Would it be weird to continue my blog in Boston...?

Rhapsody Purchased Music:
1. This Time - John Legend
2. Pretty Wings (uncut) - Maxwell
3. Daydreamin' (Featuring Jill Scott) - Lupe Fiasco
4. Knock You Down featuring Kanye West, Ne-Yo - Keri Hilson
5. No Air duet with Chris Brown (Main Version) - Jordin Sparks
6. No One (Radio Edit) - Alicia Keys
7. Intro - Lupe Fiasco
8. Hey There Delilah - Plain White T's
9. Fireflies - Owl City
10. Misery Business - Paramore
11. Misery Business - Paramore
12. Chasing After You (The Morning Song) - Tye Tribbett & G.A.
13. Faithful Is Our God - Pastor Hezekiah Walker

Funny Story

Saying bye to Puri, and having little Beatriz read the note about her grandma helping us pay the bills so we could eat, and take advantage of the opportunity to travel around Spain, and other neighboring countries. I mean, I meant for her to read it, but maybe the whole family didn't need to... Needless to say, she enjoyed it, and seemed happy that I'd even bothered to say goodbye since not everyone did. What can I say, despite the extravagant cost of living, I really did grow to like Puri, or maybe we just had a mutual respect for one another that I appreciated over time. Whatever it was, the card reading moment was priceless!

Me pongo triste

The packing is always when it hits me.
When the last person walks out the door, when I turn in the keys, when I start telling people the date I'll no longer be in town, those are all guaranteed signs that I'm leaving. But what really gets me to break down is taking the pictures off the walls, figuring out what clothes I want to wear in the last three or four days so they can go on top and not on the bottom of the maleta, writing farewell cards, and looking at my empty room and remembering all the memories that a place holds for me.

I jumped on my sheet-less, blanket-less bed because I'll never sleep there again. I spent hours in the living room writing cards to friends and co-workers I may never see again, and thought of how they've shaped my experience here. I am constantly flabbergasted by the number of people I have to say goodbye to. Between, school, church, tutoring, and hanging out in the streets, I've gotten to know faces and people. Many of them are just conocidos who wish me well in the future wherever I end up, but some are much more than that, and I have to do my best to tell them so.

In my last weeks here, I've realized that a ton of people don't like saying goodbye, and sometimes I don't either. I've also realized, I'm not always so good at saying how I feel about people, or what they've meant to me. I can write it down beautifully, pero me ponga nerviosa decirlo en voz alta. I don't know why. Maybe it's because it would sound so cheesy, even though it's genuinely how I feel. Like when I say "Ana de mi alma", "ojos del encanto", or "te echare de menos..." I'm being serious. Coming up with a list of the reasons why though is when it gets difficult to keep talking out loud. Luckily I can write, and my writing in Spanish, I've been told, is almost flawless. I still laugh when I hear that, but I do relish the compliment.

Anyhow, while I get sad, I hope Espana and all the people I've met here, will stya strong in my absence. Try not to miss me too much. Os echare de menos, pero volvere;)

Being 25

I've spent the last month telling myself "I am 25" so that when the birthday actually came and people started asking me how old I was, I wouldn't get confused. Tragic, but it's happened to me before, so now I give myself a little practice time way in advance. Luckily for me, venticinco slides off the tongue a little more easily than venticuatro, so I actually prefer to say it.

Now that I'm actually 25, I realize it's not old... then again, I bet 50 year olds are telling themselves the same thing. The thing is, I'm not suddenly moving slowly, wrinkling, or sagging. That stuff happens gradually anyway. But it does feel different, like at this age I ought to have new responsibilities and obligations... to myself.

So, I spent the turning 25 weekend at the beach with Ana de mi alma, who threw a surprise birthday party with the help of the Cheers crowd that hangs out at the Bodeguita. (If there were a reality show taped on Matalascanas, the cameras would have to stay at this little bar. Between the comedy, the singing, and the dramatically overplayed anger, the cameras could actually keep rolling 24/7 and air footage without any cuts.) We'd gone there earlier in the day, and Ana must have told everyone the day before that it was my birthday, so people, some of whom I'd just met, kept wishing me a feliz cumpleanos and asking how old I was (good thing I practiced). When we went back later on, and after a half hour or so, I took a servicio trip with Ana, who said she was mareada from all the vino... odd I thought. Then, when we came back downstairs, and she was shouting "mareada, mareada!" I knew something was up, I just didn't know exactly how it would play out.... Cut to the Bodeguita at the bottom of the stairs: Lights out! Cake! And a roomful of people singing "cumpleanos a ti, cumpleanos a ti, te deseamos todo, cumpleanos a ti!"

So, lessons learned this weekend and in the past week, other than the fact that a birthday only lasts 24 hours (unless you start shopping a week early, and extend it with chocoterapia):

• LOVE YOURSELF
• there's a difference between loving someone and loving them well
• sing happy birthday to yourself in the mirror when you wake up, it will set the day off RIGHT
• if 34 isn't old, 25 is like fresh out of the womb
  
• it is possible to still be in love after 30+ years of marriage
• good friends are priceless and often come unexpectedly
• overexaggerate and damn near shout when speaking another language, it sounds crazy in your head, but people will know what you're saying
• how to say Nia in Spanish: pretend you have a lisp, and stick your tongue out between your teeth a little, otherwise you'll be mistaken for Lia, Nina, or even Ina by some abuelas...
• having a place where everyone knows your name is like my goal in life, and I seem to have achieved it in Bollullos Par del Condado
  
• sad movies can be good when well acted (case in point, The Namesake or El Buen Nombre)
• cleaning and doing laundry is a great way to pass the time
• nothing comes exactly when you want it to, but surprises are often welcomed
  

No me dejas

It's hard to be the last man standing, but I did do it to myself. Now that my roommates are gone, my BFF's Ngoc and Ally on their way to more international adventures, and most of the other Bollullos auxiliars are on their way out if not gone already, I feel that my authentic (albeit solita) Spanish experience is really just beginning. Perhaps, at the end of the day, this is what I actually expected when I first came here... and then wound up with two American roommates, and lots of chances to speak English. Kind of wish the house was one level though, and had a few less rooms. I'm not sure If I'm living alone, or will be a live in maid for the rest of the time I'm here. The place requires constant maintenance that's easier to do in threes.

Initially, when I got my ticket, I'd wanted to stay a little longer in Spain because I figured I'd have a lot of traveling that I wouldn't have done during the year and still wanted to do al final. Well, duh-harrr, and of course, as expected, there're still tons of places on my list to see. To be honest, most of the places I've gone thus far weren't even on my original list, from Cordoba, to Ireland, and Portugal. I'm glad I went of course, especially Cordoba, which after three visits, has become one of my favorite cities. Still, there's a lot I haven't seen of the world, although people who've seen less might call me a world traveler. Seems like the more you do, the more humble you become about your own experience and capabilities.

