Today, we visited the city of Segovia, the proud owner of the Roman aqueduct. It was mind-boggling to learn that this piece of architecture had been standing for over two thousand years, that it was still useable and had no mortar to support it. The Romans were amazing engineers, and I wonder if we would be capable of the same feat, even with modern technology. They certainly don't make buildings like they used to, and the Roman aqueduct is a primary example of brilliance of ancient architects.
While not quite as amazing, but equally as interesting, was the Alcázar castle. It was built by Muslims, but by the end of the 11th century, it was conquered by King Alfonso VI. What I find fascinating is the fact that Muslims were in Spain for centuries before the Spaniards reconquered the kingdom and essentially banished them. I was previously unaware of the heavy Arabic influence in Spain, and I find their conflict in history to be very interesting.
Like with the Palacio Real, the Alcázar had beautiful decorations inside, and many rooms that held suits of armor and old war weapons. It housed many kings and queens during its time, and is quite the important monument in history. It's hard to say which piece of construction I found to be the most interesting in Segovia, but I would probably have to choose the Alcázar, given all the things that occurred within it. I'm also very interested in the history between the Spaniards and the Muslims, and the warfare that occurred between them. Spain is a country filled with rich history, and Segovia is obviously a very historical city. I enjoyed learning about the great Roman architectures and the story behind the Alcázar.
Always a lover of medieval history, I was especially thrilled about the interior of the Alcázar, with its suits of armor, weaponry and artistic rooms. I also enjoyed the city of Segovia itself. Despite some of its modern stores, it seemed like a very historical city, similar to Toledo with its small, narrow streets that no car can pass through. I loved learning about the history of the old architectures, and hope to discover more in my class in Bilbao.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Madrid, Day Four, June 27th.
The first sight upon entering the Valley of the Fallen is the 500ft granite cross that towers above the trees and stretches to touch the sky. I was frantic with my camera, taking pictures of this amazing feat of construction, trying to wrap my mind around how such a thing could be built in the 1940's. Inside the building was another cathedral, and the holiness of it was once again evident, and the dim lights lent to a rather serious atmosphere. More interesting than the cross and the interior, however, was the history behind the Valley itself. It was ordered to construction by Franco, the old dictator of Spain, and I find myself very curious about this man and the Civil War. While all of Spanish history has become very interesting to me, I want to know more about the Civil War, and the Valley of the Fallen just intensified my curiosity. It was such a dark time in Spanish history, but I was only given vague details. Surely, it couldn't just be a battle between left and right, communism and fascism? I'll have to remember to research this later.
After the Valley of the Fallen was El Escorial, the palace ordered to be built by King Felipe the 2nd when he was no longer king. It was a rather sharp contrast to the artistic, wealthy Palacio Real, whereas El Escorial is rather austere in appearance. What I found to be the most interesting here was the gravesite beneath the building. It was built a century after the rest of El Escorial, and so the style of it was rather different than the rest. It was built with marble and gilded bronze, and was rather rich in appearance. An interesting fact I learned was that the bodies are now placed above acid in a wooden coffin, and left there for 20-25 years until they're nothing but bones, and only when they're bones can they be placed in the graves. I found this to be fascinating. What can I say? I enjoy the morbid.
While El Escorial was interesting, I still find Valley of the Fallen to be the most interesting out of the two sights, given the history behind it. How do the people of Spain even feel about Franco? Surely not warmly, and what are the details of the Civil War? These are questions I hope to have answered and will research myself because of the Valley of the Fallen.
After the Valley of the Fallen was El Escorial, the palace ordered to be built by King Felipe the 2nd when he was no longer king. It was a rather sharp contrast to the artistic, wealthy Palacio Real, whereas El Escorial is rather austere in appearance. What I found to be the most interesting here was the gravesite beneath the building. It was built a century after the rest of El Escorial, and so the style of it was rather different than the rest. It was built with marble and gilded bronze, and was rather rich in appearance. An interesting fact I learned was that the bodies are now placed above acid in a wooden coffin, and left there for 20-25 years until they're nothing but bones, and only when they're bones can they be placed in the graves. I found this to be fascinating. What can I say? I enjoy the morbid.
