I think this month’s playlist may be a bit more jumbled and hectic than the others—many highs and many lows—which reflects the chaotic yet wonderful month I’ve had. I know it’s probably more fun for me to put these together than for you all to read them, but hey, I know I’ve got a FEW faithful readers out there for look forward to seeing them! ;)
1. Nobody Knows You—Office
2. All of Me—Michael Bublé (Sometimes you just need a little Bublé, you know?)
3. Paint or Pollen—Blind Pilot (LOVING this band right now)
4. Me Voy—Julieta Venegas
5. Nobody Knows Me at All—The Weepies
6. You Can’t Hurry Love—Diana Ross (This song keeps showing up in my life, think it’s trying to tell me something?)
7. The Garden You Planted—Sea Wolf (I don’t know why I love this song so much, but I really do)
8. How Lucky We Are—Meiko (Because we are so very lucky)
9. Drops of Jupiter—Train (I am reclaiming this song for me. So there.)
10. The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth—Clap Your Hands Say Yeah (This was playing in a pub in Paris, it made me smile)
11. Any Other World—Mika (this song reminds me of Stars, who I will always adore)
12. Record Year for Rainfall—The Decemberists (It certainly has been)
13. Human—The Killers (Are we human, or are we dancers? THAT is the question.)
14. I Don’t Know—Lisa Hannigan (Cheers to new beginnings!)
15. All Love—Ingrid Michaelson (A good reminder—thanks, Nora)
16. Her Morning Elegance—Oren Lavie
17. Funny The Way It Is—Dave Matthews (shout out to April H-J for all the great music!!!!)
18. Feel It in My Bones—Tiësto ft. Tegan & Sara (my newest dancing-around-to-let-off-steam song)
19. La Noyée—Yann Tierson (My favorite song of his, always gets me all inspired and excited)
20. Sideways—Citizen Cope (op, I’m sad)
21. Bottom of the Barrel—Amos Lee (op, better get happy, then!)
22. Transatlanticism—Death Cab For Cutie (I need you SO much closer, my dears)
23. Say Yes—Elliott Smith (to end this month well—here’s to always being around “the morning after” for myself, so I never have to worry about anybody else sticking around. Ya está.)
Love to all!
Kelsey
Friday, April 30, 2010
Barcelona, Blisters, Colds, and Classes
It has been a hard week. Between blisters, registration for classes (que fracaso), illness, and all the consequences of these things… oh boy. Long. Week.
But let’s start with the fun part—Barcelona!!! This past weekend was spent very pleasantly in Barcelona, arguably Spain’s most international city alongside Madrid due to its proximity to France, and therefore Europe, as well as its size and appeal as a travel destination for foreigners. I adored the city, although I feel like it might have been a bit overwhelming to study abroad in because it’s so big, and also because many people prefer to speak the local co-official language, Catalán, as opposed to Spanish. In some ways, I could understand the Catalan better than my fellow travel companions because I speak French as well and some of the words were basically a mix of Spanish and French (exit = sortie (fr.) + salida (sp) = sortida!), but sometimes it was just bizarre and made me feel like my brain was melting. The fact that some of the buildings also appear to be melting only adds to the weird mental delirium! :P Antoni Gaudí was a modern artist around the turn of the 20th century who created much of what makes Barcelona so fascinating to me—he designed and built several awesome but bizarre houses (the melting ones, plus some that look like gingerbread houses from fairy tales), the Sagrada Familia Cathedral with its melting front and fruit bulbed turrets, and the Parque Güell, with rock tree formations, an undulating ceramic patchwork bench, and an adorable Salamander fountain. He was so cute I had to give him a kiss. :) The first day of our weekend was mostly spent running around the city to see these various buildings, and wandering through Parque Güell, where I bought a really beautiful swirly ring from a gypsy and the other girls got scarves, rings, and necklaces. In the afternoon, we wandered down Las Ramblas to the Market of the Boquería, a really lovely market where all the fruit, candy, dried fruit, and other products are displayed with such precision and organization that it seems almost a shame to buy anything and disrupt the displays! Every stand was like a posed painting, and the exotic nature of much of the fruit added to this impression. I bought a little fruit bowl for only a euro fifty for an afternoon snack, and feasted on the mango, watermelon, strawberries, coconut, cactus fruit, and honeydew quite happily. That evening, my friend did a really lovely decorative braid in my hair, which was super exciting for me because I am basically a tomboy at heart and can’t do a damned thing with my hair most of the time except pray that it behaves itself! :P This first night, we found an all-you-can-eat buffet with a gorgeous salad bar and yummy pizza and pasta and gorged ourselves. I think almost every single one of us six girls ate over three plates of food, and most of us regretted it after, but it was still a fantastic (and fun) meal.
Of course, being the bright, forward-thinking young ladies we are, we forgot that we had planned to have a beach day the next day, and now the prospect of displaying bulging bellies in our dainty bikinis didn’t seem quite so appealing. :P However, we held fast to our plan and made our way over to the coarse sand beaches the next day to enjoy the sunshine and a break from sightseeing. Only four of the six ended up staying all day, and I am happy to say that I was one of them! I am also VERY proud to say that I managed to avoid sunburn despite being under the sun the whole day—yay for sunscreen!! It was a wonderfully relaxing day, and a very much needed break from both the daily grind as well as the frantic sightseeing of the previous day. Unfortunately, I was a bit of a ditz and didn’t drink quite as much water as I should have; when we got up to go back to the hostel, I suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated, faint, and way overheated. Oopsies, heat exhaustion! I really should have known better, but I was lucky to have great friends with me to pulled me along through the metro and force fed me water until we got to the hostel, and then basically pushed me into a cold shower, after which I felt much better and was able to lay down for a few hours to regain some strength before dinner. Dinner tonight was much simpler and smaller—pizza at a little cafeteria next to the hostel, and then gourmet ice cream before girly chat time in our bedroom and to sleep.
Our last morning in Barcelona, we wandered the Gothic Quarter a bit and had a coffee next to the Gothic Cathedral before visiting the Chocolate museum, which was both charming and delicious—the ticket to get in was a chocolate bar!!! :) My favorite chocolate sculptures were the ones that reinacted scenes from the French comic Astérix and “Up!” I was super excited about the Up one in particular—it was so adorable!!!
Our voyage home was long but uneventful, other than the fact that I was now beginning to feel positively horrible—congested, exhausted, achy, with very sensitive skin—all sure signs that I’m coming down with something unpleasant. As I had predicted, I woke up Monday morning feeling miserable, and skipped my morning classes to be able to rest and try to get a bit better. Tuesday I also skipped my morning classes, and I am SO glad I did, because by Wednesday evening I was starting to feel better, and today I am all better except for a little residual congestion. Still, you all know how much I HATE being sick, so I was quite a grump at the beginning of the week.
To add to my grumpiness, I had registration for next semester’s classes on Tuesday at 4pm Pacific time… which is 1 am my time. As I do not have internet in my house and didn’t want to stay up, and wander out alone and sick at one in the morning to an internet café, I did something kind of maybe like having my parents register for me. Maybe. I mean, I would never do anything against Scripps rules like give my password out… but come on. No one would blame me if I had.
Anyways, the one class I NEED to complete my general education requirements is a Natural Sciences class. Of course, by the time my registration time came around, both the ones I had picked out as non-science-major classes that fit in my schedule were full. Haha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah. I was not so happy about that. I suppose maybe karma is trying to save me up some good luck so that my plane doesn’t get stuck in volcanic ash on the way home, but still. It was just another blow to my mood during an already difficult week. Well, I wrote to the teacher of my preferred class, and I’m fairly sure he’ll let me in, but I still don’t enjoy the extra stress that registration added to my week. Happily, I got into my three other classes without any fuss—“Voyage et Exotisme” (French class on Travel and Exoticism through literature), “Within the French Salon” (Another French lit class, to be taken with my lovely Melissa!!), and an Intro to Latin American Culture and Civ class (because I think I’ve got Spain covered now).
