Flying above the Atlantic again

There are no TVs on the backs of the seats on this plane. So really theres nothing to do, except to sum up this semester.

Well, to say that this semester has been awesome is an understatement.

It began in February, when it was necessary to wear a coat outside and you had to wear 3 layers in your room, and sleep with at least 5 blankets. I had my intensive period class (essentially you're stuck in a small room learning about Spanish grammar for 5 hours every day). I quickly realized that I had a lot to learn yet..

Also I got to experience Festival in Cádiz, a little town on the sea in southern Andalusia. It's like a Spanish Mardi gras. We wore costumes. We got lost. Everyone was drunk. It was a blast (insert head shakes here). But it was where I learned to take care of those who can't take care of themselves.  Most importantly I got to learn about food and culture during my first month. Practically every night my friends and I went out for tapas. Thank goodness for cheap Sevilla food.

March was even more full. We went to Granada, Madrid, Barcelona, and Paris. Granada is where I learned nothing about the city but learned how important friendships are. Madrid is where I learned to travel on my own and rely on God. Barcelona was where I learned to share. And Paris was where I learned to be patient. (I also learned that the Eiffel Tower looks short until you climb to the very top, by the way.)

My parents came and visited me too.  It's funny how you didn't realize how much you miss someone until you see them. That happened when my parents left. And I went through a tiny period of depression, as I wanted to be home with the rest of my family.

Then April came around, as did Semana Santa. It's a huge celebration in Sevilla during Holy Week (as thats what the name is in English). These huge and heavy pasos are carried on the backs of men through the streets, which are crammed with people. On top of the pasos are grand and priceless representations of the Passion, Death, and Resurrection. Very different. Very interesting. Very though provoking. And this is when I learned that people see religion differently, being as Catholic Spain celebrates Easter in a very different way than we do.

Then we went to Cordoba. The mosque there is amazing. The town is beautiful. The people are friendly. And it's where I learned how easy it is to make more friends.

We also took a trip to Morocco. Literally so beautiful. And so rich and culture. The majority of people are Muslim, while Christians and Jews also live there. But I learned that they all coexist without problem. There is no animosity between them at all, and they live at peace with each other. Very interesting. I learned that Muslim culture can be beautiful (since I've had no exposure to it before), and I also learned to ride a camel. Oh, and then I got sick, but more about that later...

When I got back, Feria began. Imagine a huge fairground with big tents, horses, amusement rides, beautiful flamenco dresses and dapper trajes, complete with much eating, drinking, and dancing. This, this image is Feria. Its a crazy fun tradition. You get to meet a lot of people too, like friends of friends, other students from all over the world... It's so fun. And it's here that I learned despite having very different cultures, people can sit down for a drink and laugh and have so much fun (even though we don't all speak the same language even!)

I also took the opportunity to travel to Rome. It's a beautiful city, but unfortunately I didn't get to see much of it. You see, Morocco is known for making its tourists sick via food or water. And thats what happened to me! (Yay!) While I was in Rome I had flu-like symptoms, and could barely leave my apartment. I had a few tough moments, and one or two scary ones, but it was in this place that I learned that God is faithful. This journey, although relatively unsuccessful, marked a point in my life where I can say, "God was definitely with me in my troubles there."

I also went to an FC Barcelona and Sevilla FC game. So cool to see these great two teams play. Yeah tickets were expensive, and yes the game ended in a tie, but the experience was priceless. And afterwards we had American food, which tasted like heaven. It was when I learned that sometimes an experience is expensive, but you just need to spend the money and do it (which was kinda my philosophy for everything this trip, which is why I'm broke *chuckling* *crying..*). Also ranch dressing makes you appreciate living the United States. Merica.

Finally May arrived, and we took a trip to Lagos, Portugal. There I found the most beautiful beaches I have seen. Crystal clear, aquamarine water. Sea caves. Towering cliffs. Just breathtaking. Here I learned to just take it easy and go with the flow (which was easy considering I took a sangria cruise, sat on powder white sand, kayaked, snorkeled, and partied. We also went to the End of the Old World, Sao Cabo Vicente, and overlooked an Atlantic ocean with the sun setting behind it. Sometimes (actually many times) we just need to stop and stand in awe of what's before us.

Then came final exams.

Wait, I just realized I haven't really talked about my other classes after the Intensive Period. Well I learned a little about business and Spanish..and other things..

Then our program ended on May 12. Thankfully my sister accepted my invitation to travel with me afterwards. She's the best traveling buddy ever, and I know I annoyed her a few times with my traveling quirks and getting us lost once or twice, but she put on a good face. We went to London and learned that it's really expensive. But more importantly we learned to be friends with people who are a little, how do you say, "sketchy". In the end we both decided we could live in London. Its just so-- I dont know, British?-- there. And we went to Dublin. Dubliners are crazy. The city is small but beautiful. We love Irish accents. Then we went to Berlin, and met some great people and had some fun times. And finally Barcelona was--in my opinion-- the best way to wrap up our trip. Can't go wrong with the beach and some discotecas with friends from the UK, Libya, Brazil, and Canada. Who would have thought I would meet all of these people?

Perhaps that's the phrase that sums up a study abroad experience: who would have thought?  To say that I've grown a lot since February would be a huge understatement.  The experiences I gained were invaluable.  You can put a price tag on a jet, housing, and food, but you can never put a price tag on learning to see the world in a different way.  I've loved it all.