While El Escorial was interesting, I still find Valley of the Fallen to be the most interesting out of the two sights, given the history behind it. How do the people of Spain even feel about Franco? Surely not warmly, and what are the details of the Civil War? These are questions I hope to have answered and will research myself because of the Valley of the Fallen.
Madrid, Day Three, June 26th.
Toledo is a city that emanates history.
Walking through that labyrinth of a city, I could practically breathe the history and the culture that was so thick there. Even the way it looked was significantly historic, with its cobblestone paths, labyrinthine streets and old buildings. The Gothic cathedral was especially impressive, and had the greatest effect on me. It's always mind-blowing, imagining how these fantastic structures were built without the aid of modern technology.
Inside the Gothic cathedral, the art was immensely impressive. It took my breath away. The air seemed thicker inside, heavy with the sacred holiness of the place. It was a very important cathedral, and continued to remain so even in the modern times. The gorgeous, artistic window that shed light into the cathedral was just something you'd have to see in order to believe that it was real. The sacred artifacts, so priceless that they cannot be bought, were amazing to look at, as if I was witnessing history itself. The scriptures of the monks, the golden Ostentorio used for celebrations... I was fascinated with Spanish history, and enjoyed learning about the ever-prevalent religious influence. Toledo is a city of three cultures. Muslim, Christian, and Jewish, and imagining how they all must've clashed was rather interesting. I also learned more about the Inquisition, a rather dark time in the history of Spain.
Later, we viewed the masterpiece of Goya, the Burial of Lord Orgaz. Goya has become one of my favorite artists, not only because of his Black Paintings, but also his style and his use of dark colors. I enjoyed learning about Lord Orgaz and the many religious tales of miracles that permeate throughout the Spanish culture. These important myths are rather telling of the culture itself, such as the story about the man who defended Lady Mary's virginity and received a miracle when she herself came down from heaven and saw him.
I wanted to stay in Toledo longer, the old capital of Spain, and learn more about its important history. I could see why it is a treasure of Spain.
Walking through that labyrinth of a city, I could practically breathe the history and the culture that was so thick there. Even the way it looked was significantly historic, with its cobblestone paths, labyrinthine streets and old buildings. The Gothic cathedral was especially impressive, and had the greatest effect on me. It's always mind-blowing, imagining how these fantastic structures were built without the aid of modern technology.
Inside the Gothic cathedral, the art was immensely impressive. It took my breath away. The air seemed thicker inside, heavy with the sacred holiness of the place. It was a very important cathedral, and continued to remain so even in the modern times. The gorgeous, artistic window that shed light into the cathedral was just something you'd have to see in order to believe that it was real. The sacred artifacts, so priceless that they cannot be bought, were amazing to look at, as if I was witnessing history itself. The scriptures of the monks, the golden Ostentorio used for celebrations... I was fascinated with Spanish history, and enjoyed learning about the ever-prevalent religious influence. Toledo is a city of three cultures. Muslim, Christian, and Jewish, and imagining how they all must've clashed was rather interesting. I also learned more about the Inquisition, a rather dark time in the history of Spain.
Later, we viewed the masterpiece of Goya, the Burial of Lord Orgaz. Goya has become one of my favorite artists, not only because of his Black Paintings, but also his style and his use of dark colors. I enjoyed learning about Lord Orgaz and the many religious tales of miracles that permeate throughout the Spanish culture. These important myths are rather telling of the culture itself, such as the story about the man who defended Lady Mary's virginity and received a miracle when she herself came down from heaven and saw him.
I wanted to stay in Toledo longer, the old capital of Spain, and learn more about its important history. I could see why it is a treasure of Spain.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Madrid, Day Two, June 25th
I've always loved architecture, and the Palacio Real was a gorgeous piece of work. However, the outside of it was no match for the inside, and I sorely wish I would've been able to take pictures. The regal rooms, filled with elaborate decorations, stunning artwork, painted ceilings and gigantic chandeliers was simply breathtaking. Imagine, actually living in a place like this! I could hardly wrap my mind around the concept. As beautiful as the palace was, I don't think I'd ever be able to comfortably live in such an... elegant environment. After all, it wouldn't seem at all acceptable to trudge through those artistic corridors in my wrinkled pajamas.
