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.