I was just thinking the other day how I've spoken with people who said they wish their English was as good as my Spanish. Ha! Meanwhile, comparing myself to people who fluently speak two or more languages, I feel like I am not. Ok, so maybe I'm not on the bottom of the fluency scale, but I feel far from being mistaken for a native speaker, which is always my goal. A little lofty perhaps, especially considering I started learning when I was 18 and this has been my longest, although not the first, stay in a Spanish speaking country. Nonetheless, I appreciate the compliment from people who strive for bilingualism, if it is one... that they would like to speak as well as I do in a non-native language. Which brings me to something I'll supremely miss about Spain, compliments.

From "que guapa vienes" to "joder!" to "que bien hablas," I will miss the frequency with which Spain and its countrymen have boosted my confidence at random and unexpected intervals. I don't know what I'm gonna do when people actually walk by in a rush to get wherever they have to go and don't stop to stare; or when I go to work with people who are straight hating... Thanks, Espana, for the constant pick-me-ups and for showing me the world is not completely full of hateration. Probably helps that I've spent most of the year working with older women who are more likely to treat me as the exotic daughter they never had than to walk by without giving a compliment. I will miss it all, and I'll be soaking it up, for what it's worth, in my remaining weeks here. 'Preciate it. Keep it comin'.

Wide Open Spaces

Was I really just in Dublin earlier this month, because yesterday it felt like I was on the Oregon Trail, destination the Wild West. A few weeks ago I learned that hueco means space, like a little gap between one thing and another, or just un espacio. What I saw at El Rocio yesterday was more than a hueco, it was like a different place and time. I wondered if the caravans of manifest destiny had similar pitstops along their journey, stopping to eat, drink and be merry while dancing, singing, and chatting it up. I guess keeping in high spirits would have helped them forget about the dust blowing in their faces and the indefinitely long journey that remained.

To sum it up would be impossible. El Rocio es muy propio. Like all its own, an event in and of itself. A different epoca that you witness, and although you too are dressed up while watching, you can't help but to stand back and think, where am I? Amidst the convivencia, people are so excited that this time of year has finally arrived. They're eager to get to El Rocio, the home of the Virgin of devotion, and stay in their houses, or their friends' houses. I don't know how many new sevillanas I learned. Prior to the camino, I was just working with "Carmela borda en mi vela" but now I have love song sung through the metaphor of "un trigo y un limon" and another about the virgin, plus a handful of others I haven't completely memorized.

All in all, an interesting experience, even if it did involve bumping along dirt roads in the back of a truck to get there. Don't let anyone tell you riding in a small remolque is okay. It's hellish! But tolerable in short distances and with lots of singing and other merriment.

She'll be coming around the mountain when she comes...

Many thoughts are going through my brain right now, but at 4am in the morning, the most prominent is the thought of getting up in a few hours to spend the day in a caravan on the way to El Rocio. It seems like this festival / romeria has been right around the corner ever since I got to Spain, with people telling me, I couldn't miss it, and now it's just a few hours away. How crazy, that my whole Spanish experience could possibly culminate in a 21st century reenactment of the Oregon Trail...

Aside from that, today was my last day of school, which for some reason or another was more emotional to deal with yesterday than today, as Ngoc can attest. I spent most of yesterday afternoon on the verge of an emotional breakdown, but finally recovered by late afternoon - which by that I mean around 10pm. Just kidding, I actually was fine after tutoring and playing with a couple of 6 year olds took my mind off of the more serious things in life.

Today, was filled with many surprises, most of which included being ambushed by 5th and 6th graders with gifts and cards to say goodbye. I was glad to find out that most kids think I'm funny, and in some way or another have learned something from me. I even got one little card from a 3rd grader that said she was happy to have had the chance to meet a person of color... I wonder how much of the letter Encarni dictated, but I don't really know for sure. Some of my third graders also apologized for asking on numerous occasions, when I came in with my signature loco hairstlye, if I had metido mis dedos en the enchufa... or in other words, if I'd stuck my fingers in an outlet. You laugh. Hell, sometimes I wanted to, but the point is, I'm highly sensitive, and I don't think they know enough people of color to be saying that. My hair's kind of a point of pride at this point, maybe a bit of laziness too, but again, NOT the point. Anyhow, looking forward to tomorrow, and happy about today. In between the two, I've gotten lots of farewell wishes, and advice which I'll keep with me, and eventually write down here when it makes a bit more sense. To the left, that's me with Valle and Encarni, the teachers I've worked with all school year in hopes of transmitting English, and Bilingual Science, into the brains of 5th, 6th, and 3rd graders... Some of them claimed to have learned, so I'll go ahead and say job well done, although anything from perfection and fluency always feels like it falls short of the goal. Still, I'll give us credit for working with what we had, and working well together, despite some curable discipline and respect issues among the students.

Luck of the Irish

Fine, maybe 82 degrees is not that hot. The problem izzz, the online temperatures do not reflect the heat on my back at the hottest parts o the day, and they're usually off by a good 5+ degrees anyway... but moving forward!

So, guess where I was this past weekend?? Ireland!! (That's the River Liffey to the left!!) And all weekend I was saying to myself, I'm in friggin' Ireland?!?!? As luck would have it, it did NOT rain, although the forecast was absolutely full of raindrops and cloudiness. So I got a sunny, if windy and chilly, weekend in Dublin, reuniting with a friend I've known since pre-school... and I'm about to be 25, so this is the longest running friendship that's not kin.

Thoughts on Dublin...











It really reminded me of Boston... in a good way, because I didn't always like Boston. My first impressions of Boston were bastante mal, but after I started exploring the city, feeling more of its energy and taking in whatever beauty I could find, I kinda started to like it, and the people who made it come alive. Needless to say, I didn't have a whole year in Dublin, just three days, but stepping out onto O'Connell Street gave me major flashbacks of Massachusetts Avenue in Cambridge/Boston.

There were other areas like Trinity College, that reminded me of Harvard in a major way, and the surrounding/outlying neighborhoods that sort of reminded me of the outter edges of Boston. Again, I was loving the diversity, although sticking out in a crowd is something I've become so accustomed to that I feel a little odd when no one walks by shouting "guapa" or when old people walk on by, instead of stopping, stunned, in their tracks. I walked through city streets and saw tons of statues and monuments in the heart of the city - from the Spire on O'Connell to the Tart with the Cart, the Hags with the Bags, and a nighttime stroll through Trinity College.