I eagerly listened to the tour guide, trying to imagine a time of king and queens. The history of Spain was fascinating to me... the king that had fallen in love with his cousin, the clock-collecting Carlos, the way the palace had been built as a defense against Christians... I was swept away in a tide of history, overwhelmed and eager to know more. First, we took a short break in the Plaza Mayor, and I was absolutely delighted in the performances and the Disney figures walking about. It felt more cultural, seeing these little shops and performances of Spain.
Afterwards, the museum slaked some of my thirst for knowledge. I enjoyed learning about the paintings as much as I enjoyed looking at them. I have to say, however, that my favorite artist by far was Goya and his series of Black Paintings. As an admirer of the morbid and the human mind, looking upon Goya's transformation from regal, royal family portraits to these rather disconcerting Black Paintings was simultaneously unsettling and fascinating. I was told that he painted these on the wall, and I imagined him doing so. Fingers, dripping in black paint, sweeping across the wall with steady precision, transforming the once blank wall into the god Saturn, his teeth gnawing and his greedy hands clutching the bloodied body of his own son...
It hadn't taken long for me to grow fond of Madrid. It was a different experience, an exciting city, and still I looked forward to seeing more.
I eagerly listened to the tour guide, trying to imagine a time of king and queens. The history of Spain was fascinating to me... the king that had fallen in love with his cousin, the clock-collecting Carlos, the way the palace had been built as a defense against Christians... I was swept away in a tide of history, overwhelmed and eager to know more. First, we took a short break in the Plaza Mayor, and I was absolutely delighted in the performances and the Disney figures walking about. It felt more cultural, seeing these little shops and performances of Spain.
Afterwards, the museum slaked some of my thirst for knowledge. I enjoyed learning about the paintings as much as I enjoyed looking at them. I have to say, however, that my favorite artist by far was Goya and his series of Black Paintings. As an admirer of the morbid and the human mind, looking upon Goya's transformation from regal, royal family portraits to these rather disconcerting Black Paintings was simultaneously unsettling and fascinating. I was told that he painted these on the wall, and I imagined him doing so. Fingers, dripping in black paint, sweeping across the wall with steady precision, transforming the once blank wall into the god Saturn, his teeth gnawing and his greedy hands clutching the bloodied body of his own son...
It hadn't taken long for me to grow fond of Madrid. It was a different experience, an exciting city, and still I looked forward to seeing more.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Travel Journals
(In Madrid, I was required to write travel journals for each day I was there. I have five of them, I'll post a new one everyday.)
Madrid, Day One, June 24th
I'm not sure what I was expecting upon first arriving in Madrid. I awakened from the sleep lulled on by the bus and found that there was a city outside the windows. From the first glimpse, I could see that Madrid would be nothing like Bilbao. The towering, metropolitan city, with its modern architecture, packed streets, busy sidewalks and numerous American corporations, it was the absolute opposite next to modest little Bilbao.
Truth be told, it reminded me of America, and not in the refreshing way. While the large, bustling city was fantastic in its own right, it didn't quite feel like the escape from America that the rest of Spain had provided so far. But I was being judgmental, really. I was hungry, tired, and the hotter weather in Madrid was going to take some adjusting to.
Reminding myself to keep my judgments reserved until I knew the city better, I went along with the group into Hotel Regina, pleased to see a rather regal, modern place and a comfortable room. After arriving, a group of students and I set about to explore the city, determined not to be lazy on the first day here. All the construction going on reminded me of home.
In Reno, there are two seasons: winter and construction. It looked similar in Madrid.
After an unimportant excursion in Corte Inglés – I'm not much of a shopper, and once you shop one place, you shop everywhere – the group and I went to the Museum of Architecture. This was a much more interesting visit, and I delighted in looking at the exhibits. I looked at prehistoric, protohistoric, egyptian and medieval items alike, and I remain consistently fascinated with all the information history has to offer. I thought that I was going to look forward to exploring more of Madrid's museum, getting a taste of the history.