I regret nothing.

I have lived life to its fullest.

And until next time, Sevilla.

Hasta luego.

La vida

Life is meant to be lived.

Like, of course it is.  But I mean think about it.

Life is meant to be lived.

The meaning of the infinitive verb to live certainly has different meanings for different people.  I know this, because the definition has changed even for me in the past 3 months.  Sure, at the beginning of February I would have said that life is meant to have purpose and we should live for that purpose.  Solid start I'd say.  However, my opinion of to live (vivir) has become more... robust... I'd say.

Perhaps I'd say it's more like, live a life of purpose and take advantage of the opportunities to do the things you said you'd never do.

Like today-- for instance-- today I jumped off a bridge.  With a harness and rope.  Into a river.

Yes, I jumped.  Yes it was a tall bridge.  Yes the harness was incredibly tight and uncomfortable.  Yes, the river had water in it (but surprisingly not that cold).

So there you are, harnessed and all, on the side of this bridge, clinging to a rusty railing, staring down at turquoise water slowly drifting by in this steep ravine.  Hills on either side.  Big sharp stones line the sides of the river.  Brush and tiny bushes and trees spot the dusty landscape.

I look down again, and the instructor starts counting.  Tres, dos, uno... vamos!

In that moment, you don't have time to look back.  There is no turning around.  Life is incredibly simple in that moment, because you have one direction you must go.  (You may not like that direction, but it is evident before you.)

So you let go of what you've been holding onto, what you've been using for support, what has been protecting you from falling off that ledge..

And you just jump.

* * * * * * *

I will say this (and you might think I'm lying, but think what you will):  I did not fear jumping off that bridge at all.  Period.   I will be honest and say I was probably an idiot for signing up and spending my euros on something without even researching it.  But the name sounded cool (puenting -- aka. jumping off a puente), and I knew it involved a harness and professionals who do this for a living (I mean they do, right?).  So I just did it.

And got on a bus.

And harnessed myself to a rope around a bridge.

And jumped.

And swung back and forth.

And fell into the water with a plunge.

Life was perfect in that moment.  I had survived.  I had a lifevest on so I wasn't drowning.  I was floating in a river with a perfect temperature.

I was invigorated.  I had adrenaline coursing through my veins.  I loved it.

* * * * * * *

Life is always in motion.  It's like that river that I floated and swam in today.  It moves and changes.  That's the way it was meant to be, I guess.  Life without change is stagnancy.  And we all know what stagnant water is like.  A stagnant life is worse though, because there is so much potential going to waste.  Change is what grows us.  Doing things out of the ordinary gives us experience.  It helps us see the world in a new way.  It gives us a new story to tell.  Experience is the pen that helps us write our stories in the infinite library of lives around the world.  Let's be honest-- a book with only a page-long story would be so incredibly boring.

But learn to love motion.  Learn to embrace energy.  Like the breeze that blows through your hair as you stand on a bridge in Aznalcollar and look down into turquoise water.  Like the river that rushes, or meanders, along beneath it.  Like the passion of a Andalusian flamenco dance.  Like the waves that break on the beaches of Lagos.  Like the crazy tea-dancers in Morocco.  Like the hot Sevillan sun on cobblestone.

Life has one direction.  You can only go one way.  Sure people try to "swim upstream", but they fail miserably.  Before they know it, they turn around and all of their friends and family are kilometers downstream and they're all alone.

Don't be that person.  Learn to swim with the current.  Learn to... well, jump off bridges I guess.

So embrace the movement of life.  We're meant to do, so let's do it.  Have an objective and get there.  Spot an opportunity and seize it.

Life is so simple, yet we make it so complex with our cluttered lifestyles and crazy schedules that we end up treading water in the same place without going anywhere.

Live a life of purpose, embrace its changes, and do the crazy things you said you'd never do.

I'm not advocating for jumping off a bridge.  But perhaps I am saying that the next time life presents you with that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I say, take it.  That is what I've learned in Sevilla.

El tiempo perfecto para correr

The shadows were beginning to grow steadily. (I realize now how many of my posts begin with the sun haha). It was nearing 8:30, and by now mass had ended, and our glass of cerveza was now empty. My lovely señora and I headed back home.

The flowers in the garden are blooming now. Roses, lilies, poppies, and the like. The birds swooped down and around into the courtyard catching bugs for their dinner.

But the weather was too nice for me to go inside. Sevilla was calling my name.

So I went for a run.

What? you may be asking, Derek, you never run. Which is true 99.9% of the time. But tonight was different. Tonight was the .01%.

After getting my headphones and changing into running attire, I began.

And little did I know it would become my favorite thing ever. Here's an account:

Pat pat pat went the sound of my feet through the neighborhood. Music played in one ear, the soundtrack of the outside world in the other. Tiny streets corner after corner.

Then, I find the main street. There's room here. People are free to walk, to run, to bike. And on I go. Destination? Unsure yet. But I'm loving the sights of the city. A man sitting at a local cafe nods as I pass by, taking a sip of his beer.

And on I go. The Plaza de España is along this street, so, I think, Eh, why not? Sure it's far but I have nowhere else to be. I pass by buildings and under low hanging orange trees. The orange blossoms are blooming now too, and the city smells of a sweet, citrus-y smell.