Outside of Dublin, I got acquainted with the Wicklow Mountains, Powerscourt Estate, Glendalough, and several (that's an understatement) flocks of sheep and lamb. I especially enjoyed a random sighting of a billy goat and two little ones following it. The Wicklow bus tour that took me to all the aforementioned naturaleza definitely satisfied my inner hippie.









Then yesterday, my third day there, I took a tour of the Guinness storehouse to see what many call the pride of Dublin - Guinness stout and draft. Later I walked towards the shopping zones (it's a problem, I know. My first job in life was in retail...it's like a magent for me): Grafton, Abbey, and Nassau Streets, looking for souvenirs, postcards and a ring. I decided I'd look for a ring, and ended up with not only that, but some perfect mugs, an amaaaazing bracelet, and un monton de postcards (because I'd already finished writing out the eight I purchased the day before...).

Afterwards, I went to the International Bar because I'd seen a sign outside for a comedy show. Emphasis on comedy show. What I ended up seeing was called: The New York Monologues, and was a play about a high school class in 2051 recounting the history of 9/11 in the U.S. I felt a little conflicted about their depiction of events, I guess because I wonder if that's how people view the U.S. from abroad. Whatever it was, I decided it was ultimately a good production, well-acted, and clearly it hit a nerve somewhere in me, which I think any quality piece of work has to strive to and succeed at doing.

After the play, I wandered around the north and south sides of the River Liffey before journeying to the Cobblestone, a bar on the other side of town where a group of women had gathered to play and sing traditional Irish music. I was reminded of how lots of times in Bollullos, and quite possibl all of Andalucia, people get together and sing flamenco music, or Sevillanas. We made it back to my friend's place by 11pm or midnight, and my throat soon realized the healing effects of a "hot whiskey"... who knew? The next day was the trip to the airport, flying back to Sevilla, a bus tour of the so-famous city that I just can't bring myself to fall in love with, an enlightening conversation with a Sevilla tour guide from Senegal, and al final the bus trip back to Bollullos, and a change-over in Almonte to ride with the freshest bus driver out, Manolo. I mean he's married and still flirting shaaamelessly. Nothing new. The Andaluz clearly kept it scandalous while I was gone.

All in all, a quality trip. Introspective, exploratory, familiar in a foreign sort of way, and a reunion on many levels. I never expected I'd be in Ireland, let alone Dublin or Wicklow, but I'm very glad I went and got to see more of the world and in a way come to terms, at least for a while, with the adventure that is my life. I'm tempted to say this is not exactly the dream I had envisioned, but then I remember that I have always wanted a job that allows me to travel - even if the traveling has nada que ver with my actual trabajo - y aqui estoy;) Muy bien hecho, if I might say so myself.

Bo-you-yo's Inferno

Huelva, AL

82°F

I imagine the heat alluded to in Dante's fictional inferno would be something akin to the impending heat in Bollullos, and generally throughout the Andaluz. Today's forecast was for a high of eighty, although right now it's only 3pm and it feels hotter. The hottest heat usually hits around 4. When I tell people I'm hot, they laugh a little and tell me we're not even in summer yet. I'm scared.

Eight years ago (hot damn, eiiiiiight years ago I was a thinking individual, which means now I'm practically a mature adult, theoretically speaking.) I went on the adventure of a lifetime, a high school trip to Egypt. It was my first time overseas, and clearly had a positive impact since the trend has continued despite my, ahem, love of height, oceans, and planes. Prior to our departure, we were warned numerous times that temperatures would exceed 100 degrees Fahrenheit, that the heat would be dry, that we'd have to drink plenty of water, wear hats and linen, and generally stay calm despite the cultural differences that included peeople walking around fully clothed in what seemed to be an inferno. Turns out the fully clothed crazies had the right idea. If you have loose, light clothes covering you, you're less likely to get burned, and more likely to maintain an inner cool since your clothes get the brunt of the heat instead of your skin. Or as I like to think of it, you create your own shade.

Alas, it seems that the heat of life first experienced in Egypt has returned, only I'm on a different continent, and I didn't bring linen on this trip. I just took a short trip to the bank to reload my prepaid phone which is forever out of saldo, and a twenty minute walk took me over thirty minutes, because I was trying to move slowly. Don't get me wrong, I much prefer this to the winter-time undiagnosed hyperactivity / anti-hibernation mode I went into during the winter to avoid idle moments that could inhibit ciruclation and trigger blood to stop flowing to my toes and fingers while sitting still. Thanks to the sun's recent and protracted arrival, I'm competely thawed out now, albeit frightened of the inferno that awaits.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Dublin, so maybe the 50-60 degree temps will remind me of Bollullos in winter, and I'll kiss the ground when I get back. A ver.

Acostumbrarse

To get accustomed to... lo que sea.
So, based on past experience, I have a tendency to adapt well to new situations. Who knew? Well, I guess I did, but I didn't really get it until tonight. Hanging out and driving home with my surrogate padres in Bollullos, I got a heads up that not everyone in years past has adapted so well to the current situation, the job, the students, the co-workers, the life in a pueblo... Anyhow, I can't say it was all my doing. I've been fortunate to have good roommates who are more likely to want to have a kitchen conversation than to leave any part of the house in ruin; to work at a school that doesn't demand much, but where I can take advantage of openings to throw in a new lesson, or song (next week 1980 hit "Fame." No lie. "Fame! I'm gonna live forever, I'm gonna learn how to fly, FAME!..." Of course I'll have to explain that "gonna" is not bien dicho, but moving forward), and there are still profs that smile when they see me in any part of the school or the streets of Bollullos.

I guess I do smile a lot, which is not exactly a vice. I mean, it's not like everyone's inviting me over their homes, but I have what I need from who I need it, and it makes me happy to have found happy places here. Case in point the surrogate padres. (I don't wanna make my parents feel slighted, obviously they're irreplaceable. I call this other couple my surrogate padres because they're the same age as my parents, and they kind of do remind me of George and Gladys besides obvious differences of color, stature, native language, and overall genetic composition. Nonetheless, I feel the love, and appreciate their effort to help me find playmates among the jovenes of Bollullos.)

En fin. I often said at the beginning of this experience when there were things I wasn't used to, tengo que acostumbrarme a... whatever the new and raro thing was, and al final, I've gotten accustomed to a lot. Adapted. That's what I'll put on my resume. Adapted to cultural immersion in a pueblo of the Andaluz. Adapted indeed.

Tengo ganas de...

lo que sea. I'm pretty much up for anything. Today, I was in the dehesa with my school playing Capture the flag with a buttload of team spirit, swinging on swings that threatened to injure my hips, and going for a ride on a zipline that looked like a medieval device. As I said, tengo ganas de... lo que sea. Thankfully, so do many of the people around me.