The next day I was so stressed about writing to the teacher and hearing back from him as soon as possible that I almost RAN back and forth from school—under the hot midday sun, in sandals, while sick—twice, and in doing so, gave myself a very angry blister. Guess where the blister was? Not on the side of my foot, not on my heel, no, on the BOTTOM of my foot, right under my second toe. And it was BIG—it probably protruded a good quarter of an inch (I don’t actually know since I didn’t measure it, but it was a lot of protruding angry blister, that’s for sure). THIS, my friends, was the cherry on top, and suddenly, I wasn’t angry or frustrated any more. Oh no, now I was hysterical, and hysterical for me means that I’m all laughs and giggles—and on the precipice of a nervous breakdown. It’s a dangerous but surprisingly enjoyable state to be in. Well, luckily, things started turning around and I didn’t have to have any breakdowns. When my host mom got home from the movies (Wednesday is her night to go to the movies with her friends, she’s so cute!), I showed her the blister and she called her friend (who was a nurse) to ask what the best course of action was. Because the blister was on the bottom of my foot, there was nothing to do but pierce it with a needle and drain the fluid so that I could walk the next day. I was really nervous that it would hurt a LOT, but because the surface of the blister is dead skin, the piercing and draining process was relatively painless! Concha and I had a good laugh over it and off to bed I went, feeling much more cheerful. Concha always has this affect on me. :)
Over the past two days, I’ve been resting up, and the blister has been healing beautifully under the strict supervision of Concha and repeated sterilization with… iodine? Some yellowish liquid that she uses as an antiseptic liquid. Tomorrow I’m off to the beach with some friends for the day to “work on my tan”—by that I mean lie in the sun all day obsessively applying sunscreen and watching my freckles start to appear. My nose is already highly freckled and adorable. :)
I almost forgot! Monday is Día de la Cruz, and all over Granada they set up crosses and play traditional music and people dance Sevillanas (traditional dance, relative of Flamenco), so yesterday Concha started teaching me Sevillanas! At first she was just going to teach me the first part (there are four parts), but I did so well that we made it right up to the fourth part last night!!! She said that I learned more in a day than many people learn in months of classes—I was very proud. Anyways, she wants me to dance it with her for her friends, which I’m excited about. I just LOVE spending time with Concha—I definitely feel like she has been one of the most positive parts of my experience here in Spain, and she made this week in particular much more bearable. :)
I hope you all have enjoyed a less turbulent week than me, with considerably less blisters. ;)
Pura vida,
Kelsey
But let’s start with the fun part—Barcelona!!! This past weekend was spent very pleasantly in Barcelona, arguably Spain’s most international city alongside Madrid due to its proximity to France, and therefore Europe, as well as its size and appeal as a travel destination for foreigners. I adored the city, although I feel like it might have been a bit overwhelming to study abroad in because it’s so big, and also because many people prefer to speak the local co-official language, Catalán, as opposed to Spanish. In some ways, I could understand the Catalan better than my fellow travel companions because I speak French as well and some of the words were basically a mix of Spanish and French (exit = sortie (fr.) + salida (sp) = sortida!), but sometimes it was just bizarre and made me feel like my brain was melting. The fact that some of the buildings also appear to be melting only adds to the weird mental delirium! :P Antoni Gaudí was a modern artist around the turn of the 20th century who created much of what makes Barcelona so fascinating to me—he designed and built several awesome but bizarre houses (the melting ones, plus some that look like gingerbread houses from fairy tales), the Sagrada Familia Cathedral with its melting front and fruit bulbed turrets, and the Parque Güell, with rock tree formations, an undulating ceramic patchwork bench, and an adorable Salamander fountain. He was so cute I had to give him a kiss. :) The first day of our weekend was mostly spent running around the city to see these various buildings, and wandering through Parque Güell, where I bought a really beautiful swirly ring from a gypsy and the other girls got scarves, rings, and necklaces. In the afternoon, we wandered down Las Ramblas to the Market of the Boquería, a really lovely market where all the fruit, candy, dried fruit, and other products are displayed with such precision and organization that it seems almost a shame to buy anything and disrupt the displays! Every stand was like a posed painting, and the exotic nature of much of the fruit added to this impression. I bought a little fruit bowl for only a euro fifty for an afternoon snack, and feasted on the mango, watermelon, strawberries, coconut, cactus fruit, and honeydew quite happily. That evening, my friend did a really lovely decorative braid in my hair, which was super exciting for me because I am basically a tomboy at heart and can’t do a damned thing with my hair most of the time except pray that it behaves itself! :P This first night, we found an all-you-can-eat buffet with a gorgeous salad bar and yummy pizza and pasta and gorged ourselves. I think almost every single one of us six girls ate over three plates of food, and most of us regretted it after, but it was still a fantastic (and fun) meal.
Of course, being the bright, forward-thinking young ladies we are, we forgot that we had planned to have a beach day the next day, and now the prospect of displaying bulging bellies in our dainty bikinis didn’t seem quite so appealing. :P However, we held fast to our plan and made our way over to the coarse sand beaches the next day to enjoy the sunshine and a break from sightseeing. Only four of the six ended up staying all day, and I am happy to say that I was one of them! I am also VERY proud to say that I managed to avoid sunburn despite being under the sun the whole day—yay for sunscreen!! It was a wonderfully relaxing day, and a very much needed break from both the daily grind as well as the frantic sightseeing of the previous day. Unfortunately, I was a bit of a ditz and didn’t drink quite as much water as I should have; when we got up to go back to the hostel, I suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated, faint, and way overheated. Oopsies, heat exhaustion! I really should have known better, but I was lucky to have great friends with me to pulled me along through the metro and force fed me water until we got to the hostel, and then basically pushed me into a cold shower, after which I felt much better and was able to lay down for a few hours to regain some strength before dinner. Dinner tonight was much simpler and smaller—pizza at a little cafeteria next to the hostel, and then gourmet ice cream before girly chat time in our bedroom and to sleep.
Our last morning in Barcelona, we wandered the Gothic Quarter a bit and had a coffee next to the Gothic Cathedral before visiting the Chocolate museum, which was both charming and delicious—the ticket to get in was a chocolate bar!!! :) My favorite chocolate sculptures were the ones that reinacted scenes from the French comic Astérix and “Up!” I was super excited about the Up one in particular—it was so adorable!!!
Our voyage home was long but uneventful, other than the fact that I was now beginning to feel positively horrible—congested, exhausted, achy, with very sensitive skin—all sure signs that I’m coming down with something unpleasant. As I had predicted, I woke up Monday morning feeling miserable, and skipped my morning classes to be able to rest and try to get a bit better. Tuesday I also skipped my morning classes, and I am SO glad I did, because by Wednesday evening I was starting to feel better, and today I am all better except for a little residual congestion. Still, you all know how much I HATE being sick, so I was quite a grump at the beginning of the week.
To add to my grumpiness, I had registration for next semester’s classes on Tuesday at 4pm Pacific time… which is 1 am my time. As I do not have internet in my house and didn’t want to stay up, and wander out alone and sick at one in the morning to an internet café, I did something kind of maybe like having my parents register for me. Maybe. I mean, I would never do anything against Scripps rules like give my password out… but come on. No one would blame me if I had.
Anyways, the one class I NEED to complete my general education requirements is a Natural Sciences class. Of course, by the time my registration time came around, both the ones I had picked out as non-science-major classes that fit in my schedule were full. Haha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah. I was not so happy about that. I suppose maybe karma is trying to save me up some good luck so that my plane doesn’t get stuck in volcanic ash on the way home, but still. It was just another blow to my mood during an already difficult week. Well, I wrote to the teacher of my preferred class, and I’m fairly sure he’ll let me in, but I still don’t enjoy the extra stress that registration added to my week. Happily, I got into my three other classes without any fuss—“Voyage et Exotisme” (French class on Travel and Exoticism through literature), “Within the French Salon” (Another French lit class, to be taken with my lovely Melissa!!), and an Intro to Latin American Culture and Civ class (because I think I’ve got Spain covered now).