Breathe it in.

Birds are singing everywhere. In the trees they announce the closing of the day. Tee-tow, tee-tow goes their song. Perhaps they cheer me on. Perhaps they're advising me of the coming night.

Pat pat pat.

Crossing over busy streets, passing street vendors packing up their ware, then stopping to take pictures of fountains and monuments and buildings that I've never taken time to appreciate before.

Pressing on. The plaza is near. I pass by a tiny park with a huge tree in the center. It's at least 12 feet wide. A man reads under its eaves. It's on an iPad though; I try not to judge.

And on I go. My feet hit the tile of the plaza. Here is were the slow but steady heartbeat of a Sevillian Sunday night lies. There is a group of four or five horse paseos giving rides in the center of the plaza. Kids run up to their parents to give them a "present" that they found on the ground. Couples are rowing boats in the canal. Numerous people are taking "selfies" of themselves. Two girls sit by the canal and eat some sugary red dessert that I don't recognize. Through passageways, over tile, under arches, by enormous towers, stopping to take another picture of the fountain. Lots of pictures of my surroundings really. It's too picturesque not to.

I make it around the half circle of the plaza. To go around again?

But what typically would be an affirmative has become a negative tonight. Because there is an enormous park -- Parque Maria Louisa -- that is open before me.

I jog up to a trail. I look within and see a jungle. The birds, perhaps the same ones as before, beckon me to enter the green world. My feet leave tile and encounter dirt.

Crunch crunch crunch.

There's a pool on my left. Two women sit talking.

Crunch crunch crunch.

There's a playground on my right. Surprisingly empty tonight.

Crunch crunch crunch.

I pass by a bush with white-clustered flowers. The smell. Oh, if only smells could be recorded and replayed later. I would record that smell for sure.

Crunch crunch crunch.

Weaving in an out of the columns ahead. Up and down the steps. Under the arching stone walls.

Crunch crunch crunch.

There's a waterfall ahead. A waterfall? How have I never seen this before? The tumbling water falls off a tiny hill with rocks and flowers. I stare. I go to take a picture but notice the awkward couple alarmed that I would invade their privacy at their special place. So no picture. On I go.

Crunch cr--

What? There's a tunnel that goes through the hill? Again, how have I never seen this? I turn on my heels and pass through, of course.

Crunch crunch crunch.

There's a pond on my left with fountains. There are ducks on the fountains. Of course I stop to take a picture. There are palm trees in the background.

Crunch crunch crunch.

I encounter what appear to be abandoned buildings. White with yellow trim, just like all buildings in this city.

Crunch crunch crunch.

The street lights are turning on now. My feet strike asphalt.

Pat pat pat.

I take one last picture of the plaza and head home.

Now I know that there was a reason that Sevilla was calling me tonight. She had something to show me. The funniest thing is, that was the furthest I've run in a long time. And in the end I wasn't even tired. I guess I hate running, but love experiencing.

And experience I did.

Barcelona

Like, wow, is Barcelona gorgeous.

Reasons for loving this city:

- The beach
- The mountains
- La Sagrada Familia
- Park Guell
- The magic fountain
- El barrio gótico
- The food
- Camp Nou (famous stadium of F.C. Barcelona, but since I'm a Real Madrid fan, it's only a little cool)

But seriously, I loved it all.

Located in the northeast of Spain, Barcelona is the capital of the region of Catalonia.  As mentioned above, it's located on the sea.  There is are mountains that surround the city, and it slopes down to the shore.

By the way, amazing view from the top of those mountains.

All was perfect.  The only issue was that in Barcelona, the speak catalan and not castellano.  What in the world does that mean?  Well, although Catalonia is in Spain, (traditional) spanish is not the primary language. Instead, in the region, they speak the dialect of catalan.  (Some argue that it's its own language, and some argue that it isn't, considering that Catalonia is not its own country.) There are two other dialects aside from catalan and castellano too.  Gallego is spoken in the northwest region of Spain, north of Portugal, and Basque is north in the basque country as well.
Catalan is, simply put, a mix between French and Spanish, which makes sense because it's located on the opposite side of the Pyrenees mountains of France.

However, I don't speak any French, and therefore I understand only a small part of Catalan. But all is well, because everyone speaks spanish too, considering it's the national language.

Also, another great highlight was getting to see the Sagrada Familia-- a basilica designed by Antoni Gaudi.  The interior, although difficult to see here, is built to resemble nature, specifically a forest in the picture above. He used different geometrical patterns for supports and the exterior as well.

superguay.

But in reflection, I am so glad to be able to witness all of these amazing things in Spain (and other countries too!) that have so much history and meaning.  It's so cool to be able to talk about Spanish geography because now I'm starting to actually live it.  I also have discovered that I love traveling.  Planning trips and handling all the bumps in the road is what my life's been all about the past two months.

So grab your passport and my hand...

Sorry, I had to throw that in there.  Love y'all.

Derek

Madrid

Right now --and yes I'm rather embarrassed to say it-- I'm sitting in a Burger King

after just finishing my very American breakfast sandwich and coffee

and after giving up on my sudoku puzzle.

Which, I must ask, how does anyone ever complete the hard ones? I couldn't even get halfway through my medium level puzzle.

So if anyone has tips, I'd love to hear them.