After the museum, the group and I returned to the hotel, where I met my roommate Adrianna, a friendly girl joining me in the Bilbao program. The rest of the night was unexciting, and after dinner, us weary students returned to bed. I was looking forward to seeing more of Madrid, and hopefully coming to love it as much as I had grown to love Bilbao.
Madrid, Day One, June 24th
I'm not sure what I was expecting upon first arriving in Madrid. I awakened from the sleep lulled on by the bus and found that there was a city outside the windows. From the first glimpse, I could see that Madrid would be nothing like Bilbao. The towering, metropolitan city, with its modern architecture, packed streets, busy sidewalks and numerous American corporations, it was the absolute opposite next to modest little Bilbao.
Truth be told, it reminded me of America, and not in the refreshing way. While the large, bustling city was fantastic in its own right, it didn't quite feel like the escape from America that the rest of Spain had provided so far. But I was being judgmental, really. I was hungry, tired, and the hotter weather in Madrid was going to take some adjusting to.
Reminding myself to keep my judgments reserved until I knew the city better, I went along with the group into Hotel Regina, pleased to see a rather regal, modern place and a comfortable room. After arriving, a group of students and I set about to explore the city, determined not to be lazy on the first day here. All the construction going on reminded me of home.
In Reno, there are two seasons: winter and construction. It looked similar in Madrid.
After an unimportant excursion in Corte Inglés – I'm not much of a shopper, and once you shop one place, you shop everywhere – the group and I went to the Museum of Architecture. This was a much more interesting visit, and I delighted in looking at the exhibits. I looked at prehistoric, protohistoric, egyptian and medieval items alike, and I remain consistently fascinated with all the information history has to offer. I thought that I was going to look forward to exploring more of Madrid's museum, getting a taste of the history.
After the museum, the group and I returned to the hotel, where I met my roommate Adrianna, a friendly girl joining me in the Bilbao program. The rest of the night was unexciting, and after dinner, us weary students returned to bed. I was looking forward to seeing more of Madrid, and hopefully coming to love it as much as I had grown to love Bilbao.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Art After Dark
I entered the Guggenheim museum, tentatively at first, looking around at the trickle of people that gradually filled the room. The club event known as "Art After Dark" was supposed to begin at 10:00, and here at 9:55, I was expecting to see far more people. I frowned, adjusted my short skirt, and walked into the wide, circular room, right as the DJ began playing his music.
Ah, electronica, the best genre to dance to. The bass filled the room, making the walls pulse and my body throb.
More people arrived, but rather than dancing, they all drifted towards the bars, perhaps looking for a little liquid courage before they began moving. I stood there, disappointed at all the people unmoving, awkwardly standing in their social circles. Some of them swayed back and forth, some bobbed their heads, and it was obvious that they wanted to dance, but simply didn't want to be the first person to go out and do it.
I adjusted my skirt, leaned against the wall and sighed. I'd paid twelve euros to get in, and I was hoping this would be worth it. One of the things I loved about raves and clubs was when all the people danced. When the room would fill with heat, pulsating with raw energy as people gyrated and moved to the music, uncaring of rhythm or grace, just swept away by the sounds.
A couple men opted to talk to me. Miguel and his friend, both nice boys who seemed stunned to discover that I wasn't there with a group of friends or a boy hanging off my arm. Miguel kept introducing me to his other friends as that girl from the US with nobody to accompany me. An amusing group, but I wanted to dance more than I wanted to socialize.
Then, there was one woman who finally didn't care about being the first person to start dancing. An older woman, perhaps in her forties, with spiky, platinum blonde hair, tan skin, a colorful skirt and sneakers that in no way matched the rest of her outfit. She stood out, as I imagine I did with my schoolgirl skirt, and she began dancing. Encouraged, I did so, as well, moving my hips to the rhythm, the hypnotic, electronic beat.
The blonde woman kept handing me her drink after we'd been dancing for a while. I smiled and thanked her, sipping the drink, which was alcoholic in nature but at least quenched my thirst. When I was done, I'd hand it back to her and continue dancing.
More people filled the room. Finally, the crowd began to dance, edging a little closer to the DJ table, moving to his music. I wildly swayed my hips, and I probably can't count on one hand the number of people that probably saw my black panties that night, but I couldn't have cared less. With just a little alcohol in me and the music resonating in the room, I had hardly a care in the world.
