Budapest in Terms

Because the really exciting stuff is about Lebanon, and I get on the plane to Beirut in an hour, I'm leaving you all with random phrases to describe Budapest, Hungary, which was an extremely strange, hospitable, and exciting city.

scarred by WWII
elegant and poor all at once
Danube River
fog and cold rain
graffiti
extremely international
extremely inexpensive (big bottle of water=$0.50)
regal
and FINALLY:
smiley young (fit) Hungarian men with intense eyes operating the tourist buses

I would love to go back for an extended period of time. I loved being exposed to a language I'd never heard before, and to so much smiling. Anyone hungry for Hungary? Oh, that's been used too many times, hasn't it. Bummer.

Hello, Goodbye

I warn you. This entry is chock-full of wordy emotion.

Every time I dig to the depths of me, I find Beatles lyrics. Does anyone else experience this, maybe with another artist?
I am emotionally numb right now. That's probably for the best at the moment, though in the long run, I find it comes back to bite you. I've had the time of my life for the past 5 months. I've done everything I've wanted to do and more. People and their fantastic personalities have exceeded my expectations. I have seen sights people will only dream of. And here I am leaving. In less than 24 hours. Anyone who has ever had an experience like this, on whatever level, knows that life, on its most adventurous level, is a cruel paradise.
I am ecstatic to go to Lebanon. To participate first-hand in peacemaking, to understand a culture 100% unlike my own, to wrap myself in colorful scarves and Muslim chants. I am also terrified. I am incredulous at the thought of leaving the vivacious, huggable European exchange students called Erasmus, but I also know it is time for me to get down to business, to return to the people who make up my heart and home, after a brief and sultry (?) escapade in the middle East with crazy people like me. I am torn apart on this roller coaster, but fully capable of putting myself back together again. I am jittery and smiley and my eyes are welling up.

To Erasmus, you have touched my soul. In my blog I speak of the places I have been, but it is YOU, the people, who will be in my hearts forever. I fully intend on putting pictures up of every one of you on my wall next semester, and of bothering you on facebook.
To my home, I hope you haven't changed too much. Being away has made me realize how much I love you. I am not quite ready to come back, but I pray you have endless adventures waiting for me when I do, if I look hard enough.
To my future, though I glance back every now and then, I embrace you fully.

Speaking of that last point:
I leave in 24 hours for Madrid, which will fly me to Budapest, and then on to my Arabic program in Lebanon. Needless to say, six weeks in a Lebanese university studying Arabic is not something females, or 20-year-olds, or caucasian-americans, or westerners, usually do, so i will be continuing my blogging (though less frequently; my focus there will be total immersion in the language, hence less writing in english) for those who wonder how the hell I am, at a to-be-announced URL.

Here's a snippet to get you interested in why I'm going: a portion of the transcript from President Obama's speech to the Muslim world in Cairo, Egypt this June. Call it what you will--naive, gregarious, overly idealistic--but please read it. It explains some of my reasons for doing what I do.

I know there are many - Muslim and non-Muslim - who question whether we can forge this new beginning. Some are eager to stoke the flames of division, and to stand in the way of progress. Some suggest that it isn't worth the effort - that we are fated to disagree, and civilizations are doomed to clash. Many more are simply skeptical that real change can occur.

There is so much fear, so much mistrust. But if we choose to be bound by the past, we will never move forward. And I want to particularly say this to young people of every faith, in every country - you, more than anyone, have the ability to remake this world.

All of us share this world for but a brief moment in time. The question is whether we spend that time focused on what pushes us apart, or whether we commit ourselves to an effort - a sustained effort - to find common ground, to focus on the future we seek for our children, and to respect the dignity of all human beings.

2 Weeks of Meis

Welcome to the step-by-step record of my adventures with mom, mostly for nosy family members (just joking, ya'll).