But although my puzzle is bringing me down a bit, I cannot complain about my weekend. I'm in Madrid. After taking a bus and plane and metro, I made it to my apartment. But boy, is it nerve-wracking to travel by yourself.

Oh, with the added stress of the fact that

You're in a whole different freaking country.

But you manage.

Anyways, highlights of this weekend being in Spain's capital: El Palacio Real, el Museo Thyssen, and El Templo de Debod. Oh and finally taking pictures of the lions outside of Congress.

El Palacio Real is a direct immersion in Spain's past. The palace has been around for hundreds of years, and it's where the royal family used to live. It's huge. And its lavish. And the decor is just crazy intricate with a lot of things plated in bronze and silver.

The Thyssen is a modern art museum. It's smaller than El Prado (which I didn't get to see..thankfully because it's old art haha). But the Thyssen boasts very abstract artwork, similar to Picasso. (I really like Picasso by the way, and no, not just because hes the only painter I know). But there were a bunch of landscape paintings too. And each one demonstrates the artists' proficient use of light. Which, fun fact: sunsets, or sunrises, or moonlight through forest trees, or lights of a harbor reflecting off the water surface, or sunlight through a dirty window are all things I could stare at for hours.

Light is kinda a cool and beautiful thing.

Which brings us to the Temple of Debod. Not really much to look at in the daytime, it's three stone structures surrounded by a manmade water lake thing. However, at night, it's truly breathtaking. The lights illuminate the structures, and with the reflection off the water, It's like whoa.

And then here are the lions outside of congress. Rawr.

So now I need to get a metro so I can take a plane so I can take a bus back home.  Never a dull moment when you travel.  So, thanks Madrid, for being a fun and unforgettable weekend.

Los gorriónes

The tile on these steps is still warm from the sun's heat this previous afternoon.  But now it's setting.  There's still enough light for the plethora of people here.  A group of boys play soccer.  Two moms sit and chat while their daughters do likewise.  A dog runs by me to its elderly owner.

Right now I'm thinking about the birds here.  (Haha yes, I should work on my subject transitions, but it is what it is.)

Spain's selections of birds is rather standard, with a few added tropical species here and there.  Doves and pigeons are quite prominent, especially in the plazas, like the one I'm sitting in as I write this.

One species that surprised me, for whatever reason, was the sparrow.  She's pretty common here.  Brown back, light chest.  Small.  Flittering and twittering hither and thither around the plazas and such.  Pretty timid.

I was watching one the other day in this same plaza actually.  A mother and daughter were feeding pigeons, and this little guy (or gal) decided to help itself to the sunflower seeds they were tossing on the ground.

I couldn't help but be reminded about how I am that sparrow.

Anyone who asked me how I planned to grow in my faith this semester abroad will know that it revolved around a central concept.

Trust.

Not even just trust.  Faith really.

Faith in God to sustain me.

Going abroad obviously comes with its fair share of fears and trust issues.  Like, for instance, getting lost in the calles (like really lost), or trusting that my conversation in Spanish about changing my flight would go well (even though I didn't have a wide enough vocabulary to clearly articulate what I even wanted to do).  In the end, I found my way, and the conversation went well.

Good luck?  Karma?  I don't really believe in these things.  I believe God has a profound intervention in each of our lives.  He transcends but is immanent in all things.

This is love.  Being willing to reach out through the darkness, dinginess, expanse of an unloving universe to care for us and love us where we are.

It is His nature to do so.  There is nothing He enjoys more.

So he takes care of us.  In all things.  We need not worry about anything.

This has been something that I've been trying to learn.  In all things, I am learning to consciously acknowledge God has control over every situation.

And how incredibly freeing and liberating it is.

Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?  Matthew 6:25-27

Las montañas de Granada

It's almost completely quiet here.  The faint hum of the bus engine is the only sound that can infiltrate the music in my headphones.  The sun shines through the window.  Of course it does; it's always sunny here.

We're returning from our two-day trip to Granada.  The city, a city plastered with a rich and deep history, is set on the side of a mountain.  From a local peak, you can see houses for miles.  The name, Granada, apparently means pomegranate in Arabic.

Oh the things you learn.

The streets are precarious and random-- even more so than those of Sevilla.  The mountain-side city makes for an added dynamic of windy roads with steep slopes.  Zig-zags.  Back and fourth.  Up and down the mountain.


Speaking of mountains, I saw some of the most brilliant snow-covered peaks this weekend.  It may have been 70 degrees on our little mountain, and down in the valley, but on the high, majestic peaks of the far-off summit, the temperature was obviously much lower.  So incredibly breath-taking.  This is the first time I've ever seen snow-blanketed mountains in person.

Aside from the nature, and the wonders of the tiny pueblo, the trip was rather a bust.  Actually, that's really critical to say.  The trip itself was fun, and the hotel was a blast, but let's just say that I had higher hopes going into the weekend.


For instance.

It is rather difficult to enjoy a 2+ hour tour of a cathedral in freezing temperatures.  Like, really cold.  That tour was then followed up today by a 3+ hour tour of La Alhambra.  It's really just a bunch of tiny gardens and pools over and over and over.  (In fact, it's super similar to El Alcázar, which makes sense considering both were designed by Arabs; and in all honesty I preferred the Alcázar better).  Also it didn't help that we were all tired, hungry, hot, sweaty, sleep-deprived, and grumpy.  I really can't blame students for getting bored during these tours.  Simply put, it was all just too much.

