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