The next day I was so stressed about writing to the teacher and hearing back from him as soon as possible that I almost RAN back and forth from school—under the hot midday sun, in sandals, while sick—twice, and in doing so, gave myself a very angry blister. Guess where the blister was? Not on the side of my foot, not on my heel, no, on the BOTTOM of my foot, right under my second toe. And it was BIG—it probably protruded a good quarter of an inch (I don’t actually know since I didn’t measure it, but it was a lot of protruding angry blister, that’s for sure). THIS, my friends, was the cherry on top, and suddenly, I wasn’t angry or frustrated any more. Oh no, now I was hysterical, and hysterical for me means that I’m all laughs and giggles—and on the precipice of a nervous breakdown. It’s a dangerous but surprisingly enjoyable state to be in. Well, luckily, things started turning around and I didn’t have to have any breakdowns. When my host mom got home from the movies (Wednesday is her night to go to the movies with her friends, she’s so cute!), I showed her the blister and she called her friend (who was a nurse) to ask what the best course of action was. Because the blister was on the bottom of my foot, there was nothing to do but pierce it with a needle and drain the fluid so that I could walk the next day. I was really nervous that it would hurt a LOT, but because the surface of the blister is dead skin, the piercing and draining process was relatively painless! Concha and I had a good laugh over it and off to bed I went, feeling much more cheerful. Concha always has this affect on me. :)
Over the past two days, I’ve been resting up, and the blister has been healing beautifully under the strict supervision of Concha and repeated sterilization with… iodine? Some yellowish liquid that she uses as an antiseptic liquid. Tomorrow I’m off to the beach with some friends for the day to “work on my tan”—by that I mean lie in the sun all day obsessively applying sunscreen and watching my freckles start to appear. My nose is already highly freckled and adorable. :)
I almost forgot! Monday is Día de la Cruz, and all over Granada they set up crosses and play traditional music and people dance Sevillanas (traditional dance, relative of Flamenco), so yesterday Concha started teaching me Sevillanas! At first she was just going to teach me the first part (there are four parts), but I did so well that we made it right up to the fourth part last night!!! She said that I learned more in a day than many people learn in months of classes—I was very proud. Anyways, she wants me to dance it with her for her friends, which I’m excited about. I just LOVE spending time with Concha—I definitely feel like she has been one of the most positive parts of my experience here in Spain, and she made this week in particular much more bearable. :)
I hope you all have enjoyed a less turbulent week than me, with considerably less blisters. ;)
Pura vida,
Kelsey
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
The Truth is Out There...?
Hello all,
I feel bad for the last few blog entries I’ve made—after some reflection and re-reading, I realized that I’ve been a little careless about what I’ve been saying and haven’t provided enough context or information for someone who isn’t here in Spain with me to really get what’s going on in my world. I’ve been a little unfair to the Spaniards and am portraying both an unflattering image of those around me and, consequently, of myself.
Happily, this is something I can change. :) Let me tell you what’s REALLY going on here, dear readers.
First of all, I LOVE Spain. I adore the food, the weather (yes, even the rain!), the music, the traditions, the cities, the nightlife, the parks, the art, and yes, the people. For example, the guy who’s sort of like the doorman for our apartment building always greets me with a huge smile and asks me how things are going for me in Spain. I think he feels really proud to have an American living in HIS apartment building ;) but regardless, he’s adorable and always puts a smile on my face. There’s also the guy who owns a kebab place near my school who remembers what I order, what part of the country I’m from, and speaks to me in Spanish and English without making me feel like a dunce. Last week, I spent an afternoon in the park writing postcards and watching children playing, and seeing the Spanish families interact so lovingly filled me with happiness. And we can’t forget that guy who let me stand under his umbrella in the pouring rain so many weeks ago—I think he’s very important to remember. The people here have, by and large, demonstrated to me that this is a warm, welcoming, casual, social, and family-centric culture.
Now. Catcalling in Spain isn’t exactly the same as it is in other places. From what I understand (from my limited knowledge of Spanish history and culture), it is generally seen as a way to compliment a woman without losing a sense of one’s manhood. Perhaps the aggressive—and quick to reject—nature of Spanish women contributes to its prevalence (this is just conjecture on my part). Spanish women are notoriously difficult (according to all the guys I’ve talked to—especially my American friends, poor guys) and when they reject a man’s advances, they generally do it brutally. Coming from a culture in which the feminism of our grandmothers has catapulted into a culture in which a slightly off-color comment can get you slapped with harassment accusations, yet women turn right around and expect their bad behavior to be tolerated because they feel entitled, or “men have had this coming,” I’m not exactly used to having men be so forward and publicly… appreciative. For awhile here, I actually really enjoyed the catcalling, because for the most part it wasn’t disruptive to my day, the things people were saying to me were generally nice and not too raunchy, and hey, it feels good to have someone say, “Hey, look at that hottie,” to their friends as I pass by. It’s nice to know that guys find me attractive, even if this isn’t exactly the manner in which I would choose for them to express it.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit of frustration with life in general (it’s just a stage of cultural adaptation and nothing to worry about, it was bound to happen sooner or later), and men have become the target of my wrath purely because, well, a certain few exhibited some bad behavior right about the time I needed a target to shoot at. Several female friends have had very recent, very bad experiences with guys (both Spanish and American) that I had originally seen as wonderfully sweet and harmless, and add that up with a few rude comments from creepy old guys and one friend who actually had a guy try to grab her very inappropriately when she was merely walking down the street, and RAWR, I AM AN ANGRY WOMAN, AND MEN ARE THE DEVIL!!! Oh, boy.
Clearly, men are not the devil. In fact, I find that I often prefer to hang out with my guy friends because, generally speaking, they’re quicker to say what they mean, get to the point, decide on a purchase, they can keep up with me drinking, and they make better dance partners. I’m just sayin’. :P No, but really, I appreciate my guy friends SO much—when I need someone to talk to, they make great listeners and honest advisors; when I’m down, they bring me ice cream and funny movies or take me out dancing; they don’t mind when I swear like a trucker, and they teach me new things, like how to each sunflower seeds, and don’t laugh TOO much when I fail (thanks, Ben!); when I get myself into “situations” I don’t know how to get out of, they step in and clear things up without me even having to ask; when I need someone to walk me home at four in the morning, they don’t hesitate and they don’t bitch about how far away I live; and when I make a fool of myself, they are (for the most part) perfect gentlemen and don’t make fun of me or tell embarrassing stories at school the next day. The men in my life are what add the color, the depth, and the sanity to what would otherwise be a world way too full of estrogen and drama. Thank you, guys; you are truly great friends to have.
So, if I sounded a little (or a lot) like a raving mad man-hater in my last posts, please realize that the anger comes from frustration at seeing the pain my friends have experienced, and just the fact that I’m exhausted from eight months of being “that foreign girl” everywhere I go, of struggling to communicate, of feeling like an animal in a zoo (I get a lot of stares, even when I dress like a European), of stressing over travel plans, and of missing some of the people I love most in the world.
I also want to apologize to the universe for insinuating that I’ve been incompatible with the wonderful guys I’ve dated over the years. Yeah, so it didn’t work out, but the truth is that I really have dated some great guys who were all really right for me during the time I was with them, and who I still admire, respect, and care very deeply about. In fact, I am still on very good terms with most of them, and the rest I don’t talk to just because I don’t know how to get in contact with them! Enfin, I may have made some interesting dating choices in the past, but I always made them for the right reasons, and I always had at least some degree of compatibility with the guys I chose to date. I just don’t want anyone to think I harbor any hard feelings towards any ex-boyfriends—in the grand scheme of things, the disagreements were small, and the fights rare, and I’m willing to let that stuff be water under the bridge.
I think part of this much more peaceful and forgiving attitude comes from the fact that I’ve recently gotten back in touch with a few guys who may have hurt me (and who I hurt) over the last few years, and the amount of respect, forgiveness, and love that they have demonstrated to me really makes me feel happy, hopeful… and bad about giving men such a hard time. :P So, thank you, friends. You really are some special guys, and I want nothing more than to see you ALL happy and healthy.