But friendships hold everything together.  And that's what I've gained from this program.  Friends from all over the country.

So. Cal, Long Island, Arizona, North Dakota, New Hampshire, Ohio, Oregon, Texas, etc.

I mean, it'll definitely be a challenge reuniting once we all get back to the States, that's for sure.

And some friendships will be nourished, and some will fade.  But I can honestly say that this program would be incredibly boring without great people to share it with.

Now, to do homework for classes which start back up tomorrow.  I'm just dying with excitement.

La obra de flamenco

The crowd was still, waiting in anticipation for the guitarist to take his seat.  He made his move.  Content with his posture and position of the guitar, he began to tune.

E - E - E - E

A - A- A - A

And so on, until all six strings sounded perfect.  He positioned the capo.  First fret.  Played an E chord.  Well, an F because of the capo..

And the room buzzed with sound.  And not just any sound.

Music.

There are 27 people seated in unstable chairs, crammed into this tiny room, and all have this, this, anticipation about them.  Because yes, now we could begin.  The room had life.

The fingers of the guitarist began dancing on strings, like a harpist.  His nails picking the nylon chords of the simple instrument.  In reality, a guitar is very simple: a piece of hollow wood, connected to a solid piece of sturdy wood, wound with six strings that somehow are precisely adjusted to make beautiful melodies.

Making his way up and down the fretboard, the introduction to the next hour and a half had commenced.  What started as a few simple chords had progressed into fluttering riffs of finger-picking that can only be found here in Spain.

The sound of the South, rather.  The sound of Andalucia.

The guitarist was not alone now.  He was accompanied by two flamenco dancers, who began to make rhythm with their claps.  Their claps progressed into claps and stomps.  At times it seemed a structure-less mix of claps, stomps, and snaps.  But it all worked together to produce the unique sound of flamenco.

Flamenco.

Next, a song about Galacia.  The third dancer, who was relatively inactive for the first song, now took her seat next to the guitarist.  What happened next would catch the unprepared ear quite off-guard.

A guttural wail pierced the air.  A wail so sincere and so sad.  The wail turned into music.  The vocal chords fluctuated the steady notes that advanced from her mouth.

Such passion.  Such sincerity.

And so intimate.  Her one hand clutched the side of her shawl draped over her shoulders.  Her other, extended, reaching toward the imaginary scene that she described right before us.  Her face, contorted in agony and anguish as she longed for the resolution of what was portrayed before our very eyes.

The fact that we were all within meters of the guitarist and dancer made the experience exponentially... intimate. The same experience could not have occurred in the back of an auditorium, or even in the front row.  No, the audience played a part too.  We were part of the scene.

The song commenced.  During the next song began the real dancing.

Flowing dresses.

Clapping.

Snapping.

Stomping.

Hair pins flying.

The dancers, one-by-one showed us what energy and passion looks like when accompanied by Spanish guitar.  On a platform of 10 x 15 feet they performed.

Reaching.

Flailing.

Singing.

Wailing.

The claps and stomps echoed throughout the halls and rooms of the building.  Passerby's in the calle even came to watch.

Round and round the dancers went.  Hands high above their heads.  Earrings dangling, oscillating side to side.  The guitarist strummed furiously.  The strings buzzed and pinged with vibrations that gave depth to the dancing.  Sweat was everywhere.  Foreheads beaded with the stuff.

And so they continued.  Polka-dotted, ruffled, blue and red dresses spun and twirled like a colorful three-dimensional art piece.  Of course, it was art.  But it was moving, changing, reforming.

Olé.

That's the word you use to cheer on the show, cheer on the dancers and guitarist.

Olé.

... because you want the passion to continue...

Olé.

... because you don't want the dancing to end.


Such passion.  Such beauty.


The night ended with variations of singing, dancing, strumming, and clapping.  The guitarist and three dancers all tiredly took their bows on the tiny platform.  Each praising each other with claps and motioning with grateful hands, for it was a combined effort.  Each played his or her part.

Now, I can finally say that I've experienced a true flamenco show.  It was what I expected, and then some.  Well, in truth, my expectations were blown out of the water.  It was an opportunity to see what most people will never have the chance to experience.

And that, I am truly thankful for.

Juegos de Taboo

Language is such a crazy thing.  It's that little voice in your head that you hear when you're reading.  It's the source of your expressions during conversation.  It's literally your comprehension (unless you have a way of communicating through telepathy.. but then we need to have a chat about that too.)

I have a lot of respect for people who study languages.

I certainly have a lot of respect for people who can speak a second (or multiple) language(s).

Someday I hope that to be me.  Obviously right now I'm working on Spanish.

So, language.  In my novice opinion, language is the building block for how you view and experience the world.  When it comes to expressing thoughts, it's the ordering of letters, words, and frases to communicate in idea.

When I speak Spanish, I form the sentence in English first, then translate the words and phrases into Spanish as I'm speaking.

I don't think that this is a good way to speak a language, however.  Here's why.

Sometimes, I'll begin my Spanish sentences and come to the realization:

I don't know all of the words in Spanish to complete the sentence correctly.

Then it becomes a game.

A game of Taboo.

For those who have never played a game of Taboo (which is sad if you haven't cuz it's really fun), the idea is simply this: to get your teammates to say the word at the top of the card by describing it.  Except you can't say the word itself, and as an added difficulty, there are a list of other words that you can't say either.