I must've danced for two and a half hours straight. My shirt became soaked with sweat, and my once neatly-done hair had become a tousled mess. I was a little ball of energy, moving, swaying, jerking to the rhythm.
When the event was over, the blonde woman and her friend approached me, telling me they'd accompany me to the metro. Despite Bilbao being a safe city, they said, it still wasn't a good idea to walk around alone, especially a cute young girl. Thankful for the company, I walked with them into the refreshing evening air, my hot flesh cooled by the crisp night.
I learned that the blonde woman's name was Katrina, and the only way I could describe her is this: unashamedly bizarre.
By the time we finally reached the metro, it was almost two AM. At the metro, Katrina and I parted ways. She hugged me before her train came and gave me a kiss on the lips before leaving.
The night began as a bizarre, energetic adventure and ended rather modestly. When I boarded the metro, an old man goaded me to sit next to him, and so I did. He smiled, looking rather pleased to have the company of a pretty young girl in a skirt. He was far from lecherous, though, and his friend ended up talking to me quite a bit, as he was relatively fluent in English. He told me about the events going on in Spain, and how, if he were in my place, he'd travel the world while he could.
The old men and I got off at the same stop, and I hugged them goodbye, having been pleased by their company. Then I walked home through the stillness of a quiet, sleeping city, reminded of how vibrant Reno would be at this time, with the flashing casino lights and places open for twenty four hours. But not here, in the sleepy town of Getxo, where the most activity was the drunkards and partiers making their way back home after a long, energetic night.
I smiled, breathing in the night air, thankful for the quiet.
Ah, electronica, the best genre to dance to. The bass filled the room, making the walls pulse and my body throb.
More people arrived, but rather than dancing, they all drifted towards the bars, perhaps looking for a little liquid courage before they began moving. I stood there, disappointed at all the people unmoving, awkwardly standing in their social circles. Some of them swayed back and forth, some bobbed their heads, and it was obvious that they wanted to dance, but simply didn't want to be the first person to go out and do it.
I adjusted my skirt, leaned against the wall and sighed. I'd paid twelve euros to get in, and I was hoping this would be worth it. One of the things I loved about raves and clubs was when all the people danced. When the room would fill with heat, pulsating with raw energy as people gyrated and moved to the music, uncaring of rhythm or grace, just swept away by the sounds.
A couple men opted to talk to me. Miguel and his friend, both nice boys who seemed stunned to discover that I wasn't there with a group of friends or a boy hanging off my arm. Miguel kept introducing me to his other friends as that girl from the US with nobody to accompany me. An amusing group, but I wanted to dance more than I wanted to socialize.
Then, there was one woman who finally didn't care about being the first person to start dancing. An older woman, perhaps in her forties, with spiky, platinum blonde hair, tan skin, a colorful skirt and sneakers that in no way matched the rest of her outfit. She stood out, as I imagine I did with my schoolgirl skirt, and she began dancing. Encouraged, I did so, as well, moving my hips to the rhythm, the hypnotic, electronic beat.
The blonde woman kept handing me her drink after we'd been dancing for a while. I smiled and thanked her, sipping the drink, which was alcoholic in nature but at least quenched my thirst. When I was done, I'd hand it back to her and continue dancing.
More people filled the room. Finally, the crowd began to dance, edging a little closer to the DJ table, moving to his music. I wildly swayed my hips, and I probably can't count on one hand the number of people that probably saw my black panties that night, but I couldn't have cared less. With just a little alcohol in me and the music resonating in the room, I had hardly a care in the world.
I must've danced for two and a half hours straight. My shirt became soaked with sweat, and my once neatly-done hair had become a tousled mess. I was a little ball of energy, moving, swaying, jerking to the rhythm.
When the event was over, the blonde woman and her friend approached me, telling me they'd accompany me to the metro. Despite Bilbao being a safe city, they said, it still wasn't a good idea to walk around alone, especially a cute young girl. Thankful for the company, I walked with them into the refreshing evening air, my hot flesh cooled by the crisp night.
