists in every religion that distort the truth to fit their needs. I can certainly tell you that from my experience, this family, along with everyone else I met in Morocco, demonstrated to me that he is right about Islam. If they represent what it means to be “Islamic,” I wish more of the world were Islamic. I have never met people more giving and open and accepting of others. They made me feel so very welcome, and that it was ok for me to be me—and different!—and that that wouldn’t interfere in our relationships. Wow, right? I felt more at home within two days with that family than I ever did in France, for example. I am definitely intrigued and want to spend some more time in Muslim countries now. Before going to Morocco, I was interested, but now I’m hooked. I need to know more. Why are they so awesome, and why doesn’t anyone else seem to realize it? And I definitely want to learn more about Islam now, since it is clearly such an important part of their lives and culture.

We also had the opportunity to eat lunch with a rural family that lives in a village in the Rif Mountains. We had a translator to help us ask questions, and the family was very kind and happy to answer everything we could think of to ask. And OH MAN I almost forgot to rave about the food!! This family made us a wonderful couscous and vegetable dish that was almost impossible to stop eating. Fatima made Rachel and I the best food ever—spaghetti our first night, but à la Morocco of course, and a yummy lamb dish the next day (very traditional and soooo tasty), and then this delicious ham and egg and cumin thing that night. Moroccan food rocks my world. The spices they use are super duper tasty, and they eat using bread and their hands (very similar to what I’ve heard and seen about how food is eaten in India), and the bread is amazingly yummy, too! It’s just all to die for.

Of course, I cannot forget to mention how beautiful Morocco is. On the first day, we stopped in the town of Asilah on the Atlantic Ocean to ride camels (HELL YES it was awesome, but kind of just like riding a really tall horse, but still!) and wander through town. The city itself was beautiful—white buildings, colorful art graffiti (there’s apparently a wall art festival every spring there?)—but the view of the ocean was breathtaking. It was also mind-blowing to think, wow, I’m standing on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean… in Africa. Holy shit, right? Rabat was pretty awesome architecturally speaking, and it was especially cool to see some Roman and Arab ruins there, and then the local market (the medina? I don’t know). The ruins are inhabited by storks, and there’s also a fertility pond there, so clearly, this is where all the babies in the world come from. Which must be why Ghita was so amazing, because her parents got to go right to the source to pick out the cream of the crop, right? I mean, that IS how babies happen, right, a stork delivers them? ;) Just teasing. Anyways. The fertility pond has EELS in it, and you throw in a hardboiled egg, and if the eels eat it, you’re good to go, and if not, you’re out of luck. Cool fertility clinic, in my opinion. And there are a lot of kitties there, because the eels only get the white of the egg, so the guy who sells you the eggs gives the yolk to the cats. Anyways, the ruins themselves were really awesome to see and wander around in (see my pictures, they can describe it better than I can), and at one point, we definitely saw some storks getting it on. Someone must have fed the eels…

Shopping and walking around in the market in Rabat was such a cool experience. Our guide dude totally liked me best (haha, hope none of the other girls read this), and when he wasn’t running around trying to keep track of five girls all with shopping missions, he helped me pick out scarves and bargain with merchants. And I was soooo proud of myself, because I used my French to bargain a few times!! (For those who don’t know, the French colonized Morocco for a bit there, and even though they’re gone now, French is still very widely spoken there, and almost everyone speaks it fluently in the big cities.) I got some very very beautiful scarves for ridiculously cheap prices, as well as a few more trinkets to give as gifts or decorate my spankin’ new abode this summer.

Another really cool place we went was Chefchaouen, a city in the Rif mountains that used to be really secluded—as in, when they rediscovered it in the 1920’s or thereabouts, the people were still speaking medieval Castilian Spanish, because the last group of people to move in there had been medieval Spaniards. I kid you not. Anyways, now it’s a pretty touristy place because it is GORGEOUS—blue and white buildings tumbling down the hillside, a river on one side, rolling hills/mountains on all sides. Go look at more of my pictures of it, it was SO pretty. And I made friends with a doggy there. :)

Something I want to mention about Morocco before I move on to Italy is that it was very lush and green. Which I know is not exactly the common image that comes to mind when one thinks of an African country of the edge of the Sahara Desert. Of course, we were only really in the north and pretty close to the coast most of the time, but that IS where much of the population lives. I just thought I’d blow your minds with that little factoid. It’s SO GREEN. It reminded me of Costa Rica, and made me really miss my family there… but that’s a whole ‘nother story.

