Seville and more...

                Midterms were fast approaching.  Having been sick the entire previous week due to a bug that I contracted in Morocco, I was still trying to subdue my fever such that I could attend my most important classes.  I would feel better for a short time, but after my two mile power walk to school, I inevitably wondered how I would get through the next ninety minutes of Contemporary Art.  Salsa class every day was out of the question, and I was hibernating in my five foot long bed for hours at a time.  Forget afternoon hikes, going out with friends on the weeknights, or anything secondary; I was just trying to convince my host mom that I was not avoiding her food because it tasted bad, but in fact because my body physically could not handle it.  Nevertheless, I stumbled to week’s end with my prescribed medicine crumpled in my nifty travel backpack and I plopped on the bus with forty-five friends destined for a weekend in Seville, the capital of Andalucía.

                María, our program director, enthusiastically skipped through the bus aisles striking up conversations and, after a few hours, we made a quick stop outside the city.  It may have been due to my lack of attention in class on Thursday, but I had no idea what I was looking at when our guide walked us through mazes of ancient looking ruins.  Fortunately, I eventually realized that we were walking through a city that is over 2,000 years old!  It was constructed by the Romans during their empire, and it contained entire excavated homes and sculptures, not to mention an impressive coliseum.  The concept of walking on the same platform where warriors fought for their lives literally thousands of years ago was undoubtedly very thought-provoking and, inevitably, my friends and I joked that we would have probably been the best warriors back in the day.  The whole tour lasted two hours, but walking on Medusa’s tile floor in a home that housed children centuries ago was an experience unlike any other.

                Eventually, we arrived in Seville, where I spent most of my time wandering through the city streets and overlooking the city from the Cathedral’s impressive viewpoints.  We ultimately packed into the bus on Sunday evening with just enough time to return to Granada at 10 pm for dinner.  With a test at 8:30 am and 6:30 pm the next day, I wished that my final grades would just reflect all the educational tours that I had taken in Seville.  Luckily, I survived the extensive essay questions and eventually made it to this weekend.  With a nation-wide strike being held on Thursday, my school week was cut short, and I took to the streets to curiously wander through the thousands of protestors who desperately want economic change in Spain.  Surely, many union members were protesting with a purpose, but I was amused to see that the confetti, organized drum squads, and hundreds of flags resembled a joyous parade more than anything.  Even so, the twenty-four hour marathon of whistles and fire-crackers ended at midnight and it brought yet another work day in Granada and the rest of Spain. 

                With Friday brings the official start to Spring Break, and I am preparing to head to Barcelona for the next week.  A five hour bus ride and a quick plane ride await, but I hope to be taking in the beautiful northern Spanish sun within the next twenty-four hours.  This is a trip that I have been excited for since arriving in Spain, and I am excited to share my experiences in the coming week!

Africa: Dreams Realized

We walked out of the airport, passports in hand, with the name of a hostel and a few hundred dirhams.  Five of us, all friends from the Granada program, had no idea what to expect other than a new world experience when we landed in Marrakech, an Islamic city of over 1,000,000 people located more or less in the center of Morocco, Africa.  Other than a questionable camping trip that we had organized online through a third party organization, we decided that our first day would be spent “experiencing the culture.”  We did not have to wait longer than two minutes before we realized this was no longer Spain and surely not the United States.  About ten taxi drivers approached us offering their services, a theme that would recur time and time again throughout the weekend.  Eventually, an Arabic speaking gentleman convinced us that his “derpy” taxi was absolutely the best and we crammed into a tiny, run down car headed toward the main region of the city.  After dodging donkeys, horses, camels, and oncoming cars (there were no street markers or lines), we finally got off the taxi only to be overwhelmed by mobs of locals who saw an opportunity to pounce on obvious tourists.  We spent the next day eating amazing Moroccan food, taking pictures with cobras, watching monkeys back flip through the crowded streets and, more than anything, take in the sights and sounds of a city that none of us had ever even come close to experiencing. 