I learned that the blonde woman's name was Katrina, and the only way I could describe her is this: unashamedly bizarre.
By the time we finally reached the metro, it was almost two AM. At the metro, Katrina and I parted ways. She hugged me before her train came and gave me a kiss on the lips before leaving.
The night began as a bizarre, energetic adventure and ended rather modestly. When I boarded the metro, an old man goaded me to sit next to him, and so I did. He smiled, looking rather pleased to have the company of a pretty young girl in a skirt. He was far from lecherous, though, and his friend ended up talking to me quite a bit, as he was relatively fluent in English. He told me about the events going on in Spain, and how, if he were in my place, he'd travel the world while he could.
The old men and I got off at the same stop, and I hugged them goodbye, having been pleased by their company. Then I walked home through the stillness of a quiet, sleeping city, reminded of how vibrant Reno would be at this time, with the flashing casino lights and places open for twenty four hours. But not here, in the sleepy town of Getxo, where the most activity was the drunkards and partiers making their way back home after a long, energetic night.
I smiled, breathing in the night air, thankful for the quiet.
Monday, June 15, 2009
First two weeks
Alright! I've survived the first two weeks of my time here in Spain, and need to start remembering to update this blog with some stories. The short story in my previous post is dedicated to my favorite exhibit in the Guggenheim. It was a bunch of statues that represented the peasants under the tyranny of Communist China, and their eyes were eerily real looking. It was a large room just filled with these statues in various positions, a lot were unfinished and they're never touched up, just left to crumble as they are. The whole thing put me in a very contemplative mood and inspired that little blurb.
Anyway, enough of that. In the first two weeks, I have:
Gone to the beach. A lot.
Gone to the Guggenheim.
Went to the village of Bakio, which has the most beautiful beach. There, I did some wine-tasting, ate paella (which is a dish composed of rice, meat, and is delicious), and of course went to the beach.
Started learning how to surf.
Gone on a tour of the city with a man named Aritza. Those of you who read my Facebook, he's the dude that was climbing that wall. He took me to a war bunker and told me about the history of the city.
Gone to a jazz festival. Briefly, I couldn't stay long because of all the smokers.
Gone to Blanca Noche, the 709th anniversary of the creation of Bilbao. I hung out with my girlfriends first, walked around the city, but the REAL fun began when I partied it up with a group of Spaniards, four men and one other girl. One man kept singing in bad English "All you need is loooove!" We went to a couple bars, the second one was where I danced with girls and guys alike, and got pretty damn drunk. I got home at about five AM, fun times.
Tried kalitmoxto, which is a delicious drink made of cheap red wine and coke. It's my favorite.
Found the most DELICIOUS ice cream place with the best chocolate ice cream I've ever had ever.
Practiced my Spanish with the host family and the locals. I can get by pretty well!
Overall, I'd say it's been an eventful couple of weeks. Surprisingly, I don't miss home much at all. Although I do miss Luna quite a bit. There are so many adorable dogs here, I miss having something cute and fuzzy to cuddle.
Things I love about Spain: where I live, everything is within walking distance, and I love the transportation system. I'd like to live downtown somewhere, so I can walk to wherever I need to go and everything is convenient. Less gas money. I love the beauty of the country. I'll admit, Bilbao isn't the most beautiful city. Aesthetically, it's actually somewhat ugly, but I find it to be charming and pretty in it's own way. It's history is interesting and all the local shops, bars, and people give it character. I love being somewhere that doesn't feel so modern or stuffed to the brim with corporate crap. The countryside is absolutely green and so stunning, it takes my breath away. I can't wait to go to other cities and experience more of this country.
Things I don't like about Spain: the smokers. Seriously, they're everywhere. In the US, students aren't allowed to smoke in the university, but it's perfectly acceptable here, and so I'm forced to feel like a fool everytime I hold my nose through the smelly corridors. Sometimes, I wish that I'd have a car because the bus system can be a bit confusing. In my first week, I got lost on the bus system and wasn't home for another two hours, but I think I've got a hang of it now.