Alright, there are so many more things I could say about Morocco, but if I keep going, we’ll NEVER get to Spain, so I’d better stop there.

Ok maybe one more thing.

Our group leader was a Peace Corps volunteer who had just finished up her service, and she was from Seattle! She was really awesome. But anyways, talking to her and to other Peace Corps volunteers I met and reading some of the articles the program provided us with really made me think about my future and what I want to do with it. I think often we hear people saying “I want to make a difference, I want to change the world!” and we don’t see a lot of serious action to actually do so. I want to be different; I want to follow through on my desire to change the world, even just a little piece of it, even just one life. And while I’ve focused on the really positive aspects of my trip to Morocco, there is, of course, another side to this beautiful and generous country. That side is one of poverty, and struggles for women’s equality, and a lack of basic knowledge about safety, sanitation, and health in many communities. For example, when we visited the family in the rural village, one girl wanted to know where to throw away a candy wrapper (I think), and they said to just throw it on the ground—and outside on the ground there was garbage everywhere, not really even localized in one area. Some of the garbage was things like nails and pieces of scrap metal, and plastic containers that looked like they may have contained cleaning fluids or car fluids and stuff like that which could be really harmful to the kids or the animals if they play with and ingest them. I know that they probably don’t have access to a garbage pickup system like the one we take for granted in the United States, but at the same time, I was honestly pretty surprised to see some of those things left where they could be a potential health hazard, especially knowing that the nearest hospital or clinic was pretty far away. Anyways, that is only an example of some of the eye-opening things I experienced in Morocco that made me realize that I really DO want to make a difference somewhere, and that I don’t need a degree in medicine or waste management to help people in developing countries take better care of themselves and their surroundings, for example. Or that I don’t need a degree in women’s studies or conflict management to help empower women to stand up for themselves and enjoy their rights to the fullest. Basically, I think I want to do something at some point that involves taking an active part in helping others to help themselves and improve their living conditions. And maybe I won’t do the Peace Corps (continuing health issues are enough to dissuade me from putting myself in that sort of intense and probably grueling sort of situation at this time in my life), or at least not right away, but maybe Fulbright? And maybe I won’t even do this work in a developing country, but what about the people struggling with similar issues in our own backyards? Regardless of how or where or when, I was really inspired—and sobered—by what I saw and experienced in Morocco, and I don’t want to let myself continue living my comfortable and charmed life without giving back some of that love and generosity I know and have experienced in some way or another. I wish that everyone could feel this inspiration and this call at some point in their lives; I’ve been lucky enough to feel this urge multiple times in my life, and each time stronger. The call is getting strong enough now that soon I’m just going to have to buckle down and get my hands dirty, you know? Stop talking, and start doing. I want to finish my degree first, and then… who knows. Off I go!!

On that note, I have to get going. Italy and Spain will have to wait for another post. I love you all. I miss you all. I wish you could be here, doing this all with me. Then again, I don’t wish that—I wish that you are all doing exactly what you need to do to be happy and inspired and as fully alive as is possible, just as I am.

Pura vida, siempre.
Kelsey

Hola a todos!

Hello and welcome to my new blog!!! I'm excited.

I’ve threatened to start a blog before, but only after telling a good half dozen people “I can’t wait to tell you all about Morocco and Italy and SPAIN and everything!!” did I realize that I really needed to. So here it is. :) Hi.

Soooo, I settled on Aventuras sin Paraguas (Adventures without Umbrellas) because, well, I'm roughing it without an umbrella here in España, and miraculously, even though I have a half hour long walk to school and back and it has been POURING here this week, I have yet to be caught outside in anything I would consider a downpour. People seem surprised that I don't use an umbrella and everyone has been telling me to get one, but I like the rain, and hey, I was born and raised in Bellingham, so I'm used to being a little wet all the time. So there you have it--this is the official account of all my umbrella-less escapades. :)

A post about Morocco is coming VERY soon. Stay posted.

Love to all, and pura vida,

Kelsey