Everyone has their strong and weak points, but decidedly something I will miss about being here is the people I've met. Who are, more likely than not, up for just about anything. Whether it's the energy of being a foreigner in Spain or in any new place, the spirit of being an auxiliar with demasiado tiempo libre, or just the charismatic quality that accompanies the people who've applied for this program, I'm not sure.

All this is not to say that no one ever flakes on a plan, or that everything I've done here has been beyond my wildest dreams. (Although, I never really thought I'd be living in Spain, so in a way, it's all sort of a dream-like sequence.) A lot of what I do here, I would do in the States, but I might have a smaller group of people to choose from to accompany me on hitch-hiking journeys, hanging out with viejos, or going on midnight trips to towns with dirt roads. Maybe it's the proximity of the beach, the warm(er) weather, the accumulation of free time... Whatever it is, when I go home, I will miss the carefreeness of this experience.

That's what it is, carefree. (soory, you'll have to turn your head to look at Ricardo until I fgure out how to orient the picture properly...) For a while, I thought that my whole perspective on life was changing. In fact, I think I was just becoming more easy-going. If it happens, it happens, and if not me dara igual. When people ask if I've gone to San Sebastian, Carnaval, Semana Santa and if I'm going to the upcoming El Rocio, I tell them yes, porque "tengo que aprovechar de todo." To suffice, whatever it might be, I'm usually up for it. Saying yes opens you up to see and do things you might have otherwise closed yourself off to by saying no. Ok, that was really profound. But seriously, it's kind of like the movie Yes-Man. At some point, I may learn to say "no" again, but I'll be happy to have had nine months of saying yes. Vale, pues no para TODO; hay que tener limites aun para mi, pero me entiendes.

Autostop in Mazagon

... i.e. hitch-hiking. That's what I was up to today with my Huelva BFFs. Intentamos ir a Mazagon, y estuvimos alli, pero despues de tres horas of getting straight winded by one enduring pero super strong viento(and I am NOT one to endure strong winds. I can't stand them, and to have sand blowing into my hair... thank goodness for laughs, chips, and candy, or I might not have made it...), we gave up and hiked up the hill. Back to the bus stop. Where we proceeded to wait. For over an hour. In hopes that the 4pm, 4:45pm, and then 6pm bus back to Huelva would arrive.
Unfortunately, we don't know Mazagon like other cities so close to our hearts, so it would have been a real effort to walk all the way to el centro and then actually locate the bus stop. At around 5pm, we realized we had a better chance of hitch-hiking back to Huelva.

After walking about five minutes, unsuccessfully trying to flag down a car (although we saw several who gave us double takes, but false hopes because nadie giro la vuelta) Ngoc, decided to draw a sign on miniature graph paper, que dijo:

HUELVA, porfa!

And literally about two minutes later, a hot rod ride pulled over - ok, not that hot, but if you could've felt the winds we were up against... - and I got flashbacks to Vivica Fox flagging down assistance like a damsel in distress in Two Can Play That Game after punching holes into her tires. Alvaro, our knight, was on his way to a wedding, but pulled over without too much persuasion. (So, I really can't say there's no nice people in the world because we would've still been in Mazagon... In fact thank goodness he did pull over. What started as a joke to get home turned into an adventure. And now I'm just wondering if the couple waiting for their bus ever made it to their destination? Or maybe they slept in the under-construction building behind the bus stop where I told my BFFs we might have to camp out for the night if Damas didn't show up.)

I was only in Huelva for about 24 hours this fin de semana, but me and the chicas managed to have more adventures than just the autostop. On Friday, we played with new friends in a park for ages 4 and up, and realized Ngoc is straight-up wifey material; from being a kid-lover to making dinner, dessert, and threatening to put us all to shame with a gold sequened dress that has thus far stayed in the closet. Meanwhile, the competitive streak of La Rubia came out as Ally tried to teach me how to play card games by cheating. I'm still confused about the stairs game, and the other one we played, although I've won several times. In all honesty, I think Ngoc's 4 yeard old novio will catch on faster. I like strategy card games, and I haven't figured out how to do that yet with Golf and Mentiras. Seriously, my degrees do not attest to my card playing skills. I'm strictly academic... lol;) All right, well, that was a joke. But anyhow... back to Bollullos, where there's currently a street fair celebrating Dia del Libro, the birthday or the day that Cervantes passed away. Not sure which one, but the point is Bollullos celebrates it all, and I partake. Hasta ahora!

La Obra

There's something spectacular going on outside of my house, and this is what I see whenever I come home. Obra.
I remember learning that word in a Spanish lit class and spending a lot of time trying to figure out what it meant. The first time I saw it, it was written as "mano de obra" somewhat poetically, and it confused the hell out of me. In fact a direct translation still kind of eludes me at the moment, but it's something like: work or manual labor. In many cases, it just means work. Here, when they do construction jobs, they call them obras. In an effort to use more vocab than just common sense cognates that require little more than proper pronunciation (i.e. construccion), and to describe the situation I'm dealing with for teh next 15+ days, I'm attempting to put this word into daily use.

Unfortunately, it's not very beautiful or poetic, just kind of noisy, and it's managed to obstruct not only the normal path to my door, but also my normal morning shower routine. It's possibly tmi, but the water was cut off this morning...alas. When I went outside a few minutes ago to document the situation with my camera, the leader of the project walked over to make sure I wasn't taking pictures because there was a problem. No. No problem sir... I just want to remember the details. The water's back on now, so what more could I really ask for?

Turns out just about everything is a work in progress, including my job. I'm still deciding whether to be friend, teacher, disciplinarian... idk. Most days I make a few faces and laugh at or with them in between writing on the board and telling them to sit down or colorear.


This week, I went in every day, which is sooo not normal, because I'm only assigned to work 3 days a week. It's a good life, indeed. Anyhow, yesterday, the gym teacher came late, and I felt obliged to stay and hang out with Encarni's tercero class as they waited to have educacion fisica on the back patio. They get into a lot when they're left alone, so I stayed for a bit before heading upstairs to my usual class. I don't know if that helped or not...

Anyhow, I should send them these photos after I leave. In a year or two, when they've progressed a bit more, they'll laugh about what they must've been doing jumping around and shouting on the patio that day.

Que Rapido

People here have a tendency to put "que" in front of key words to place greater emphasis. During winter, it was often "que frio" and undoubtedly, once summer hits, it's bound to be "que calor". Often I hear, and have taken to saying it too, "que fuerte" especially when something is surprising, and not necessarily in reference to a hot beverage or a strong person. For example, the baby crying on the other side of my bedroom wall right now... that would be a case of "que fuerte", because it's pretty loud, the baby sounds highly agitated, and because it's been a long day, or maybe because i have no control over getting the infant to stop, it's also kind of annoying. Anyhow, the crying has stopped now... que bien.