This isn't a problem, but an interesting cultural note. People here kiss each other on the cheek when meeting one another, which I knew beforehand, but it's been a bit strange to experience. I automatically hold out my hand when I'm introducing myself to someone, and I've gotten weird looks and been reprimanded, told that "only men shake hands." Heh, I need to get used to the whole cheek-kissing thing.
The culture, while not vastly different, is interesting. I've been eating much healthier, and discovered that my new favorite snack is bread. Now I just need to refrain from the ice cream and churros not even a couple blocks away.
Plans for the future: go to San Sebastian and Bakio again.
Anyway, enough of that. In the first two weeks, I have:
Gone to the beach. A lot.
Gone to the Guggenheim.
Went to the village of Bakio, which has the most beautiful beach. There, I did some wine-tasting, ate paella (which is a dish composed of rice, meat, and is delicious), and of course went to the beach.
Started learning how to surf.
Gone on a tour of the city with a man named Aritza. Those of you who read my Facebook, he's the dude that was climbing that wall. He took me to a war bunker and told me about the history of the city.
Gone to a jazz festival. Briefly, I couldn't stay long because of all the smokers.
Gone to Blanca Noche, the 709th anniversary of the creation of Bilbao. I hung out with my girlfriends first, walked around the city, but the REAL fun began when I partied it up with a group of Spaniards, four men and one other girl. One man kept singing in bad English "All you need is loooove!" We went to a couple bars, the second one was where I danced with girls and guys alike, and got pretty damn drunk. I got home at about five AM, fun times.
Tried kalitmoxto, which is a delicious drink made of cheap red wine and coke. It's my favorite.
Found the most DELICIOUS ice cream place with the best chocolate ice cream I've ever had ever.
Practiced my Spanish with the host family and the locals. I can get by pretty well!
Overall, I'd say it's been an eventful couple of weeks. Surprisingly, I don't miss home much at all. Although I do miss Luna quite a bit. There are so many adorable dogs here, I miss having something cute and fuzzy to cuddle.
Things I love about Spain: where I live, everything is within walking distance, and I love the transportation system. I'd like to live downtown somewhere, so I can walk to wherever I need to go and everything is convenient. Less gas money. I love the beauty of the country. I'll admit, Bilbao isn't the most beautiful city. Aesthetically, it's actually somewhat ugly, but I find it to be charming and pretty in it's own way. It's history is interesting and all the local shops, bars, and people give it character. I love being somewhere that doesn't feel so modern or stuffed to the brim with corporate crap. The countryside is absolutely green and so stunning, it takes my breath away. I can't wait to go to other cities and experience more of this country.
Things I don't like about Spain: the smokers. Seriously, they're everywhere. In the US, students aren't allowed to smoke in the university, but it's perfectly acceptable here, and so I'm forced to feel like a fool everytime I hold my nose through the smelly corridors. Sometimes, I wish that I'd have a car because the bus system can be a bit confusing. In my first week, I got lost on the bus system and wasn't home for another two hours, but I think I've got a hang of it now.
This isn't a problem, but an interesting cultural note. People here kiss each other on the cheek when meeting one another, which I knew beforehand, but it's been a bit strange to experience. I automatically hold out my hand when I'm introducing myself to someone, and I've gotten weird looks and been reprimanded, told that "only men shake hands." Heh, I need to get used to the whole cheek-kissing thing.
The culture, while not vastly different, is interesting. I've been eating much healthier, and discovered that my new favorite snack is bread. Now I just need to refrain from the ice cream and churros not even a couple blocks away.
Plans for the future: go to San Sebastian and Bakio again.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Cast in Clay
They were peasants, trapped in clay. Mothers, daughters, sons, fathers, forever encased. Unable to move, unable to speak, cursed to be statues and moved at the whim of those not cast in clay.
They cannot speak.
They cannot cry.
But they can see.
Though their lips are sealed behind the white clay, their eyes remain open. Forever moving, forever pleading, forever ignored.
Then arrives the passerby, who gazes upon those trapped in clay. Their eyes meet, and the passerby moves on, neglecting the glistening, melancholy eyes.
Backs forever buckled underneath their tremendous weight, knees forever collapsed under the burden of tyranny.