For example, if the word is "Apple", some things you couldn't say would be like red, fruit, sweet, pie, orange, etc.

Except for the Spanish version (the one that I play every day), there is an imaginary card.  On the top of that card is an idea I'm trying to express.  But instead, there isn't a list of words that I can't say in Spanish...

Because I don't even have the necessary vocabulary words.

Again, for example.  The word might be manzana (apple).  The words I know how to describe it are red, fruit, sweet, etc.  Problem?  Yeah, you're right.  Those words are in English.

Realization?  I can't use English because I'm in Spain.

Okay, rest easy y'all.  I know how to describe an apple in Spanish.  (And how to meet up with friends, buy clothing, order food, etc.)

It's just to say that sometimes a limited vocabulary can really hinder you (like a list of words on a card that you can't say).

And eventually, you resort to phrases like: Pues, es una bebida como una cerveza pero es hecho de uvas... or Vale, quiero comer algo como pan pero más dulce...

Possible correct answers: Wine and cake.

Sure those are silly examples.  But that's the idea.  That's how it's like Taboo.

Sometimes you get your teammate to get the right answer.  Sometimes you don't.  And sometimes you just use Google Translate.

Choices and blessings

Happy birthday to me!

February 24th.

2/24/1994

Let's just say I've written that date many times in my entire life.

But now I have 21 years, or as they say in Spanish, "Tengo veintiuno años."  In the US, the number of this birthday is super significant, obviously.  It's kinda even more significant of a milestone than your 18th.  Even though you're officially an adult at 18, it's not complete adulthood.  At least I don't think so, and here's why.

Adulthood is when a person can say, "Okay, for years my parents have been responsible for me, but now, now that I'm an adult, I'm solely responsible for me."

It's all about choices.

That includes everything, especially alcohol.  The 18th birthday is kinda like, okay, we see you being an adult and all, wanting to make your own choices and vote and stuff, but you still can't drink something as basic as a beer.

Which, okay, what weight are we putting on voting whenever it has precedence over alcohol?

Like, the fate of the country is pretty important, so you can't have a say in the matter until you're 18 (and an "adult").  But now alcohol, whoa there, better wait till you have 21 years of experience before you can choose wisely on your own for that one.

Okay, rant over.  I'm not advocating for a lower drinking age necessarily.  But I am saying that the idea of being an "adult" cannot be truly experienced until you're able to walk into a bar and choose whether or not to have water or whiskey.

Until you're able to make all of your own choices.

But anyways.  Other things.

I have a great group of friends here who decided to organize a night out to celebrate my birthday.  Yeah, of course we went to a bar but it was totally awesome (and expensive).  Why?

Cuz it was on top of a four-story building overlooking the cathedral at night.  So cool.

And just being able to hang out with all of my friends here is so fun.  It's interesting how we all come from very different locations in the world, but we have a great time doing the same things.  I love it.

I'm totally blessed.

El Alcázar

A very fundamental fact about Spain's history is that for hundreds of years, the Iberian peninsula (where Spain is located today) was occupied by Arabs.  With the Arabs came breathtaking architecture and beautiful buildings.

Introducing: El Alcázar de Sevilla

The structure has a huge, thick castle-like wall that spans for quite a while.  Originally, it was built for heavy defenses against the aggressive people groups that occupied Europe at the time.  There is a mosque as well, which boasts beautiful arches and architecture that can only be described as incredible.  The time, work, and energy put into such a building is just mind-blowing.

Because not only is it big and has pretty arches and supports, but the walls have twisty zig-zag symmetrical stone patterns.  All throughout.  Everywhere.

There are also these tranquil little fountains and pools-- some inside and some out.

And how about the huge golden dome that was used to exemplify the heavens,

With many green and blue tiled walls that have been preserved for years?

Oh, and how could I forget to mention the enormous garden that now exists within the castle walls?

The idea of being in someone else's shoes is completely relevant in this city, especially in these places of history that have stood for hundreds and hundreds of years.  What people of greatness have tread the same tiles that you are standing now?  What nobles and kings have graced its immense halls?

Like the expanse of the universe, or a plane ride over a huge ocean, history has a profound power to make us feel small.

Entrad por Sus puertas con acción de gracias, Por Sus atrios con alabanza

Psalms 100:4

The verse that sums up what I thinking while in this place of worship.

Sevilla is proud to be the home of La Catedral de Santa María de la Sede.

Originally, construction of the cathedral began in the 1400s.  It's the largest Gothic church, and third largest church in the world.  Christopher Columbus is buried beneath the floor.  La Giralda, a huge bell tower with 25 bells, has been standing long before the sanctuary, and it was originally designed to mirror the Koutoubia Mosque in Morrocco.  It fits right in with the grandeur.  And as for the sanctuary, people have this saying as the motivation behind its construction: "Hagamos una Iglesia tan hermosa y tan grandiosa que los que la vieren labrada nos tengan por locos."

Let us build a church so beautiful and grand that those that see it finished will think we are mad.

I'm unsure about the madness part, but grand and beautiful?  Absolutely.

It's difficult for me to describe the sanctuary and surrounding rooms.  The initial sanctuary room is sectioned off like most cathedrals.  There are sections around the outside edges dedicated to Christ, Mary, or the saints.  There are grand windows to let in the light (a struggle for builders at the time).  Huge brass pipes for the organ are isolated in the middle of the great room, and on top, a chilling scene of angels (in their infancy) in heaven.