So delving into the world of "que"... The last ten days have been a whirlwind of sisterly bonding and traveling, and at the end of (really) a nine-day journey, the one thing I have to say above everything else I'm feeling is "que rapido". In the last nine days, Nini, Tiffy, and Jay-jay have managed to cover three countries and use practically ever mode of thinkable transportation to get to them. I took the AVE and met their flight in Madrid on the 10th, then we took a train to Lisboa/Lisbon, Portugal; a bus to Sevilla; a rental car to Cordoba and Jerez de la Frontera, Cadiz; and a bus-ferry-train combination to arrive in Marrakech, Morocco. The mere fact of them being here was enough, but keeping the comedy flowing in the midst of the highlights and lowlights was also a plus. Whether we were looking for meals on empty stomachs, catching multiple connections on the metro, hailing taxis, bartering down from 450 to 80, roadtripping on Spanish autopistas, falling in public places, flirting for the student discount and extra regalos, capturing all the madness on three at-the-ready digital cameras, or just understanding hooow I've been living for the past seven months, I wouldn't have done it with anyone else.

And on that note, pictures are soon to come. My bad for the month long absence, I don't know how I've managed not to write for a month, but I'll have to do a big update, or fill in the blanks along the way with recaps and pictures of my smaller trips prior to the most recent one, like: Albufeira, Portugal and Matalascanas, Huelva - beach towns that my current shade of dahkness can attest to. I'll be back on the beach as soon as I can too, now that I know that rentals are feasible... :)

Well, on a final note, I did start on the note of the crying baby - which makes one behind my head, and another living across the inner courtyard. Super fuerte, I don't know if I can take it. I'm sure some of my oils from Morocco could calm them down, but I don't expect the 'rentals would be down for that. Anyhow, the babies are off and on in the crying. I'm hoping they'll calm down by the time I really decide to go to sleep, but as I emphasized before, the que fuerteness of the situation is the fact that it's out of my hands. Alas. I'll try to focus less on the intermittent screaming and more on how to upload all my pictures. Hasta ahora.

Semana Santa

I don't know what it is... but something about Semana Santa in Spain, no me cae muy bien. It just didn't sit that well with me. Despite my conodicos' way of telling me the festivities were really something to see (perhaps they meant a feast for the senses (including fear)...), the attire that accompanies the Semana Santa festivities was a flashback to The Birth of a Nation. I'm sorry Espana. To my fellow gente, I promise this is not a picture of the Ku Klux Klan. I wouldn't do that. But I feel I would be holding out if I didn't blog about an important Spanish tradition, which in spite of the clothing (which the KKK modeled after religious brotherhoods and not vice versa), did give me a chance to appreciate some more cultural differences, even if in the midst of the celebration, I had one too many conversations where people asked me to define American culture - as if contrasting it with Spain's, a country around the size of Texas, made any logical sense.

So, back to the religious fiesta. Semana Santa literally means Holy Week. And it's the week between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday. It's religiously charged, so it's not so much that it's a new holiday to me, as much as it is a new celebration that I found out about only in Andalucia. It happens throughout Spain, but perhaps only here will you see a procession with Jesus and myriad virgins going by while onlookers watch with cubata in hand. In the north, apparently, the celebration is much quieter as well, maybe something like the contrast between Baptist and Episcopal church, although there's no gospel singing involved, as far as I know. The procession begins with the cofradias, religious brotherhoods walking ahead of the pasos. Each of the churches within a town has its own cofradia, and sometimes has more than one. Sometimes as they go, they're accompanied by singing. Depends on the hermandad. They usually have a cross, or more than one, and once they've passed the pasos of Jesus and the virgins appear behind them. In between these, are orchestras, children and or adults singing, and more hermandades. Each one has its own organization, but this is a general idea de como van andando por la calle.

I watched the processions, or pasos, in Huelva and in Bollullos, the main contrast being the number of pasos that went by in one evening - 5-7 in Huelva, versus 1 cada noche in Bollullos. They started in Huelva around 7pm, and in Bollullos a partir de las 9. The streets were pretty much dark by then so onlookers are assisted by streetlights and whatever light the pasos gave off, often by candlight, to see the paso itself. The pasos vary from lifesize depictions of Jesus' judgment with Judas and Pontias Pilate, to the cross, to Mary, and idk how many virgins. Every once in a while, when I saw the virgins, I was reminded yet again that I am not Catholic. But Espana is.

The biggest pasos hold the virgins (I would expect it to be JC...). These are almost always depicted with tears. These pasos are large, gold, filled with candles, and carried on the shoulders of I don't know how many men, who support the weight from underneath the paso. Looking closely, I could see their feet hidden by the long velvet curtain that drapes the bottom of the paso like a bed skirt. In retrospect, the whole event kind of is a feast for the senses, there's the incense burning that reminds you of being inside a Catholic church, people lining the streets and crowding to see the processions go by, and restaurants and bars staying open late to accomodate the crowds before, during, and after the pasos.

A lot of people asked, and keep asking me how I liked the whole celebration, and without getting into the KKK stories and the fact that I'm black, I just kind of shrug and say, "Si... nunca lo he visto antes, y es una costumbre muy distinta de Espana." What else can I say without offending people? I kind of did like the feast for the senses part, I'm just not sure I'm in agreement with the way they're celebrating. But it's not my culture to carry on. So... carry on.

Let the Rain Fall Down

For better or for worse, Bollullero youth have been exposed to very little diversity, and that which they have seen, many have learned to reject and furthermore disrespect. So when a 6th grader today laughed about reading the part of the black boy in the dialogue, I was a little surprised at myself for still getting caught off guard and being upset by the fact that he'd said it. Needless to say, kind of like the random wake-up call I got a few days ago, I jumped on him as soon as he finished reading. Last time this happened, I waited two weeks to confront the situation, by which time the students had a prepared response, the likes of which included, we are all equal... and Look, Obama's president of the USA!! He is, indeed. Thank goodness. But that doesn't make up for sixth grade ignorance, transmitted from parents undoubtedly, but transmitted nonetheless.

I told the class I didn't ever want to hear anyone say they didn't want to read the part of the black kid, or refer to "that" kid as some kind of a joke. My emotions might have stayed purely at anger if my co-teacher hadn't chimed in so that I could hear her voice starting to waiver. I kept thinking, why is SHE crying? But somehow, the tears rolling down her face made me feel like she was really defending me, and not just telling the kids to stop talking nonsense. When I asked her at the end of class why she was crying, she said it was because she'd put herself in my shoes. I thought maybe her dad was black or soemthing.... I mean. Anyhow. It was an emotional third period, after which I descended to the patio for recreo and subsequently fought off the memory of students saying shitty things. It was one of those rare moments when students get to see hoe teachers actually feel though. So I definitely don't regret that it went down, if anything, I'm thinking how much more progress would we have made if instead of pretending to be blind to our differences we had addressed them asi al principio...?