The peasants are frozen in their era of destitution and oppression. The old man continues to carry the massive bag of rice. The little child will never stop pulling the substantial wagon. The tiny girl will always kneel and clean the shoes of her tyrant, while he gazes down upon her with a lecherous smile. The disobedient peasant will never feel anything but the stinging lash of the whip upon his back. The woman will always stretch her arms towards the overseer stealing her child, never able to grasp the babe, always crying for its salvation.
Trapped in clay, unmoving, but always begging.
Trapped until the clay slowly begins to deteriorate. Gradually, as the years pass, cracks and rivulets sift throughout the clay. The elderly man loses his jaw, the child her fingers, the woman her outstretched hand. Shards of clay lay about them, and they can only wait for it to crumble and free them from their misery.
The clay remains untouched, left to break and diminish. Until, at last, the clay crumbles, crumbles, crumbles, and there is nothing left of them but white, chalky dust.
They cannot speak.
They cannot cry.
But they can see.
Though their lips are sealed behind the white clay, their eyes remain open. Forever moving, forever pleading, forever ignored.
Then arrives the passerby, who gazes upon those trapped in clay. Their eyes meet, and the passerby moves on, neglecting the glistening, melancholy eyes.
Backs forever buckled underneath their tremendous weight, knees forever collapsed under the burden of tyranny.
The peasants are frozen in their era of destitution and oppression. The old man continues to carry the massive bag of rice. The little child will never stop pulling the substantial wagon. The tiny girl will always kneel and clean the shoes of her tyrant, while he gazes down upon her with a lecherous smile. The disobedient peasant will never feel anything but the stinging lash of the whip upon his back. The woman will always stretch her arms towards the overseer stealing her child, never able to grasp the babe, always crying for its salvation.
Trapped in clay, unmoving, but always begging.
Trapped until the clay slowly begins to deteriorate. Gradually, as the years pass, cracks and rivulets sift throughout the clay. The elderly man loses his jaw, the child her fingers, the woman her outstretched hand. Shards of clay lay about them, and they can only wait for it to crumble and free them from their misery.
The clay remains untouched, left to break and diminish. Until, at last, the clay crumbles, crumbles, crumbles, and there is nothing left of them but white, chalky dust.
Friday, May 29, 2009
First post
I leave for Spain tomorrow.
I'm not entirely sure how to feel about this.
I'm kind of numb, truth be told. Numb to the fact that I'm leaving. I'm excited, of course, but I still don't think that it's really sunk in that I'm going. Granted, I've never been a very emotional person, but yet I'm still waiting for this rush of overwhelming feelings. I want to go, I'm somewhat nervous, but I don't think I'll feel much until I'm actually there, experiencing an entirely different world.
This is the first time I've been out of the country, the first time I'll be away from home for so long. I'm not only studying abroad, I'm also testing my character and my resilience. How well will I handle living in a foreign country, with a foreign family among an unfamiliar city?
Time will tell.
All that aside, I'm packed and ready to go. This blog will detail my experiences in Spain. I've made it so anonymous people can comment, and please, feel free to leave me comments, family and friends and strangers alike. Just leave a name somewhere so I know who you are!
Or become a "follower." You don't need a blog account, apparently, look into it.
Can't wait to make my first post in Spain!
I'm not entirely sure how to feel about this.
I'm kind of numb, truth be told. Numb to the fact that I'm leaving. I'm excited, of course, but I still don't think that it's really sunk in that I'm going. Granted, I've never been a very emotional person, but yet I'm still waiting for this rush of overwhelming feelings. I want to go, I'm somewhat nervous, but I don't think I'll feel much until I'm actually there, experiencing an entirely different world.
This is the first time I've been out of the country, the first time I'll be away from home for so long. I'm not only studying abroad, I'm also testing my character and my resilience. How well will I handle living in a foreign country, with a foreign family among an unfamiliar city?
Time will tell.
All that aside, I'm packed and ready to go. This blog will detail my experiences in Spain. I've made it so anonymous people can comment, and please, feel free to leave me comments, family and friends and strangers alike. Just leave a name somewhere so I know who you are!
Or become a "follower." You don't need a blog account, apparently, look into it.
Can't wait to make my first post in Spain!
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