It could also simply be that I am returning to my senses after an episode of over-emotional irrationality. I would like to believe that, deep down, I am a peaceful and forgiving person. :)
Wait—did I just express all of that in coherent English?!?! Clearly I haven’t been speaking enough Spanish lately! :P I’d better go fix THAT problem right away! OH—by the way—Concha has started teaching me Sevillanas so that I can dance in the street on Día de la Cruz (May 3), and she says I’m great already! Especially my hands and arms—I guess I was just born to dance Flamenco. ;) ;) But shh, I want to surprise my friends here and whip it out when they’re least expecting it!! Teehee! Sometimes, life is really fun. :) The sun was shining today, and I walked home just as the sun was beginning to set, when the sky was gold and baby blue with white polka dot clouds. Just when I think the world is all blackness and meanness after a hard weekend, the universe has a way of sending me gentle reminders that I am ok, the world isn’t full of crappy people after all, and the best thing I can do for both myself and the world around me is to be happy and keep loving, even when it’s hard.
I send my love across the ocean to you, dear reader, with a hug and a smile,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
PS. Please think positive thoughts in the direction of Iceland and its nasty volcanoes… apparently, another one is supposed to erupt soon, but I need it to wait until I’m safely home in the states, ok? I understand that the world thinks it’s coming to an end, but please help me remind it that Kelsey needs to be back in Bellingham to see some adorable chicks, a lovely little apartment, the best big brother ever, the most supportive parents, and the best friends a girl could have before Armageddon rolls around. ;) Thanks.
I feel bad for the last few blog entries I’ve made—after some reflection and re-reading, I realized that I’ve been a little careless about what I’ve been saying and haven’t provided enough context or information for someone who isn’t here in Spain with me to really get what’s going on in my world. I’ve been a little unfair to the Spaniards and am portraying both an unflattering image of those around me and, consequently, of myself.
Happily, this is something I can change. :) Let me tell you what’s REALLY going on here, dear readers.
First of all, I LOVE Spain. I adore the food, the weather (yes, even the rain!), the music, the traditions, the cities, the nightlife, the parks, the art, and yes, the people. For example, the guy who’s sort of like the doorman for our apartment building always greets me with a huge smile and asks me how things are going for me in Spain. I think he feels really proud to have an American living in HIS apartment building ;) but regardless, he’s adorable and always puts a smile on my face. There’s also the guy who owns a kebab place near my school who remembers what I order, what part of the country I’m from, and speaks to me in Spanish and English without making me feel like a dunce. Last week, I spent an afternoon in the park writing postcards and watching children playing, and seeing the Spanish families interact so lovingly filled me with happiness. And we can’t forget that guy who let me stand under his umbrella in the pouring rain so many weeks ago—I think he’s very important to remember. The people here have, by and large, demonstrated to me that this is a warm, welcoming, casual, social, and family-centric culture.
Now. Catcalling in Spain isn’t exactly the same as it is in other places. From what I understand (from my limited knowledge of Spanish history and culture), it is generally seen as a way to compliment a woman without losing a sense of one’s manhood. Perhaps the aggressive—and quick to reject—nature of Spanish women contributes to its prevalence (this is just conjecture on my part). Spanish women are notoriously difficult (according to all the guys I’ve talked to—especially my American friends, poor guys) and when they reject a man’s advances, they generally do it brutally. Coming from a culture in which the feminism of our grandmothers has catapulted into a culture in which a slightly off-color comment can get you slapped with harassment accusations, yet women turn right around and expect their bad behavior to be tolerated because they feel entitled, or “men have had this coming,” I’m not exactly used to having men be so forward and publicly… appreciative. For awhile here, I actually really enjoyed the catcalling, because for the most part it wasn’t disruptive to my day, the things people were saying to me were generally nice and not too raunchy, and hey, it feels good to have someone say, “Hey, look at that hottie,” to their friends as I pass by. It’s nice to know that guys find me attractive, even if this isn’t exactly the manner in which I would choose for them to express it.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit of frustration with life in general (it’s just a stage of cultural adaptation and nothing to worry about, it was bound to happen sooner or later), and men have become the target of my wrath purely because, well, a certain few exhibited some bad behavior right about the time I needed a target to shoot at. Several female friends have had very recent, very bad experiences with guys (both Spanish and American) that I had originally seen as wonderfully sweet and harmless, and add that up with a few rude comments from creepy old guys and one friend who actually had a guy try to grab her very inappropriately when she was merely walking down the street, and RAWR, I AM AN ANGRY WOMAN, AND MEN ARE THE DEVIL!!! Oh, boy.
Clearly, men are not the devil. In fact, I find that I often prefer to hang out with my guy friends because, generally speaking, they’re quicker to say what they mean, get to the point, decide on a purchase, they can keep up with me drinking, and they make better dance partners. I’m just sayin’. :P No, but really, I appreciate my guy friends SO much—when I need someone to talk to, they make great listeners and honest advisors; when I’m down, they bring me ice cream and funny movies or take me out dancing; they don’t mind when I swear like a trucker, and they teach me new things, like how to each sunflower seeds, and don’t laugh TOO much when I fail (thanks, Ben!); when I get myself into “situations” I don’t know how to get out of, they step in and clear things up without me even having to ask; when I need someone to walk me home at four in the morning, they don’t hesitate and they don’t bitch about how far away I live; and when I make a fool of myself, they are (for the most part) perfect gentlemen and don’t make fun of me or tell embarrassing stories at school the next day. The men in my life are what add the color, the depth, and the sanity to what would otherwise be a world way too full of estrogen and drama. Thank you, guys; you are truly great friends to have.
So, if I sounded a little (or a lot) like a raving mad man-hater in my last posts, please realize that the anger comes from frustration at seeing the pain my friends have experienced, and just the fact that I’m exhausted from eight months of being “that foreign girl” everywhere I go, of struggling to communicate, of feeling like an animal in a zoo (I get a lot of stares, even when I dress like a European), of stressing over travel plans, and of missing some of the people I love most in the world.
I also want to apologize to the universe for insinuating that I’ve been incompatible with the wonderful guys I’ve dated over the years. Yeah, so it didn’t work out, but the truth is that I really have dated some great guys who were all really right for me during the time I was with them, and who I still admire, respect, and care very deeply about. In fact, I am still on very good terms with most of them, and the rest I don’t talk to just because I don’t know how to get in contact with them! Enfin, I may have made some interesting dating choices in the past, but I always made them for the right reasons, and I always had at least some degree of compatibility with the guys I chose to date. I just don’t want anyone to think I harbor any hard feelings towards any ex-boyfriends—in the grand scheme of things, the disagreements were small, and the fights rare, and I’m willing to let that stuff be water under the bridge.
I think part of this much more peaceful and forgiving attitude comes from the fact that I’ve recently gotten back in touch with a few guys who may have hurt me (and who I hurt) over the last few years, and the amount of respect, forgiveness, and love that they have demonstrated to me really makes me feel happy, hopeful… and bad about giving men such a hard time. :P So, thank you, friends. You really are some special guys, and I want nothing more than to see you ALL happy and healthy.
It could also simply be that I am returning to my senses after an episode of over-emotional irrationality. I would like to believe that, deep down, I am a peaceful and forgiving person. :)
Wait—did I just express all of that in coherent English?!?! Clearly I haven’t been speaking enough Spanish lately! :P I’d better go fix THAT problem right away! OH—by the way—Concha has started teaching me Sevillanas so that I can dance in the street on Día de la Cruz (May 3), and she says I’m great already! Especially my hands and arms—I guess I was just born to dance Flamenco. ;) ;) But shh, I want to surprise my friends here and whip it out when they’re least expecting it!! Teehee! Sometimes, life is really fun. :) The sun was shining today, and I walked home just as the sun was beginning to set, when the sky was gold and baby blue with white polka dot clouds. Just when I think the world is all blackness and meanness after a hard weekend, the universe has a way of sending me gentle reminders that I am ok, the world isn’t full of crappy people after all, and the best thing I can do for both myself and the world around me is to be happy and keep loving, even when it’s hard.