Al fin, some tears fell, I walked out on my class, my teacher cried, I made some more students cry, I played hopscotch with third graders, and wondered if they'd ever know this game is/was super popular with me and MY peers when I was their age in a different part of the world. In spite of everything, I keep wondering if I'm doing enough to show who I am. I am what you see, but what about all the history of an entire RACE that I carry with me just by the fact of being one of few representations of blackness in this itty-bitty world in a far corner of Spain? It kind of feels like an overwhelming task to undertake, just to get started thinking about where to start. Still, I'm brainstorming ways to sum up the history of black people in the US (or the world) from Christopher Columbus to Barack Obama. And I'm taking suggestions...

Making the Most of March Madness

In the spirit of March Madness, ahem, of traveling and enjoying the Andaluz that is, I have managed to leave the province on Huelva, not once but TWICE so far this month. Can I just say, amazing! The days don't always pass super quickly. Sometimes I even look back and think, wow that all happened today!?!? But those are the days I especially like, the days that seem to transform themselves from beginning to end, and leave me feeling like there's a story that needs to be told, or at least written down. Lately, I've been thinking I have to get up, out, and about, my tmie is winding down, and as always I want to make the most of every moment because how else do you make memories? Usually not by sitting on your culo waiting for towns, people, and cosas to happen to you. Anyhow, my latent inner need to be up and out of Huelva was facilitated by other people, so I really can't take all the credit, but I'm very glad, however it was made possible, that it happened. So, in the spirit of dual synopses... here goes:

Last weekend:
I went to Huelva City and spent the weekend bonding with my Huelva BFFs, La Rubia y La Morena. On Thursday night, I believe we had a nail painting party. Then on Friday, we caught a bus that brought us to a small, really bright, town on the border of Huelva and Portugal called Ayamonte. For a 50-minute bus ride, we got to see a little park, a cute little river through the town, lots of boats, la zona comercial, I got a pair of earrings as the girls know my weakness is shopping (!), and most exciting of all: took a 15-minute ferry ride to PORTUGAL! (So now I will say I've been there, even though it was only for one hour...) In the Portugal border town across the River: I liked what I saw, I know it was just on the other side of the water, but the architecture was different, lol! And for whatever reason it shocked me that people were seriously speaking Portuguese. I guess I did cross a border - without even needing a passport - but I am still surprised it was so different. A personal highlight was not getting stared at (score), and seeing maaaad towels lined up at the touristy booths along the Portugal port. When we at last made our way back to Huelva Fea, we ended up going out for a night on the town to some surprisingly new places, and although we caught a couple of awkward stares from the usual weird older man crowd, I saw an attractive Spaniard (a nine indeed, the first to reach that nivel de guapeton-ness).

That was Friday... on Saturday, we sat on the pier designed by the same man who did theEiffel Tower and took in the hottest rays I've felt since arriving in Septemeber. Later, we hitched a ride with a University of Huelva grad student and fan of the BFF's website, to Palos de la Frontera to see the Medieval Feria the town puts on to celebrate the return of Columbus after his first voyage to the "New World". I put that in quotations because we all know it wasn't really new.... but anyhow. Palos was the place he left from in 1492, and the place he returned to March 14th, 1493 after completing the first voyage. Little known Blakc History Factoid I picked up from my friend: despite Spain claiming all rights to the voyage, Columbus apparently did not collect all the water or all the seafaring men for is voyage in Palos de la Frontera alone; he stopped on the west coast of Africa, in Ghana, to pick up more agua, and more seamen because Ghanaians knew the shortest route to the New World. Not sure if that happened on the first journey, the second, third... or all, but it was definitely a detail our Huelva friend left out.

On Sunday, after waiting for a city bus to a park for an hour, we gave up and decided to go to Punta Umbria (my second time, since I went the week before to, but only to the commercial zone). There we got to lay out, peacefully, fully falling asleep for a couple of hours before going back to Huelva, where I caught the evening (and only bus on Sundays) back to [the sometimes very] buocolic Bollullos, unpack and prepare for writing lots of postcards, and getting my life together for my three-day work week and all the (um) stress in between...

So... that was last weekend.
Today:
Cadiz City - Originally I had planned to go to Cadiz on Friday, catch a bus to Sevilla, a train or bus to Cadiz, and somehow make a relatively tricky daytrip out of it. Much to my surprise, my roommate's parents are in town for a week or so, and wanted to go to Cadiz as well. So when I went out Thursday night, stayed out late, and then woke up at 2pm on Friday afternoon, it was actually the best thing that could have happened, because I met the parents Friday night and they offered to take me on their travels on Saturday to Cadiz.

Which, I might add, is a lovely beach city. not a beach town, but a small city. I liked. It took my mind off the fact that my roomie for life is getting married today and I'm nooot there... booo. So I'm not in Hawaii. But on the other side of the world, I chillaxed on the beach, climbed a steep wall along the beach as well as a winding sloped walk-up/ramp to the tower atop the Cathedral, walked through the Old Town/Casco Historico, had a kebab in the middle of a plaza facing the Cathedral, and picked up a pair of yellow flats. Priceless. On the way back to Bollullos, I got to see the sunset from the car, which happened in a matter of seconds, and reminded me of the how quickly the day comes to an end. No matter how long it took to get through it, they always end. No matter what happened along the way, the sun will go down and rise again. So in a lifelong effort to make the most of each day, I will continue the travels, plotting and planning the details, making the most of the moments, happy, sad, or in between, and filling my mind with positiveness to help me grow in the midst of a very emotional, spiritual, and sometimes physically taxing journey.

Here's to the spirit of my own personal March Madness!

En el Colegio

Probably at least half of the comedy of my life occurs in the colegio, mi querido CEIP Manuel Perez. When it's not the little kids saying crazy things, it's the adults doing everything from teaching to planning to gossiping to chatting in exxxxtra loud voices.

This morning, a Thursday, I walked into the third grade class, only to realize I was in the wrong place. I walked in, certain that the day was going to get off to a great start with eight and nine year olds, and subsequently realized my error, after they asked why I was there (moments after the 5-second-excitement of me walking in had faded). Sometimes you just have to make like a payaso and exaggerate your way out of a situation. I do that a lot.