Friday morning, our second day in Morocco, we woke up at 6:30 a.m. with plans to meet a stranger in front of a post office who would drive us to the Sahara Desert, a six hour excursion, and leave us with camels that would trek us in for a night camping under the stars.  If it sounds a little bit unscripted and questionable, it was surely all of the above, but we were optimistic that our twenty euro online deposit had not been stolen and our excursion a fiction of the imagination.  Surely enough, we cautiously approached our preliminary meeting spot and a nicely dressed local stepped out of the nicest mini-van in Marrakech and muttered, “Michael Dildine?”  Seeing as how our reservation was under Michael’s name, it appeared as though this might be a legitimate operation after all.  Eventually, we made our way south and made stops in the mountains and at the site where Gladiator, The Prince of Persia and other famous movies were filmed.  As the sun was setting, the driver finally pulled off in a city called Zagora, where he instructed us to follow a couple locals who would lead us to the camels.  Before we knew it, the five of us were watching sun bow below the desert dunes while we realized that camel riding was not exactly comparable to sitting on our luxurious living room couches.  We finally got comfortable two hours later, at which point the guides dropped us off in the pitch black desert and walked the other way without saying absolutely anything.  Curiously, we stumbled up and down the sand hills until we came across a camp site.  In the middle of the African Desert with camels resting in the background, we set our bags down and spent the rest of our night beating on drums, conversing with the locals, meeting people from around the world and letting the smooth Saharan sand run through our dirty fingers.  My dream of visiting Africa was officially a reality.

                Eventually, we rode the camels back to Zagora where we were subsequently driven to Marrakech.  Three days after first arriving in the marvelous other-worldly city, we were again dodging honking cars and buses, this time on foot, in a desperate attempt to find a taxi that would take us to the train station on time.  Fortunately, the five of us piled into our Harry Potter-style train cabin just in time for our ten hour overnight ride to Tangier, the northern-most city in Africa.  We had to untwist our pretzel shaped bodies when we awakened just in time for our train stop and, within three hours, we were disembarking the ferry that had taken us across the Strait of Gibraltar and back into Spain.  The whole traveling adventure lasted a mere twenty-four hours, but I finally returned home on Sunday night with the most eventful weekend memories of my entire life.  I unknowingly mentioned in my blog a few weeks ago that, if my experiences and excursions continued to open me to new world experiences, I might just find myself riding a camel through the Sahara Desert in the near future.  Evidently, dreams continue to become realized and, while I prepare for a week in Barcelona and northern Spain, you can expect that I will continue filing away the hundreds of memories that I will cherish for a lifetime.               

Vacation in Madrid

               I sat listening to my favorite Granada playlist while en route to Madrid last Friday.  It was a trip that I had long awaited because fifty of my friends would be traveling through three of the most historical cities in Spain together.  While we spent the majority of our time in Madrid, we took day trips to Segovia and Toledo, and every excursion was filled with new and memorable experiences.    

                Once off the five hour bus ride to Madrid, we went straight to El Museo del Prado.  With some of the most historical and famous paintings in the world, it was impactful to see the very same artwork that we had studied during the months prior.  With hundreds of works by El Greco, Goya, and Velásquez scattered throughout the three stories of showrooms, I was most impressed by the self portraits of kings and nobles that could easily be confused with modern day photographs.  As opposed to the contemporary art museum, El Museo de la Reina Sofía, which contained some of the most odd and inexplicable “art” that I’ve ever seen, El Prado contained absolutely stunning masteries.  Aside from spending countless hours in museums, we took a guided tour through the famous plazas that give Madrid its reputation as a beautiful and bustling metropolitan city.  At one point, we visited a historical site in which many people were killed during the Civil War, and it evoked a sense of eerie wonder as to what the scene may have looked like in the serene park just decades ago.  Excluding Granada, the many sights and wonders of Madrid make it my favorite city in Spain thus far.