We began and ended in San Sebastian, where I showed my mom da hood. We hiked Monte Urgull, swam at La Concha, finally entered the SanSe aquarium, took a funicular up the side of Monte Igeldo, shopped for postcards/t-shirts/other extremely tourist trinkets, and hung out in tapas bars, all the while talking about my crazy dad, my crazy future, her crazy job, etc. We also took a picnic lunch at Santa Clara, the island in the middle of La Concha bay.
Toledo is now my third favorite city in Spain (bajo SanSe and Granada), the medieval capital of the country, where we stayed at Posada de Manolo, two minutes walk from the Cathedral. Along with the bouncy Alejandra from Mexico, a fellow Erasmus, we ate a questionable meat platter, bought damasque jewelry, and explored the tranquil brown cobblestone streets. The city was preparing for the feast of Corpus Cristi at the time; even the apartment building surrounding the local McDonald's had put up banners, providing a very humorous sight (see pic). I took a reflective walk at night amid the illuminated buildings.
Olite: we rented a car in SanSe and drove to this out-of-the-way town, which makes the map for its fantastic Parador, a centuries-old castle that has been opened as a hotel to mystified tourists. one night in this place and i felt like a princess. too bad i can't expect that kind of treatment every night (hooray for youth hostals!!).
French Pyreneese: our itinerary resided around seeing the Pyrenees, the grassy/snowy/curvy mountain range dividing France from Spain. From Olite we drove to Ochagavia, which would have been an easy 2-hour trip if my mom hadn't forgotten to switch the GPS from pedestrian to automobile. So, 80km and 6 hours later, we arrived in Ochagavia from Olite. This Pyrenean village is picture perfect, tiny, and was still empty of tourists. I had a great time hiking the mountainous surroundings after dunking myself in SPF 60+ sunscreen. Oh yes, it exists.
Torla: here's where the trip takes a turn. We planned on staying the night in Torla, a short drive from Lourdes, but by that time we still hadn't figured out why our silly British GPS named Henrietta (don't ask) was taking us through cobblestone streets and every tiny village we passed. I had extremely clogges sinuses, so driving up and down through the Pyrenees was starting to fill my head with pressure. Eventually I reached the point of crying, even after laughing for a while when we figured out what was wrong with Henrietta. After reaching Torla I collapsed in bed, basically cursing the universe at the pain (I was overreacting, yes), and my mom disappointedly but kindly commented, "You know, we can cancel Lourdes." I flinched at the idea, but knew my sinuses couldn't withstand another day of mountainous driving. So the next day my mom and I hiked the area, then drove down and out of the most beautiful scenery we'd ever come across. I say with complete certainty that the French Pyrenees beat the Hawaiian coast any day. My Lord of the Rings book had come to life around me. Here's a tantalizing taste of what we drove through.

Elizondo: instead of making our way from there to Lourdes, we drove to a remote Basque village at the foot of the Spanish Pyrenees, where a kind Anjelica Houston look-alike checked us into an empty hotel. We enjoyed a menu-del-dia dinner made by a pleasant, vibrant French woman, whose husband was the brother of the owner of our hotel. Small, sweet world: Elizondo. She made us both laugh when we asked her what "queso de cuajada" was, and she responded with a straight-faced sound effect: "baaaah." (goat cheese)
Bilbao: we ended our adventure staying one night in Bilbao, at a hotel across the river from the Guggenheim, the fantastic but misfit silver museum designed by Gehry. really, i have no idea why he picked such an ordinary city for such a statement of a museum. the whole city buzzes around the enormous shiny structure; its curvy mirrored walls reflect the surrounding industry, river, and nearby forest. mom had a great time failing at taking pictures where it looks like we're holding the whole museum aloft. you know, like those ones you gotta take at the eiffel tower where it's balancing on your headafter taking touristy pictures, we woke up at 4:30 the next morning to see mom off at bilbao aiport.

I am Newsworthy ;)

...although the funny thing is, David Azevedo, a fellow LMU honors student, definitely gets the front-pager for a State Department scholarship to Tunisia :). Oh well, I'm still cool:

http://www.lmu.edu/lmunews/LMU_Senior_Immersed_in_Arabic_Studies.htm?DateTime=633800500200000000&PageMode=View

SINARC popularity!

Pleasantly surprised to find this article a week before arriving in Lebanon. So maybe I'm not crazy :).

Madrid/Mom

Just a quick check in. That's all I seem to have time for. I had a great weekend with King Jordan of Madrid (with whom I went to Cadiz), Tatyana and Alejandra from SanSe, Felix from LMU (who is randomly living in Madrid this summer), and new friends from Quebec who were staying at our all-girls hostel, Kathrin and Jessica from Vancouver.
We did mostly everything: the Royal Palace, the Prado, Reina Sofia Gallery, a night of sangria and kebobs. We didn't stay out all night partying. But I think that may just have been a good idea in the end, seeing as I needed my energy for greeting my mom at the airport on Monday.
She looks GREAT. The air is different in Spain with her here...more comfortable. I feel less like a struggling student and more like a carefree tourist. I will enjoy this two-week vacation.
We are leaving SanSe this morning for Parador de Olite (previous blogs) and a weekend in the Pyrenees.

Feelings: though more at ease, also exhausted, confused, depressed. Begging that this period of my life will never end, knowing that it will. Well, that's life.

You are in my thoughts. Peace be with you.

A Ridiculous RunDown of the Next Two Months

It's both boring and senseless to sum up one's itinerary on a blog. No one reads it. But I have to share this with someone, so here it is.