One of the amazing things to see is the huge wall of oro ("gold") that depicts the life of Christ from beginning, to the end, to the resurrection.  I do not have a picture of this.

Which brings me to another point.

I struggled with the idea of being a tourist and taking a picture of everything.  I'm walking through this enormous, beautiful cathedral, and I'm surrounded by people of all ages walking around with their iPhones taking pictures of (literally) everything.  There was such a focus on capturing this moment in pixels.

But to me, the cathedral was more than history.  It's an experience.  The grandeur and splendor was an attempt at a manifestation of God's glory.  (At least, I want to assume it is.)  As more churches move toward plain, boring sanctuaries, I am beginning to think we've lost or forgotten something. Isn't there something special in the concept of the holy sanctuary?

Yes, God isn't in the adorned walls.  He isn't in the stained glass.  He isn't in the sound of the 25 bells that chime on Sunday mornings.

But, having such a place to remind us of how great and big and awesome and powerful our God truly is, isn't a bad thing at all.

If you want a new way to experience God, visit a cathedral. And if you have time, come visit Sevilla's.

La plaza

One thing I love about Spanish cities:  the plaza.

It's just a defined area of tile, often with a classy title revolving around Catholicism, and in the middle is often a monument, garden, fountain, etc.

It's also a great place to people watch.  Lovers hold hands, tourists gather around maps, old men walk with dogs, kids run around, photographers taking pictures.

I love it.  It's definitely like its own little community.

Here in Sevilla is a huge plaza, duly called "The Plaza de España".  Very big.  Very prominent on the skyline, thanks to the two towers that conquer the skies.

The architecture is just staggering too.  It may not be evident from the pictures, but there is so much detail in each inch of the plaza.  Literally every inch.  The surface of the plaza is individual pebbles cemented together in various shapes and patterns.

So cool.

And so disappointing.  Hey, America, where are all of your plazas?

Spain: 1, USA: 0

La comida

Fooooood.

Yo it's freakin' good here.

And I guess it's not really that it tastes any better than food in the United States.  I mean, if you can really call what we eat "food".  But the concept of a meal has been completely redefined in my mind.  Starting with the meal times (which I previously talked about), the idea of holding off from eating lunch until 2:30pm was frightening at first (yes literally it was).  Then, the thought of eating dinner at 9:30pm just seemed absurd.

But, ya know, it works.

Food is very intentional here.  At least from what I've noticed, the concept of a meal is to actually prepare it.  For my señora, she began to prepare lunch just after breakfast today.  And I asked her why.  She told me that it is possible to have lunch without such preparation, but it's just not as good when it's just "whipped up" (okay, she didn't say that exactly).  Food is serious though.  You can make a half-hearted attempt or go all-in...

And Spaniards go all-in.

So, let's exemplify this idea with something very common at mealtime:

Soup.  Except here, soup isn't broth with some things added in for substance.  Nope.  Although there is broth and some form of liquid that Idk what to call it cuz I hate cooking, there is so much meat and potatoes and vegetables and legumes and stuff.  Like, real food.  It's a huge bowl.  It's like an entire meal submerged in broth.

Meat:  It's mean, lean, and there's a lot of it.  It's definitely a staple food here, especially jamon, which is ham.  Mariscos are popular too (but more on the coast).

Salad.  Salad is iceberg lettuce with spinach other vegetables: tomatoes, carrots, broccoli, peppers, onions, etc.  On top, no salad dressing.  Instead, olive oil, vinegar, and salt!  It takes some getting used to at first, but after awhile, it's all the flavor you need, especially with the various other flavors in the salad.

Bread.  Holy cow.  The US's concept of bread isn't even close to right.  Why?  Because the bread is real.  Bread is made by an actual baker in an actual bread store (or paneria, which also makes some kick-butt desserts too).  Simply go to the tienda, ask for whatever you need for the day, buy it, and boom you got freakishly fresh bread for lunch and dinner.

It's like, the food here is super healthy and there's few unhealthy additives.  And it tastes great too.  Oh and...

Tapas.  Probably the coolest idea for bars ever.  The idea is to have a small plate of really good appetizers to go with your cerveza when you're hanging out with friends.  Whether it's olives, jamon cerrano, or boquerones en vinagre, they're super fun and yummy.

Oh, and the desserts are amazing too.  Probably not as healthy as the rest of the food I've been raving about, but it's freaking amazing.  Just the perfect amount of sweetness and stuff.

Side note: beer costs as much as a Sprite here.

For further reading, look up croquetas.

La casa está dónde el corazon es

Home is where the heart is.

It's also an apartment above a beautiful garden where you eat and relax during your siesta (a real period of time each day from 2-4pm).

By the way, siestas are wonderful things.  The city essentially shuts down for a few hours to allow people to eat and relax during the day.  Like, who wouldn't want to work for four hours, then have a two-hour break to eat a huge lunch and then nap?  Meals are usually spread out throughout the day.  Breakfast is at 9ish.  Lunch is about 2:30pm.  Dinner is about 10pm.  And lunch is usually the largest, with three courses throughout the meal.  For me it's been a huge bowl of soup, a plateful of salad, (real) bread, and a dessert.