                Sunday was an exciting day because our program took a bus ride to Segovia, famous for its Roman aqueduct that pierces through the heart of the city.  Constructed literally 2,000 years ago, the aqueduct measures eighteen kilometers and its sheer mass and masterful engineering overwhelmed me.  Not only was it built two millenniums ago with ancient techniques, but the massive structure is held together entirely by the weight of each rock that was carefully placed one on top of the other.  Although the city is the third smallest in Spain with a population of 50,000, its atmosphere and beautiful sights were something to hold onto.  As our guide weaved us through the ancient streets towards famous churches and palaces that appear in Disney’s Snow White, we dodged the thousands of families that were gathered in full costumes for the city-wide carnival.  What an incredible way to spend a Sunday afternoon, for myself, but also for the hundreds of families that call Segovia home. 

                Before trekking back to Granada for a short school week, we spent a day in Toledo.  Having researched and presented information on the city last semester, I was especially excited to bring my silly PowerPoint presentation to life.  Store after store, block after block, we came across thousands of swords, switch-blades, knives, and virtually anything with a sharp point.  Had I not been walking with two guy friends the whole afternoon, we probably would have spent more time in museums and cathedrals, but our undeniable attraction to pointy objects lured us into dozens of stores that girls might propose are all the same.  Regardless, I finally did find my perfect memento in the form of a hand-crafted knife, and I hopped on the bus for a five hour bus ride through the beautiful Spain countryside.  Five hours later and with yet more experiences to cherish for a lifetime, I crawled in bed in preparation for one more fantastic day in Granada.

Reliving the Past

                Twelve years ago, I walked with my eleven classmates toward the altar of St. Mark’s Catholic Church to receive my First Holy Communion.  I had spent the prior year memorizing catechism, taking what I thought to be very difficult and stressful tests, and preparing my eight-year old mind to receive Christ’s body, blood, soul and divinity.  Certainly, I was excited as it meant I was maturing and growing up, but I was also ecstatic at the gifts that I would be receiving from Tita, mom and dad.  Having been a nun in the Vatican for many years, my aunt Tita always gave her nieces and nephews a rosary blessed by the Pope, and I grew impatient as I waited for mom to give me the anticipated gift during the party.  I finally did receive it, as well as a gold crucifix from my parents.  As an eight year old, these were the most overwhelming presents.  Gold, such a luxury for a person at any age, and a rosary that was literally prayed over by Pope John Paul II; I couldn’t believe it!  Twelve years later, I held onto those two precious gifts while I walked into San Juan de Dios Basilica in Granada. 
                From the exterior, San Juan de Dios in an impressive mastery of Baroque Art.  Situated in between a book store, coffee shops, and bakeries it was hard to imagine the intricate work that went into the statues and impressive winding pillars.  I strained my neck as I tried to get a glimpse of the towering roof while I listened to Alfonso, my culture teacher, explain the history surrounding its construction.  Somewhere in between the chatter, pictures, and strolling through the outdoor garden, we made our way toward the inside of the church.  The images of towering pillars and immense spiraling columns sputtered through my mind as I couldn’t fathom a church that was more impressive than the Cathedral I visited last week.  As I followed my classmates through the door and into the front of the church, I turned around only to be overwhelmed by the sheer volume of gold that decorated the altar.  After admiring the facade with its unbelievable icons, statues, and gold walls, I looked and noticed the circular roof filled with intricate Biblical paintings.  There was not a square inch of the church that was not beautifully decorated in some way.

                We later made our way to a room situated above the altar which contained the remains of San John of God as well as the relics of over 190 saints!  Having grown up in the Catholic faith, I could not believe the historical and religious importance of looking at the sacred remains of saints who died for their faith during the Roman Empire thousands of years ago.  Walking through that room shot me back through history and I felt as though I was winding through a time machine.  It was a truly remarkable experience.  Eventually, we made our way down a nondescript stairwell as we walked toward the front entrance.  As I hopped down the stairs, I glanced and saw Pope John Paul II’s crucifix and a piece of his Papal attire.  Here we were among the most incredible Catholic relics I had ever seen, and the pope’s personal clothing was hanging on a blank wall in a back stairwell.  It spoke volumes as to what an unbelievable experience this truly was. 