I send my love across the ocean to you, dear reader, with a hug and a smile,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
PS. Please think positive thoughts in the direction of Iceland and its nasty volcanoes… apparently, another one is supposed to erupt soon, but I need it to wait until I’m safely home in the states, ok? I understand that the world thinks it’s coming to an end, but please help me remind it that Kelsey needs to be back in Bellingham to see some adorable chicks, a lovely little apartment, the best big brother ever, the most supportive parents, and the best friends a girl could have before Armageddon rolls around. ;) Thanks.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sevilla, Olive Oil, and Why Boys Suck
First of all, I want to note that actual good guys are going the way of the dinosaur. Men are quite scummy these days. I just thought someone should raise the alarm on that one. (I’ll tell this story later on.) **Edit: Ok, FINE. Guys are generally kind of awesome, I just fell in with the wrong crowd for a minute there. And, to be fair, women can be just as bad (often worse) than men. I'm sorry I got upset and said that men are scum. Sorry, men. You aren't all bad, the bad guys just seem to be more... vocal.**
Anyways. This weekend, a few friends and I went to Sevilla, which is the capital of Andalucía and a really cool city. It was a bit rainy on and off during the day, but it was actually pretty awesome to hear thunder occasionally, and at one point, it was ACTUALLY RAINING—not sprinkling like it usually does, but really coming down! I definitely went and danced around in it for a minute. :)
The first place we went to we actually found on accident, because we were lost. :P It’s called the Plaza de España, and it’s one of the buildings that was built in 1929 (I think?) for a big fair thing, and it has representations of each Spanish municipality in these cute little booths, all done in lovely Sevillan tile work. We found the one for Granada and took pictures of it and with it, of course. The building is built in a semi-circle, and it has a cute little fake canal and very cool bridges that go over it—all very useless but beautiful.
Next, we walked through a lovely couple of parks in search of the Cathedral and Alcázar (palace), and played around on this awesome tree with a really cool, complex, above-ground root system. Then, we got lost in the old Jewish neighborhood—judería, which pretty much every Spanish seems to have, and they’re all beautiful and cool. (We did a lot of getting lost and finding cool places by accident.) Eventually, we actually made it to our destination, the Cathedral. I kind of feel like I’ve seen so many gothic cathedrals that they all blend together and look the same to me after awhile. However, this cathedral is supposedly the third biggest in Europe, which is pretty awesome. Also, its belltower was built by the same guy who built a belltower I saw in Rabat, Morocco, which is pretty awesome. It has a ramp up to the top instead of stairs so that whoever was going to ring the bells could ride a horsey up to the top, which I loved, because sometimes walking up or down a lot of stairs gets me pretty close to having a panic attack, actually. (I’m remembering the tower in Bruges – it was not very fun trying to come back down from the top. Poor Melissa had to coach me through it—I miss that girl!)
After seeing the cathedral, we took a lunch break on a bench in the square in front of it, and did some people watching and horsey watching—there are a lot of carriages that hang out there to take tourists on little jaunts. Then, we went to the Alcázar, which is the palace where the King stays when he visits Sevilla, and very similar to the Alhambra. One really cool thing about the Alcázar is that a lot of the paint is still intact, so you can get an idea of what the Alhambra would look like if more of its paint decorations were still intact, too. There were a ton of rooms, and we kept discovering new little nooks and courtyards, each one cooler and more charming than the last. Also, one of the girls I went with was pretty goofy because she’d stayed out all night the night before and was a bit sleep-deprived (ahem), so she got us all to sing Disney songs and dance around through the royal halls and gardens. It was pretty awesome. She also serenaded the fishies in one of the many fish ponds (which were all pretty grody looking, poor fishies) with a lovely rendition of “Come little fishies, I’ll taaake you away…” from that movie, the one with the witches… what was that called? Anyways, all in all it was a pretty awesome day.
The next day, my program took us to an old olive oil making place that is now only a museum, and it was super cool to see the way they press olive oil. We didn’t actually get to see them make any, since the machinery isn’t functional anymore, but still. Olive oil is such a huge part of the culture here, and I love how good it is for you, as well as how good it makes me feel—my hair and skin are definitely softer, for one thing! So that was fun. Plus, there was this cute doggie who accompanied us on our tour, and we named him Jack. I wanted to take him home and give him a bath, and maybe a few rabies shots. :P
So, I guess I should explain my frustration with men a little further. Besides the gross catcalling and horror stories of harassment I keep hearing from my friends about Spaniards, I have become pretty disillusioned with some of the guys in our program lately, too. A lot of them seem really nice, right up until you realize they’re just looking to get some action and don’t actually care too much about developing a friendship with you. I’m really NOT looking to hook up with anyone, and as soon as they figure that out, many of them have stopped being so friendly. It’s really quite charming. There’s one guy in particular who seems to be making the rounds of the girls, pursuing one until he hooks up with her, then ditching her to pursue someone else. And this is a guy I thought originally was really a sweetheart—shows you how good a judge of character I am!
Anyways, not all men are scum, as evidenced by my friends back home and two guys here who have yet to mar their reputation in my eyes. One of them is the guy who has been really great at supporting me and talking through things with me concerning my ex-boyfriend—he’s really challenged me to be strong and take care of myself first, which I appreciate a lot. He’s been a great friend to have here. The other guy is super nice, has a girlfriend, and is SUPER great with boundaries. He makes it clear that he isn’t going to do anything that would make his girlfriend uncomfortable (she is one lucky girl!), but he’s still really fun to hang out with. So last night when we all went out, I kind of just stuck with those guys, and had a really good time (even though some of the not-so-cool guys were around doing their not-so-cool thing, which got me all sorts of mad). They taught me how to eat sunflower seeds! And danced with me without being gross and sexual. It was very nice. So, I guess, most men are scum, but there’s still hope. Sort of.
I’m a little worried about how jaded and bitter I seem to be, but, well, I think it’s a normal part of the growing-up process, and I think perhaps it’s good for me to be seeing bad behavior and identifying it as such. Maybe it will help me to make better decisions about who I get involved with in the future. I’m pretty frustrated with dating people I’m not very compatible with (haha).
I am pretty excited about coming home—being away from all of my friends and family for a little over eight months is pretty difficult and exhausting. I feel SO lucky and SO grateful that I’ve had this experience—I’ve done a LOT of learning and growing up, and I wouldn’t change a thing that has happened in these eight months. Still, I miss home. I miss a sense of predictability in life. I miss not sticking out like a sore thumb—being stared at in the street actually gets old after awhile. :P
Love to all, and see you in a little over a month!!
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
Anyways. This weekend, a few friends and I went to Sevilla, which is the capital of Andalucía and a really cool city. It was a bit rainy on and off during the day, but it was actually pretty awesome to hear thunder occasionally, and at one point, it was ACTUALLY RAINING—not sprinkling like it usually does, but really coming down! I definitely went and danced around in it for a minute. :)
The first place we went to we actually found on accident, because we were lost. :P It’s called the Plaza de España, and it’s one of the buildings that was built in 1929 (I think?) for a big fair thing, and it has representations of each Spanish municipality in these cute little booths, all done in lovely Sevillan tile work. We found the one for Granada and took pictures of it and with it, of course. The building is built in a semi-circle, and it has a cute little fake canal and very cool bridges that go over it—all very useless but beautiful.
Next, we walked through a lovely couple of parks in search of the Cathedral and Alcázar (palace), and played around on this awesome tree with a really cool, complex, above-ground root system. Then, we got lost in the old Jewish neighborhood—judería, which pretty much every Spanish seems to have, and they’re all beautiful and cool. (We did a lot of getting lost and finding cool places by accident.) Eventually, we actually made it to our destination, the Cathedral. I kind of feel like I’ve seen so many gothic cathedrals that they all blend together and look the same to me after awhile. However, this cathedral is supposedly the third biggest in Europe, which is pretty awesome. Also, its belltower was built by the same guy who built a belltower I saw in Rabat, Morocco, which is pretty awesome. It has a ramp up to the top instead of stairs so that whoever was going to ring the bells could ride a horsey up to the top, which I loved, because sometimes walking up or down a lot of stairs gets me pretty close to having a panic attack, actually. (I’m remembering the tower in Bruges – it was not very fun trying to come back down from the top. Poor Melissa had to coach me through it—I miss that girl!)