Solid.  That's how your stomach feels by the time you're done.  Try fighting drowsiness now.  You practically have to sleep.

I'll be uploading pictures of my room soon.  It's so cozy.  I love it.  I have oranges on my blanket.  And like I said, my window overlooks the garden.

The garden is my favorite part :D

Me encanta el jardín mucho.

Yes, home is where the heart is.  And it's also one of the best places to learn Spanish culture.  From eating a lot to watching telenovelas, it's been one of my favorite things about the experience so far.

No soy un turísto

¡Estoy en Sevilla!

Finally, after two flights and a little waiting, I am in my house with my señora Maribel, her son Fran, and another student Jennifer.

One thing I learned about Sevilla: some of the roads are very, very skinny.

And very, very random.

At the end of my taxi ride, the driver told me that he'd have to drop me off a little before my destination.  I didn't understand... until I realized that his tiny taxi would not fit down the even tinier alley that my house was located on.  So I got out after paying the driver and began to walk.

The streets surrounding my house are very old.  Imagine a tiny cobblestone alley, with walls on either side covered in different colors.  These walls are four to five stories high.  And these walls aren't really walls.  Instead, they're houses, shops, hotels, cafes, cervezarias, etc.  And people walk everywhere.  There's actually very little vehicle traffic in the streets (although when there is, be careful not to be run over!).  The "walls" do not permit you to move, especially on the skinny sidewalk.

Thanks to the intimidating structure, I got lost on the way to school today.  I was confident (too confident) that I'd find the school with no problem.  With map in hand, I ventured out to find the school.

But I got lost. Bad. Like, really bad. Like so bad, I didn't even know where I was in all of Sevilla.  So the map would make an appearance, and I'd try a direction, hoping to find a street sign (which there are seldom).  When I would find one, I would pull the map out and reevaluate my position.

Eventually I was calling my señora and asking for directions from random strangers (who were very nice by the way).

And then I found the school.  I was thirty minutes late.  Oh well!  And that was that.

One thing about being a tourist in a new place is that you learn to fold a map quickly and efficiently (and then pull it back out again).

Except, I am not a tourist.  I am a student.  I am investing in this place.  This city, with its history and inherent beauty, is becoming a part of me.  My experience is not a week-long vacation.  It's a period of learning and understanding a culture that a tourist could not understand in such a short time.

However, this just scratches the surface of my time here.  There is much more, but that's for another time.  (At least, when I have more laptop battery anyways.)

Volando arriba del Atlántico (Flying high above the Atlantic)

My back is finding out how big the Atlantic Ocean truly is. I mean, I'm pretty tall and lanky..and I don't think the engineers designed these seats for people like me. I don't mean to complain though. I have my pillow. I have my blankie. The lights are out. I'm cozy-- cozy and cramped-- but still cozy.

Within a matter of minutes of the plane being in the air, I had an awe-inspiring moment. As the plane lifted off the ground,we began to bank and turn back towards civilization.

And I saw the world from a new perspective.

There were all of these lights. Lights of buildings, houses, cars, buildings, boats, street lights, and even another airplane.

On top of it all, I saw the curve of the earth. I saw where sky met the horizon. A cloudy, but yet so transcendentally beautiful horizon.

It's now 9:20pm EST. (That makes it 3:20am in Sevilla.) We're about halfway across the ocean now. I'm leaning up against a cold plane window and listening to Coldplay. There's a faint whirr of the jets in the background. It's such a surreal moment. And outside the window, I can see puffy clouds way down below. The moon is currently illuminating everything, reflecting off the wing. There so many stars out. It's so clear up here. Serene.

And I have no WiFi. But you know what? I'm okay with that. The simplicity of this trip so far (minus the 400 passenger roaring through the sky) has been a moment I won't forget.

Making it 100% okay that I have no idea what the score of the Super Bowl is right now.

Two weeks, dos semanas

Este es loco.
    At this time in just two short weeks, I will be flying in an airplane across the Atlantic.  My location of departure: JFK International Airport.  My destination:

Seville, Spain.

    This experience has been in the blueprints since I started my first year at Eastern University.  To travel abroad has been a lifelong goal that I hoped to achieve in my time at college.  The question was simply, where to?  Where would I decide to spend my spring semester of my junior year?
    I guess my answer to that question begins in high school, with another goal of mine.  I truly truly truly, with all of my heart, wanted to learn to speak another language.  As you may have guessed by now, I chose to learn Spanish.  Although I only spent two years studying it in high school, I fell in love with the various Hispanic cultures that we learned about, and I was determined to master (or at least gain a working understanding of) the Spanish language.  So, I minored in Spanish.
    And what better place to challenge your incomplete knowledge of the Spanish language, than to use it in the country it originated?

España.

It's even got a smooth, romantic, alluring sound to it, doesn't it?

    With my decision to study in Spain, I worked with Spanish Studies Abroad and applied to the business program in Seville.  Since then, I've been accepted, got my passport, got my visa, studied hard in Spanish, shopped for European style shoes (which is so important actually), and I've even spoken to my señora in español!

It's crazy.  This is easily the most unsafe, extreme thing I've ever done in my life...

...and I wouldn't give up the experience for anything.

So here's to Seville, to new friends, to learning a new culture, and to drinking lots of wine.  Yes, mucho vino para mí.

Con amor,
Derek