                The whole tour lasted only thirty minutes, but while I walked out of the past and into the bustling streets of Granada, I remembered how special my gold necklace and rosary were.  It was then that I realized the magnitude and beauty of San Juan de Dios, and I held onto my blessed gifts as though I was taking of piece of the Basilica with me.  Seconds later, I caught up with Alfonso who gave me a holy card as a memento.  Immediately, I imagined sitting in Miss Sanchez’s second grade classroom while she handed me a holy card to add to my extensive collection.  Twelve years later while standing on a narrow walkway in Spain, I was re-experiencing second grade, just on a bit of a larger scale.   

The Canary Islands

Africa, with some of the world’s most unbelievable history, has always been the continent on the map that I have only dreamed of visiting.  I learned about it in school, heard stories about Dad living there during his childhood and read books set on the vast continent, but I have always considered it a distant, almost unreachable destination.  While it remains a continent that I have never set foot on, the Canary Islands were not only one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen, but they also brought me within 100 kilometers of the ever-distant Africa.  With every passing day, destinations, dreams and goals that once rested on a distant pedestal now sit in the palm of my hand. 

We boarded the plane at 9:20 pm with nothing more than a backpack, a bathing suit, and the stunning Google Images of Tenerife on the forefront of our anticipatory minds.  Twelve hours later, the six of us were admiring the surf and crunching our bare feet on the miles of fine sand.  We did not have an itinerary for the next two days, so some adventured to pursue renting a car while others took pictures on the jutting rock faces.  We would spend the next afternoon strolling on the boardwalk, flipping down sand dunes and swimming in the calm waters.  Having come from Granada where my host mom worries every time I go out without at least a warm scarf and a heavy jacket, the pleasant sun complemented by calm winds was a perfect way to spend my day.  It was such an ideal, picturesque setting that I could barely go twenty minutes without blurting out, as though nobody had figured it out already, that we were cruising along an island off the west coast of Africa, worlds away from our suburban homes in California, Oregon, and Colorado.

After a well-spent afternoon on the local beach the day before, we set Saturday aside for our big adventure.  We were lucky enough to rent a car, and after our hostel receptionist starred a few destinations on a simple map, we hopped into our “derpy” station wagon with the knowledge that, as long as we didn’t fall off the island, we should theoretically find our way back to the low-key hostel by the end of the night.  For ten hours, we drove on narrow, windy roads meticulously carved out of unbelievable cliff sides with sights of the majestic Atlantic Ocean resting hundreds of feet below.  While softball-sized rocks blew off the cliffs and smashed into our rental car, we leaned out the window in awe of the absolute beauty that was Tenerife.  Countless times, we pulled off the road to snap ridiculous photos that are sure to impress even National Geographic.  The highlight of my day, however, was finding the beach hidden on the northwest tip of the island.  Surrounded by volcanic rock, we marched along a narrow wooden bridge that led to a platform nestled three feet above the clear blue waters.  We sat for an hour admiring the crabs crawling along the rock faces and the captivating whirlpools.  We eventually made it home later that night, but not without some of the best memories and images that I will cherish for a lifetime.

Every trip, every excursion, every experience yields more appreciation for the opportunities that lie before me, and I continue to realize that there is little that stands between me and my passion to learn and explore.  Tenerife was undoubtedly one of the most amazing destinations thus far and, who knows, maybe I will be riding a camel through the Sahara sometime in the near future; what stands in my way?