After seeing the cathedral, we took a lunch break on a bench in the square in front of it, and did some people watching and horsey watching—there are a lot of carriages that hang out there to take tourists on little jaunts. Then, we went to the Alcázar, which is the palace where the King stays when he visits Sevilla, and very similar to the Alhambra. One really cool thing about the Alcázar is that a lot of the paint is still intact, so you can get an idea of what the Alhambra would look like if more of its paint decorations were still intact, too. There were a ton of rooms, and we kept discovering new little nooks and courtyards, each one cooler and more charming than the last. Also, one of the girls I went with was pretty goofy because she’d stayed out all night the night before and was a bit sleep-deprived (ahem), so she got us all to sing Disney songs and dance around through the royal halls and gardens. It was pretty awesome. She also serenaded the fishies in one of the many fish ponds (which were all pretty grody looking, poor fishies) with a lovely rendition of “Come little fishies, I’ll taaake you away…” from that movie, the one with the witches… what was that called? Anyways, all in all it was a pretty awesome day.
The next day, my program took us to an old olive oil making place that is now only a museum, and it was super cool to see the way they press olive oil. We didn’t actually get to see them make any, since the machinery isn’t functional anymore, but still. Olive oil is such a huge part of the culture here, and I love how good it is for you, as well as how good it makes me feel—my hair and skin are definitely softer, for one thing! So that was fun. Plus, there was this cute doggie who accompanied us on our tour, and we named him Jack. I wanted to take him home and give him a bath, and maybe a few rabies shots. :P
So, I guess I should explain my frustration with men a little further. Besides the gross catcalling and horror stories of harassment I keep hearing from my friends about Spaniards, I have become pretty disillusioned with some of the guys in our program lately, too. A lot of them seem really nice, right up until you realize they’re just looking to get some action and don’t actually care too much about developing a friendship with you. I’m really NOT looking to hook up with anyone, and as soon as they figure that out, many of them have stopped being so friendly. It’s really quite charming. There’s one guy in particular who seems to be making the rounds of the girls, pursuing one until he hooks up with her, then ditching her to pursue someone else. And this is a guy I thought originally was really a sweetheart—shows you how good a judge of character I am!
Anyways, not all men are scum, as evidenced by my friends back home and two guys here who have yet to mar their reputation in my eyes. One of them is the guy who has been really great at supporting me and talking through things with me concerning my ex-boyfriend—he’s really challenged me to be strong and take care of myself first, which I appreciate a lot. He’s been a great friend to have here. The other guy is super nice, has a girlfriend, and is SUPER great with boundaries. He makes it clear that he isn’t going to do anything that would make his girlfriend uncomfortable (she is one lucky girl!), but he’s still really fun to hang out with. So last night when we all went out, I kind of just stuck with those guys, and had a really good time (even though some of the not-so-cool guys were around doing their not-so-cool thing, which got me all sorts of mad). They taught me how to eat sunflower seeds! And danced with me without being gross and sexual. It was very nice. So, I guess, most men are scum, but there’s still hope. Sort of.
I’m a little worried about how jaded and bitter I seem to be, but, well, I think it’s a normal part of the growing-up process, and I think perhaps it’s good for me to be seeing bad behavior and identifying it as such. Maybe it will help me to make better decisions about who I get involved with in the future. I’m pretty frustrated with dating people I’m not very compatible with (haha).
I am pretty excited about coming home—being away from all of my friends and family for a little over eight months is pretty difficult and exhausting. I feel SO lucky and SO grateful that I’ve had this experience—I’ve done a LOT of learning and growing up, and I wouldn’t change a thing that has happened in these eight months. Still, I miss home. I miss a sense of predictability in life. I miss not sticking out like a sore thumb—being stared at in the street actually gets old after awhile. :P
Love to all, and see you in a little over a month!!
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Daily Life in Granada...
I have a few little things that I keep meaning to blog about but put off because it doesn’t seem like enough for a blog, but now I think, between all of them, it’ll be enough. :)
On Sunday when I came home from skyping with my mom at the internet café, there were strange people in my house!! Concha’s brother (the one that’s alive and that I didn’t know existed—now I understand why, whenever she talks about her other brother she says, “the one that’s dead”) and his wife were in town visiting from Valencia, and they brought Concha’s mom over (she lives with Concha’s younger sister on the other side of town) for a visit. They were having tea and watching motorcycle racing when I came in, so Concha made me some tea and sat me down in the circle. At first I felt kind of awkward, but the wife (who Concha is really close to) was super nice and asked me questions about where I was from and that sort of thing, and we had that discussion about how Washington is, in fact, on the west coast and Washington DC is NOT, in fact, in Washington state, and how little sense that makes. (Seriously, whoever named our state “Washington” deserves an award for confusing pretty much the entire rest of the world.) Then we started talking about how no one in the USA knows world geography—some people think Portugal is a part of Spain, some people think the Alhambra is in Sevilla, etc—and had a really interesting discussion about politics and education and all that good stuff. I felt like they were genuinely interested in my opinion and it was surprisingly pleasant, even though I felt like I was bumbling through my Spanish and saying everything wrong because I was nervous. Anyways, it was really nice, and a few days later Concha told me her sister-in-law had called to say how much they all liked me, which of course made me feel great.
Now I can’t remember the second thing I was going to write about. Shoot.
Well the third thing is a bit of a rant, which I don’t usually do, but I’ve got to let off some steam or I’m seriously going to mangle some Spaniard one of these days. As much as I try to be culturally sensitive and aware and I usually don’t have any problems with catcalling and staring, it has been pissing me off to no end lately. Over the last few weeks, I feel like I have endured way more growls, whistles, hisses, invasive staring, and muttered come-ons than any one person should in their life. I have actually started trying to make myself look a little frumpier than usual before I leave the house—AND IT’S NOT HELPING. What grosses me out the most are the older guys—as old or older than my DAD—who stare at my really rather inappropriately and not at all subtly as I pass and then say “oye, guapa…” at me. I actually had some guy say the equivalent of “wow, what a hot thing” in Spanish to me. The feminist in me was SO LIVID—I mean, talk about objectification at the most fundamental and blatant level! Feminist Kelsey and Cultural Analyst Kelsey are really having it out over this whole problem, because I have to realize that, at some level, this is a cultural phenomenon—but, on the other hand, it is unacceptably machista and doesn’t exactly empower women—more specifically, me. I’ve started muttering things back, though—mostly along the lines of “F*** off, you mother f*ing asshole.” It makes me feel slightly better and slightly less like performing a few back-alley castrations, but still. I never thought I’d mind catcalling—after all, some days it’s nice to hear that perfect strangers think you’re hot—but it has gotten absolutely ridiculous, and I often feel like men single me out because I look and dress differently; because I am obviously not Spanish. I know I ought to embrace my uniqueness, but if that involves embracing drunk bums who stumble after me at 2 in the afternoon propositioning me, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass.
On to the next item of business! Both of my morning classes were cancelled today, so I spent a lovely morning wandering around the city and enjoying some much-needed solitude. First, I went to the Park—Parque Garcia Lorca—to sit in the intermittent sunshine by the fountains and write some letters. It was wonderfully tranquil—until a guy came up and tried to hit on me, but he was relatively nice about it, so I just smiled and said I was busy writing, and he went away. What a relief. Then, I went to the Church of the Patron Virgin of Granada—la virgen de las Angustias. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it is gorgeous inside—all gold curlicues and extravagant altars to various virgins or Christ figures. It was very lovely, so I sat down to enjoy the silence and lack of creepers. A French mom came in with her kids, and she sat on the other end of the bench I was on. Her kids wanted to light the little light bulbs masquerading as candles, so she gave them some coins and they came scurrying by me, almost stepping on my toes. The mom called to one of them and told her to say sorry (in French), but the little girl just kept going. The mom made eye contact with me and said sorry, and I said “No big deal”—in French! It just came out in French! I love moments like that where my languages just pop up and I impress myself. :) Not like, “No big deal” is exactly difficult to say, but still! I love my brain, it’s so coy.
Last thing! Today as I was finishing lunch, Concha got up and went into the kitchen, and came back out with this bubble wrap and started popping it. She said, “I just can’t help it! I LOVE popping this stuff!” And I laughed and said I did too, and she extended it to me, and we spent a good five minutes just popping bubble wrap and laughing. I love silly little moments like this; they make me feel so wonderfully young and human and connected with other great people.