So then I ended up across the hall with the 6th graders, only the head teacher is attending to an inspector who came to visit today so I was fending for myself. Luckily the maestro who's class it actually was, stayed, otherwise I'm sure I would have had to stop them from talking at least twice as many times as I did. Alas. The best part of the class was the portion I fubbed in to fill the remaining fifteen minutes. For the last couple of weeks I've gone over pronunciation with them. They've been learning how to describe people, i.e. short, curly, brown hair, eyes, height, etc. Only, they pronounce eyes like, I mean, I don't even know how to spell what they're saying, but I guess it would look something like this: ï-jez. So, to spare my ears, and whoever elses they may encounter once they get over their fear of speaking, I have my own phonetic chart for them - eyes for example should be pronounced like ¨ais¨, which makes less sense for English speakers than for Spanish speakers. Needless to say, I ended the class by talking about myself and making them read some of the problem words as I described myself, where I'm from, what I love to do. Best part was adding in that I have two cats named Max and Tyrone; Tyrone was momentarily pronounced: Tee-rone-ay, but we corrected that as well...

Right now, I usually have a planning period, but not much got done. The teachers' printer is out of ink, and what we really needed to do was print an exam for the third graders. We're waiting for another printer to get freed up, but the inspector is throwing things off a bit. Anyhow, I'm off to the patio now. Esta muy soleado, y quero salir!!! Y quizas jugar con los ninos, aunque more likely I'll just sit or stand and watch for the next veinte minutos antes de subir a las ultimas clases. Gracias por una semana en que trabajo solo tres dias. Obvio que este sea la vida.

Ripley's Believe It Or Not

Believe it or not, time is winding down for my tour de Espana. Just as the ignorance was beginning to mount. Amidst it, I plan to make a real attempt to see the things I haven't yet in an effort to have some additional travel tales for my future. Having spent a lot of time with little kids and their moms, I may have finally learned to treasure my singledom, if only due to their very real yet subtle hints that life changes, so appreciate it at every spectrum. I don't have a whole lot of compromising to do on a daily basis, besides a little with my roommates, so for the most part, I'm a one woman show, which also has its perks and pitfalls.

As far as the picture go, I am trying!! Literally, right now, to post one at a time in an older blog post. One down, like twenty to go.

I finally made it to Punta Umbria, a beach town in Huelva, but I was cameraless, so I'll have to go back fully loaded and with double A batteries in town to better document the experience.

I've been watching Spanish TV a little more. The nightlife has died down a bit, so my efforts to surround myself with Spanish audio have resulted in me sitting in front of the TV before bedtime wondering why there are so many American movies showing in Spain. I guess the fact that we ltierally have a movie-making city in the U.S. is kind of a novelty.

Anyhow, nothing super exciting. I could talk about the stare downs and the damndest things that little kids say, but I've said it all before! I will say, however, that one of my alumnas, who had been really sick - ok, that's an understatement, she had an ailment that required a low dose of chemo therapy - is doing much better, she's gotten a clean bill of health, and I've been able to watch this 6 year old be extremely strong. Considering she's going to school completely calvo some days, others with a paneulo, and occasionally dealing with the -ish that younguns say when they can't make sense of something, I have yet to see a tear roll down her face. When I found out, originally, how sick she'd been, I figured if she came through she might be a little bit different, but the truth is she was strong all along. You have to figure that if she came this far, there's obviously something she's here to live for, and it for damn sure is not the taunting. So, I might not have suspected it from the start, but she might end up teaching me a bit about manning up to the ignorance I have to deal with as well. Get 'em Tati.

Reconnecting

Reconnecting... kind of a charged word when I think about it, but lately its meant recharging, starting fresh, emotionally, spiritually. Preparing myself for the long haul, whatever awaits me, whatever it is I decide to make of whatever it is that I have in front of me. Kind of a vague way of saying I'm trying to get it together. Which, granted, is possibly vaguer than the latter. But alas. It's also been a literal instruction for me to keep up with loved ones while overseas, and to make sure I stay focused on my original goals while I'm here. For all of its, umm, wonder, Spain is lacking something. I guess that could obviously be said about many parts of the world, and maybe even the place I end up getting to. Maybe I haven't given it a chance to give me what I need because I have a very short term sense of my time here. I'm not really sure. I try to aprovechar of the cultural variety that abounds, the festivities that are becoming more frequent now that good weather has arrived, and opportunities to travel, but lately something is different, perhaps inside of me. Yet another reason for the recharge/reconnecting.

Along the lines of reconnecting, I have to make a quick plug for Skype. A virtual God send in the sense that no one I know has actually tried to call me yet on the phone I own here using a calling card or some other source. Without Skype, I might be stuck with just email. On the bright side, I'd also probably send a lot more letters (I have yet to write one with the stationary I brought from home). Yet, for all of its exito, Skype still has some issues to work out. Like calling cell phones halfway across the world and two oceans. I mean, I don't see what the big deal is! It's just Spain to Hawaii. Vale. Maybe I'm asking for too much. Still, despite the morse code signals I felt like I was exchanging over a walkie talkie tonight, it was good to reconnect. Love you k-beastie, the new video bar I'm putting up is for you, well and me too, you know it's one of my all time favorites, and I heard it because of you:)

Here's to remixed songs, reconnecting with all that is necessary, having revelations about the old stuff, and making new memories:
"Somewhere over the Rainbow" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4YOjEFJXPr4)
Enjoy.

Huelva, que fea

Despite the fact that so many Spanish natives call Huelva an ugly city, I find myself there a lot. Turns out, the people aren't that bad, and neither is the shopping. I tried to delve into the world of Spanish shopping, but I think my town lacks the quality I'm looking for. In other words, although I only paid 5 euro for a stretchy, fleecy lined turtleneck, that doesn't mean I should have had to sew the sleeves back together three times. I mean really...? Anyway, I like Zara, and some others.

In addition to clothes, which aren't all bad here, I've also had a craving for American foods. It seems ridiculous. I never thought I'd be that American who was looking for the nearest McDonald's, but when one slid into view on the way to Huelva yesterday afternoon, I couldn't help but think, it'd be nice to get a fish filet sandwich, some fries, or even a McFlurry. I mean, honestly, if I hadn't seen it, I probably wouldn't have gotten the craving. I blame it on the busdriver and the route he took to get to the bus station. Now all of a sudden, not only do I want McDonald's but also thin crust pizza, Oreos, Vienna Fingers, Vanilla wafers, ice cream sandwiches, smores, marshmallows, lasagna, and a whole lot of other stuff that just tastes better at home. Not that I don't like the food here, but I guess when I think of food I crave, it's not necessarily of the homemade variety - most of that I could at least attempt to do here, we do after all have Mercadona for a supermarket.