Birthday in Granada

          I woke up today, like usual, to my host mother squeezing fresh oranges in the kitchen.  For the first time in as long as I can remember, I enjoyed a full night’s rest but I still felt disoriented and exhausted.  Nevertheless, I dragged out of bed for my last day of “Intensivo” class before my excursion to Córdoba and the Canary Islands later this week.  After splashing a dab of cold water on my face (Spaniards are crazy about water preservation) and enjoying my typical Spanish breakfast consisting of a meager piece of toast, I rushed out the door and walked into the bustling Granada traffic.  It wasn’t until twenty minutes into my daily power walk to school that Evan, my housemate, reminded me that it is my birthday.  It comes on a perfect day in that, not only is it my last day of classes, but I am living in one of the most beautiful cities with some of the best people that I have ever met.

Fast forward one day, I have just returned from Córdoba, a city two and a half hours north of Granada, with yet more incredible stories to share.  Today is a day that I have been looking forward to for the city’s historical bridges, mosques/cathedrals, and Jewish district, but especially because we had two hours set aside for the Baños Árabes, a heavenly spa-like treatment consisting of a hot, cold, and tepid pool, a steam room, and a soothing massage.  Indeed, it was as relaxing and enjoyable as it sounds, and my friends and I have already discussed returning for round two.  As I am sure you can imagine, the spa was to die for, but it could not compare to the breathtaking Cathedral.  Begun in 784 A.D., it was originally a mosque until the Muslims were conquered in the 13^th century.  Starting the next day, it became a Catholic church and it took hundreds of years before the Córdoba Cathedral was completed inside of the mosque.  Yes, unbelievably, the Cathedral that, had it remained a mosque, would have been the third largest in the world, actually sits at the heart of the massive structure.  This tour was definitely the most impactful that I have experienced thus far, and it took me by surprise as my sights were set on the Baños Árabes.

Aside from Córdoba, I also visited La Alhambra on Saturday, which, with over three-million visitors a year, is the most visited site in Spain.  It too was awe-inspiring with its intricate Muslim palaces and incredibly-detailed gardens.  All in all, the past week has been full of yet more memorable experiences, and I could not ask for a better city to spend my birthday.  I certainly miss all my family and friends back home, and I hope that my stories are bringing Spain to life.  I look forward to posting next week as I will be sharing my pictures and stories about the Canary Islands.  Pray for my friends and me as we’ll be flying out on Thursday for a relaxing weekend on the beach before starting back with life in Granada next week.

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Spanish Super Bowl

Evidently, you don’t have to be from the United States to experience a Super Bowl type atmosphere.  With two of the top teams in Spain, Barcelona and Real Madrid, facing off on Wednesday, it seemed that there were at least a hundred people crowded around every public television in the city.  Stores closed early, the streets were dead silent, and school professors picked up tabs just to lure us to the game.  If I experienced just a taste of the passion that the Spaniards display for their teams on Wednesday, I cannot wait for games to come. 

While experiencing a hyped soccer game is quite the experience, my class’s trip to the Albaicín this weekend was unforgettable.  As we trudged along the narrow streets of the Medieval Moorish community, I was struck by the reality that I was living in a city that was occupied by the Moors in the 11^th century, over one thousand years ago!  Although the Albaicín has changed since the Moorish occupation — the mosques have been transformed into Catholic churches — much of the small town tradition remains.  An open air market flourishes in the main city plaza and a short ten minute walk from the main road yields a quiet atmosphere away from bustling cars.  Sure, those who live in the Albaicín have to walk twenty minutes up mountain roads to drop off groceries, but they are living in a historical community that overlooks all of Granada and the Sierra Nevadas.  Modern day accommodations aside, I would love to live in the Albaicín and wake up every morning to the most beautiful view imaginable.

                Other excursions in the past week include a visit to the Arab bathrooms, one of only two left in the city, Sacramonte, another historical community that is carved out of the caves, and a hike up the mountainside towards La Alhambra, Granada’s jewel destination.  With every walk through the streets of Granada, I am reminded of how lucky I am to be in Spain.  One week of classes remain before a five-day break, and I am hitting the books before taking a trip to the Canary Islands next week.  Needless to say, I will have experiences to share.