Alright, signing off for now,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
On Sunday when I came home from skyping with my mom at the internet café, there were strange people in my house!! Concha’s brother (the one that’s alive and that I didn’t know existed—now I understand why, whenever she talks about her other brother she says, “the one that’s dead”) and his wife were in town visiting from Valencia, and they brought Concha’s mom over (she lives with Concha’s younger sister on the other side of town) for a visit. They were having tea and watching motorcycle racing when I came in, so Concha made me some tea and sat me down in the circle. At first I felt kind of awkward, but the wife (who Concha is really close to) was super nice and asked me questions about where I was from and that sort of thing, and we had that discussion about how Washington is, in fact, on the west coast and Washington DC is NOT, in fact, in Washington state, and how little sense that makes. (Seriously, whoever named our state “Washington” deserves an award for confusing pretty much the entire rest of the world.) Then we started talking about how no one in the USA knows world geography—some people think Portugal is a part of Spain, some people think the Alhambra is in Sevilla, etc—and had a really interesting discussion about politics and education and all that good stuff. I felt like they were genuinely interested in my opinion and it was surprisingly pleasant, even though I felt like I was bumbling through my Spanish and saying everything wrong because I was nervous. Anyways, it was really nice, and a few days later Concha told me her sister-in-law had called to say how much they all liked me, which of course made me feel great.
Now I can’t remember the second thing I was going to write about. Shoot.
Well the third thing is a bit of a rant, which I don’t usually do, but I’ve got to let off some steam or I’m seriously going to mangle some Spaniard one of these days. As much as I try to be culturally sensitive and aware and I usually don’t have any problems with catcalling and staring, it has been pissing me off to no end lately. Over the last few weeks, I feel like I have endured way more growls, whistles, hisses, invasive staring, and muttered come-ons than any one person should in their life. I have actually started trying to make myself look a little frumpier than usual before I leave the house—AND IT’S NOT HELPING. What grosses me out the most are the older guys—as old or older than my DAD—who stare at my really rather inappropriately and not at all subtly as I pass and then say “oye, guapa…” at me. I actually had some guy say the equivalent of “wow, what a hot thing” in Spanish to me. The feminist in me was SO LIVID—I mean, talk about objectification at the most fundamental and blatant level! Feminist Kelsey and Cultural Analyst Kelsey are really having it out over this whole problem, because I have to realize that, at some level, this is a cultural phenomenon—but, on the other hand, it is unacceptably machista and doesn’t exactly empower women—more specifically, me. I’ve started muttering things back, though—mostly along the lines of “F*** off, you mother f*ing asshole.” It makes me feel slightly better and slightly less like performing a few back-alley castrations, but still. I never thought I’d mind catcalling—after all, some days it’s nice to hear that perfect strangers think you’re hot—but it has gotten absolutely ridiculous, and I often feel like men single me out because I look and dress differently; because I am obviously not Spanish. I know I ought to embrace my uniqueness, but if that involves embracing drunk bums who stumble after me at 2 in the afternoon propositioning me, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass.
On to the next item of business! Both of my morning classes were cancelled today, so I spent a lovely morning wandering around the city and enjoying some much-needed solitude. First, I went to the Park—Parque Garcia Lorca—to sit in the intermittent sunshine by the fountains and write some letters. It was wonderfully tranquil—until a guy came up and tried to hit on me, but he was relatively nice about it, so I just smiled and said I was busy writing, and he went away. What a relief. Then, I went to the Church of the Patron Virgin of Granada—la virgen de las Angustias. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it is gorgeous inside—all gold curlicues and extravagant altars to various virgins or Christ figures. It was very lovely, so I sat down to enjoy the silence and lack of creepers. A French mom came in with her kids, and she sat on the other end of the bench I was on. Her kids wanted to light the little light bulbs masquerading as candles, so she gave them some coins and they came scurrying by me, almost stepping on my toes. The mom called to one of them and told her to say sorry (in French), but the little girl just kept going. The mom made eye contact with me and said sorry, and I said “No big deal”—in French! It just came out in French! I love moments like that where my languages just pop up and I impress myself. :) Not like, “No big deal” is exactly difficult to say, but still! I love my brain, it’s so coy.
Last thing! Today as I was finishing lunch, Concha got up and went into the kitchen, and came back out with this bubble wrap and started popping it. She said, “I just can’t help it! I LOVE popping this stuff!” And I laughed and said I did too, and she extended it to me, and we spent a good five minutes just popping bubble wrap and laughing. I love silly little moments like this; they make me feel so wonderfully young and human and connected with other great people.
Alright, signing off for now,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
Sunday, April 11, 2010
A day in Córdoba!
Yesterday, a friend and I took an early morning bus to Córdoba, a lovely little town to the northwest of Granada. Córdoba is very Andalucían in that it demonstrates an interesting mix of the three cultures that shared (or fought over) the region over the past millennium: Christians, Jews, and Muslims. My friend, Katie, and I decided to walk from the bus station to the famous Mezquita, and I’m glad we did, because we ran smack into the Judería, the old Jewish neighborhood, which is surprisingly well-preserved compared to, for example, the Jewish neighborhood in Granada, and incredibly charming. I don’t think I actually took any pictures, so I’ll try to describe it so you can create your own mental images. The streets are tiny—some too small for even the tiny European cars to fit down—labyrinth-like, and speckled with sundrenched little plazas. The peaceful monotony of whitewashed walls is broken only by flowerboxes protruding from small windows, many with star-of-David patterned wooden screens or shutters, and wrought-iron doorways in the wall that tempt passerby with glimpses of lush, intimate little gardens or courtyards. The buildings are generally about two or three stories high, and from some streets, you can catch a peek at the tower of the Mezquita, which, at only half of its original height, is still impressive.
So, when did I turn into a guidebook?!
Anyways, we walked through the Judería to the Mezquita, which is now Catholic Cathedral, previously a Muslim Mosque (Mezquita), previously a Christian Church. Confused yet? Ok, so, the original Church was bought by a Muslim ruler to provide a place for the burgeoning Islamic community to worship, and he built the original Mosque on top of the former church’s foundations. The Mosque was enlarged over time, and at the height of its beauty, must have been absolutely breathtaking, with its forest of columns (with material from all over the region—Roman, Visigothic, Syrian?!), domed skylights, and desert-like colors of white and terracotta. A few centuries after the Catholic Reconquista, however, somebody had the brilliant idea to tear out the center of the Mosque and build a Cathedral in its place, and I bet you everybody who saw it before and after the addition was pretty heartbroken. Although the Cathedral is lovely, with gorgeous carved mahogany choir stalls, it seems completely out of place and absolutely ruins the mesmerizing design of the Mosque. It’s depressing to think that this unnecessary display of religious dominance by the Catholic Church destroyed such a unique and beautiful historical site.
After the Mezquita, we walked over to the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos, which at different times in history has housed kings, the Spanish Inquisition, and a prison before being opened up to the public as a historical monument. The building itself didn’t seem that impressive to me (after the Alhambra and the Palacio Real, it’s hard for anything to call itself a palace and measure up), but the gardens were EXQUISITE. If I ever have the space and energy to create my own sort of decorative gardens, I would definitely try to do a miniature version of the gardens at the Alcázar. One of my favorite flowers, the Calla Lilly, was everywhere, and there was a fish pond, and numerous fountains, and long pools with arcing spouts of water and lillypads, and geometric cropped bush gardens, and even a little ducky pond! I was in heaven here. It was so peaceful and ordered and yet natural and colorful and lovely.
The rest of the day was spent wandering in search of lunch, then ice cream, and hanging out in the local park, which was very relaxing. On the bus ride home, they played the movie Wall-E, which made me happy but also homesick—I love that movie. :)
It has been wonderfully sunny in Granada lately, and Katie and I have started meeting up in the park—Parque García Lorca) to lie on the grass in the sun (don’t worry, I wear sunscreen—not interested in skin cancer or nasty leather skin in thirty years) and do homework or just hang out. It’s so wonderful to finally get to wear my skirts and dresses and not have to worry about coats and that sort of thing. We’re talking about going to beaches the last few weekends we’re here after our trip to Barcelona—apparently there are even some black sand beaches nearby that Katie wants to check out, and I am down for anything that includes me floating in the Mediterranean, let’s be honest. ;) I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
I send my love, and many hugs,
Pura vida,
Kelsey
So, when did I turn into a guidebook?!