Anyhow, back to Huelva. The city provides quality entertainment and a break from Bollullos, which although I've grown attached to it, I still like to leave every once in a while. The latest scare, however, regarding the city and the province is that I shouldn't be drinking the water because there's a super high incidence of cancer specifically in this province, which is directly correlated to the amount of industrial plants. Apparently traces of something related to cancer have been found in the water, so... so much for el grifo. I'd go out and buy a huge jug from Mercadona right now if the store were still open, but it closes at 9:15pm. Ostia.

In the meantime, I'll try not to think about how sick the water makes people, and focus instead on Bollullos, and Andalucia's, love of fiestas. currently, we're in Carnaval season, which has permeated the entire province. Next weekend, I plan to go to Cadiz, apparently the thrid or fourth largest celebration of Carnaval outside of Brazil, so I'm excited. If only I could think of a costume...

MY Bad

Hot damn, it's been a minute. Myyyy bad. It's not that I didn't want to write, I just couldn't think of a good way to sum everything up before going to tutoring, eating, coffee, drinks, my bed, or anywhere else that involved getting out of the frio of Casa 5. This may not be the most detailed way of doing it, but I'll try to sum up the last month and change in a nutshell...

In the past month, I have:

traveled to Huelva and Cordoba again, and Granada for the first time.
seen an old friend, and realized that I have one too many elderly friends,
visited the Alhambra twice,

walked into a gyspy cave in Sacramonte,
gone to El Rocio, the town of the dirt roads, to several house parties,
ripped off flowery branches from a park in Sevilla,
watched a plate of ham, cheese, and chorizo disappear,
played hooky from my job,
learned that cagalera means "the runs",
purchased a ripped a new pair of jeans,
purchased four, and returned two pairs of boots,
picked up a gift for my mom just because,
convinced a friend to download Skype,
cried for no apparent reason, or a combination of many,
saw a friend from Madrid by way of Boston in Granada,
damn near passed out riding a bike or walking uphill,
gone between understanding everything and nothing,
debated how much longer I can stand to be away from home,
had to actually pay for a couple of my drinks,
had three novios and talked to one too many scandalous old men,
shooed a really roughed up looking stray cat out of the house,
played with a cat in the Generalife gardens,
lost 20 euro,
stayed in a really nice hotel and a practically barren hostel,
run out of my favorite lip balm,
straightened my hair,
gotten a hair cut,
debated some of my character flaws,
waited close to a week for my clothes to dry on the roof,
gone on a couple of shopping sprees,
renewed my Skype subscription (thanks Steph!),
fought off a cold with home remedies until i finally gave up and went to the pharmacy,
diagnosed myself with conjunctivitis. twice. and subsequently visited the eye doctor... for free.
bought yet another bufanda,
started wearing less than two turtlenecks on a daily basis,
made a face or shared a laugh with a 3rd, 5th, or 6th grader,
heard a 3rd and 6th grader say "joder", and wondered how serious the word really is,
got officially broken up with for the first time but wasn't really sad about it,

went to Donana National Park on a school field trip,
stood in the shower in disbelief for a couple minutes,
gotten told off by an old woman in Triana,
gotten stared down by would be grandpas and grandmas and realized that I still resalta mucho,
realized that my time here may have already changed me,
fought and won against denial,
stayed up til the wee hours of the morning talking,
hoped my efforts at tutoring are at least somewhat fruitful,
gone to a traje de flamenca fashion show in La Palma,
called in a few favors to get back and forth from La Palma,
re-realized the wonderful world of flowers,
gotten really hopeful about spring,
made a real effort in the job search,
and had my first visitor give me motivation to travel.

Anyhow, I have pictures documenting most of my life from the past month, and I fully intend to post them... just as soon as I get an external hard drive, because I don't know if my computer can handle all the memory necessary to download and save hundreds of pictures. Once I get on the ball, I guarantee they'll be worth seeing. The beauty of digital is being able to erase all the mishap photos you took and only keeping the good ones. I might have even convinced myself I have some skills. Alas. I'll see what I can do about actually sharing those skills in a more public venue than just the camera. Hasta entonces...

Tour of Bollullos

What a disgrace, it's colder in the house than it is outside?!?! I have returned to Bollullos, which is in southern Spain you know, but you wouldn't know it from walking around in my house. Temperatures drop at night, and all we have are pluggable radiators to fend off the cold. I need something blowing heat in my face, though. Seriously. Where's the Jolly Green Giant when you need him?

Anyhow, in my quest to leave the house in search of the warmth of the sun, I took a walk around town for about two hours today. I went for the first time with my new hand-me-down digital camera on an adventure that began on my street in the "arriba" part of town:
because there's a slow but definite incline to get here, and brought me all the way to the arroyo on the other end of down, la parte mas abajo:
.

I came up with a theme for taking"quiet" and "noisy" pictures to try to get myself to capture what was really interesting in each photo. Obviously, you can't hear anything by just looking at them, but you can get an idea of the sound of large construction trucks,


a man riding with a wagon attached to a mule,


the silence on a quiet street,


versus the sound of running water,


a barking dog, etc...


Anyhow, I'll see if I can download any (mission accomplished 3/11/09), and add some attachments so that the images I'm trying to evoke here will make more sense. If only I'd had these to better explain to the young kids in New Haven where I currently live! At the end of the day, and all throughout the sunnier hours, I live in Bollullos, full of the ignorance that leads to awkward staring contests, but also filled with the randomness that makes peripecias the most exciting part of any day I spend here.

Since You've Been Gone

I'm home!! Just for a few more days though until I return to the no-man's land of Bollullos. Just kidding. Well, not really. In comparison to even the smallest of U.S. cities, it does seem quite removed, but since I've been gone, I've come to appreciate the peripecias of both places. Like lunch that goes on for three hours, siesta, random party nights that never seem to end. On the other hand, knowing that all of my true blue comrades are on the other side of the Atlantic makes it that much more difficult to say goodbye again knowing I'll be missing out on the small stuff for another five months. Alas. But back to the joys of being home, I've been treated to indoor heating, sans the constant worry of turning on the califaccion, and I've not had to buy groceries. Amazing. I got to be here for Christmas, a special someone's second 30th birthday, New Year's in New York, and lots of reunions with friends who might've otherwise been further away had it not been the holiday season. Just for the record, I love all of you, and thanks for keeping me crazy. I would say sane, but we know that's not the case!

Since I've been gone, I think I've changed a bit, not sure exactly how. As one friend said, the core of us doesn't change, but our interests, and perhaps ways of doing things do get modified. I'm okay with that, as long as I come out a better person in the end.

Anyhow, jsut wanted to let my fans (all two of you, perhaps) know that I do remember that I have a blog and an obligation to keep it updated. I'll be back with more on my travels soon enough. Hasta luego.