Anyways, we walked through the Judería to the Mezquita, which is now Catholic Cathedral, previously a Muslim Mosque (Mezquita), previously a Christian Church. Confused yet? Ok, so, the original Church was bought by a Muslim ruler to provide a place for the burgeoning Islamic community to worship, and he built the original Mosque on top of the former church’s foundations. The Mosque was enlarged over time, and at the height of its beauty, must have been absolutely breathtaking, with its forest of columns (with material from all over the region—Roman, Visigothic, Syrian?!), domed skylights, and desert-like colors of white and terracotta. A few centuries after the Catholic Reconquista, however, somebody had the brilliant idea to tear out the center of the Mosque and build a Cathedral in its place, and I bet you everybody who saw it before and after the addition was pretty heartbroken. Although the Cathedral is lovely, with gorgeous carved mahogany choir stalls, it seems completely out of place and absolutely ruins the mesmerizing design of the Mosque. It’s depressing to think that this unnecessary display of religious dominance by the Catholic Church destroyed such a unique and beautiful historical site.
After the Mezquita, we walked over to the Alcázar de los Reyes Cristianos, which at different times in history has housed kings, the Spanish Inquisition, and a prison before being opened up to the public as a historical monument. The building itself didn’t seem that impressive to me (after the Alhambra and the Palacio Real, it’s hard for anything to call itself a palace and measure up), but the gardens were EXQUISITE. If I ever have the space and energy to create my own sort of decorative gardens, I would definitely try to do a miniature version of the gardens at the Alcázar. One of my favorite flowers, the Calla Lilly, was everywhere, and there was a fish pond, and numerous fountains, and long pools with arcing spouts of water and lillypads, and geometric cropped bush gardens, and even a little ducky pond! I was in heaven here. It was so peaceful and ordered and yet natural and colorful and lovely.
The rest of the day was spent wandering in search of lunch, then ice cream, and hanging out in the local park, which was very relaxing. On the bus ride home, they played the movie Wall-E, which made me happy but also homesick—I love that movie. :)
It has been wonderfully sunny in Granada lately, and Katie and I have started meeting up in the park—Parque García Lorca) to lie on the grass in the sun (don’t worry, I wear sunscreen—not interested in skin cancer or nasty leather skin in thirty years) and do homework or just hang out. It’s so wonderful to finally get to wear my skirts and dresses and not have to worry about coats and that sort of thing. We’re talking about going to beaches the last few weekends we’re here after our trip to Barcelona—apparently there are even some black sand beaches nearby that Katie wants to check out, and I am down for anything that includes me floating in the Mediterranean, let’s be honest. ;) I’ll be sure to keep you updated.
I send my love, and many hugs,
Pura vida,
Kelsey
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Semana Santa!
Holy week is a really big deal in all of Spain, but especially in Andalucía, the region Granada is in. I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss the whole week, so I flew back from France on Thursday morning so I could see the processions on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, which are supposedly the coolest in Granada.
A Semana Santa procession is a very unique thing, unlike any other parade I’ve ever seen. When it was described to me, I didn’t really understand what in the world it could be, so although I’ll try to explain them now after having personal experience with them, I’m not sure how clear it will be! There are many churches in Granada, and many “Brotherhoods,” and each brotherhood puts on a procession which leaves from their associated church, makes its way through town to the Cathedral, then goes back to its church. Each procession takes quite a long time to complete the circle—sometimes as much as 8 or 9 hours. The procession is oriented around the “imágenes,” or Idols: one of Jesus and one of Mary. Several only have Jesus or only Mary, or in the case of María de las Angustías, they’re together on the same float thing. Anyways, these imágenes are very old, or copies of very old ones, and they are usually made out of wood, metal, and fabric, with fresh flowers added for additional decoration. They’re very elaborate, veritable works of art, and each is different. The imágenes are preceded by Nazarenes, who wear long robes in different colors (depending on the brotherhood they’re from) with a tall pointy hat that covers their face. It was a little shocking to see their outfits at first because they are very reminiscent of what the KKK wears, but I’m sure that’s only a connection an American would make; clearly, these Spanish Nazarenes came first, and the KKK may have simply copied them in an attempt to give their hate crimes religious connotations. Anyways, after I got past the initial shock, the outfits are actually very cool. So, the Nazarenes come first, followed by the floats/imágenes, which are carried by 30 – 40 men underneath who move in such a way as to make it seem like Mary and Jesus are walking—it’s pretty darn cool! They are followed by a band, which helps the guys carrying Mary and Jesus keep time and also plays awesome music.
The first procession I went to see was unlike any of the others because it was El Silencio—the Silence. It was super eerie but also very moving, because when the image of Jesus comes past, all the lights in the area are turned off and everyone is silent (minus camera flashes and clicking, of course). The Nazarenes (in black) carry long candles, and instead of a band, there is only one drummer who keeps the beat. Following Jesus are the Penitents, who carry crosses, go barefoot, and/or wear shackles around their ankles, which make a horrible scratchy sound on the pavement in the silence. It was definitely a unique experience.
All the others were considerably more upbeat, with colorful Nazarenes and lively bands, but all of the ones I saw were at night, so it was difficult to take pictures.
I’m just recovering from being (very) sick yesterday, so you’ll have to forgive me the shorter entry, but maybe go look up “semana santa Granada” on google images and you’ll get a better idea of what I’m talking about.
Love to all,
Kelsey
A Semana Santa procession is a very unique thing, unlike any other parade I’ve ever seen. When it was described to me, I didn’t really understand what in the world it could be, so although I’ll try to explain them now after having personal experience with them, I’m not sure how clear it will be! There are many churches in Granada, and many “Brotherhoods,” and each brotherhood puts on a procession which leaves from their associated church, makes its way through town to the Cathedral, then goes back to its church. Each procession takes quite a long time to complete the circle—sometimes as much as 8 or 9 hours. The procession is oriented around the “imágenes,” or Idols: one of Jesus and one of Mary. Several only have Jesus or only Mary, or in the case of María de las Angustías, they’re together on the same float thing. Anyways, these imágenes are very old, or copies of very old ones, and they are usually made out of wood, metal, and fabric, with fresh flowers added for additional decoration. They’re very elaborate, veritable works of art, and each is different. The imágenes are preceded by Nazarenes, who wear long robes in different colors (depending on the brotherhood they’re from) with a tall pointy hat that covers their face. It was a little shocking to see their outfits at first because they are very reminiscent of what the KKK wears, but I’m sure that’s only a connection an American would make; clearly, these Spanish Nazarenes came first, and the KKK may have simply copied them in an attempt to give their hate crimes religious connotations. Anyways, after I got past the initial shock, the outfits are actually very cool. So, the Nazarenes come first, followed by the floats/imágenes, which are carried by 30 – 40 men underneath who move in such a way as to make it seem like Mary and Jesus are walking—it’s pretty darn cool! They are followed by a band, which helps the guys carrying Mary and Jesus keep time and also plays awesome music.
The first procession I went to see was unlike any of the others because it was El Silencio—the Silence. It was super eerie but also very moving, because when the image of Jesus comes past, all the lights in the area are turned off and everyone is silent (minus camera flashes and clicking, of course). The Nazarenes (in black) carry long candles, and instead of a band, there is only one drummer who keeps the beat. Following Jesus are the Penitents, who carry crosses, go barefoot, and/or wear shackles around their ankles, which make a horrible scratchy sound on the pavement in the silence. It was definitely a unique experience.
All the others were considerably more upbeat, with colorful Nazarenes and lively bands, but all of the ones I saw were at night, so it was difficult to take pictures.
I’m just recovering from being (very) sick yesterday, so you’ll have to forgive me the shorter entry, but maybe go look up “semana santa Granada” on google images and you’ll get a better idea of what I’m talking about.
Love to all,
Kelsey
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