A Weekend in Madrid
I leave Friday 5 June at half midnight (say the Scotts, I've found) for the capital, to spend all of Friday, Saturday, and half of Sunday there. This will involve seeing the famous Reina Sofia Gallery and the royal palace, but also hanging out with Jordan (with whom I went to Cadiz), Alejandra, Tatyana (fellow Erasmus girls), and Felix (LMU student living with his family in Spain at the moment). I meet my mother at 13:oo at Barajas International airport...and she and I are set to do the following.

Toledo, Burgos, SanSe
On the way back to "my city" SanSe, we will see Toledo, the Medieval capital of Spain, and Burgos, a not-so-fancy city only famous for its famous cathedral. We spend Monday June 8 through Wednesday June 10 in SanSe, and.,.

A Night in a Palace, the Pyrenees, Lourdes
...leave for Parador de Olite on the morning of June 11. In case you didn't read my last posts (shame on you), it's a PALACE. We're spending a night in a PALACE. Then we drive north through the Pyrenees, spending a night in a cute Basque homestead of our choice, and arrive in Lourdes, staying one night and leaving Sunday morning.

The Northwest Spanish Coast
From SanSe again, after Lourdes, we'll take a train so Santander, and from there to the so-called most picturesque village in Spain, Santanilla del Mar, which I've heard has become one hound of a tourist trap, and eventually work our way back to Bilbao on the 17th. The 18th, mom leaves for Amsterdam and for home, and I head back to SanSe, to bid farewell to my lovely city, pack, and jet off even further away. I have a 12-hour layover in Budapest, during which I will see this mysterious city, and then I arrive at 3:00am in...

Beirut
the capital of Lebanon. Six intensive weeks of Arabic (SINARC), trips to the cedars and the north. We'll be staying away from the south, which is, well, slightly peligroso at the moment, due to recent Israeli missiles. This will be the defining six weeks of my life so far, I have no doubt. Whatever that means. More on these feelings later. After Beirut, I spend two sparkling nights in...

London
the city of my dreams, capital of poets and wit and sexy accents and gingers. Then I bid extranjero-dom goodbye, and return to LAX, on, are you reading this, Molly?, AUGUST 4. That means exactly two months until I'm home. I'm in no hurry, at this point.

Feeling very free. Finished my last and most difficult final today, and I'm now a college senior. I'm feeling ready for a fresh start. Whateve roller coaster is coming for me, I'm feeling ready to ride it. Bring it on.

Keeping up-to-date on Lebanon

Another article on elections (June 7) and what they could mean, if you're interested, while waiting for my PARIS post

How The Chandelier City Took Me By Surprise

Catherine from Quebec, my incredible (not only because she speaks French) weekend-Paris-trip companion, told me France is the top tourist destination in the world (a surprise! Italy? French Polynesia?), and that its capital would of course be the top in France. We went for five days during a long weekend, when extra-Parisian French flooded the city for vacation. Due to this expected crowd, plus my own aversion to extreme luxury, I honestly went to Paris because
1. I wanted to hang out with my cool Quebec friend
2. It is a reasonably easy trip from northern Spain
3. Certain French-speaking LMU friends would slap me if I didn't go (on their behalf)
4. I'm just plain in love with travel and curious in general.
I thought Paris would be interesting, fun for crazily-excited Catherine, and downright A.O.K.

NOT SO.

The combination of traveling with company (something new for overly independent Heather), the sheer ease of traveling in a city built on tourism, and the good luck of witnessing precious moments in the already luxurious Paris all combined to make this my favorite trip outside Donostia (nothing can beat SanSe. nothing.).



First of all, the Eiffel Tower is ugly. Don´t deny it. Big and impressive, certainly, but brown, and webbed, and awkward like that one hair you just can´t comb down. But it was transformed as night. I remember crossing a bridge on the River Seine when it appeared above some marble buildings in front of us, defying the blue of the sky with gold lights. We highfived, feeling very touristy, and went to relax at a patch of grass near its base, talking about God and fair trade and men. Then it began to sparkle. I didn't know they'd made it into a light show, so I let out a gasp when all the hundreds of lights started blinking. Then came the cool part. The choir. From our place on the grasp near one of the legs of the tower, we heard sweet harmonies drifting from the center. The singing was obviously a huge choir of men and women, and I was so attracted to the noise that we made our way to the center to see what was happening. A group from a Protestant church near by had gathered to praise God simply by singing under the Eiffel Tower at night. Their songs included Awesome God and How Great Thou Art, but in French. I made Catherine laugh when I started singing along. And, of course, I stared up at the tower from its underbelly, imagining the structure itself was singing. Surreal.

Something that made even the most mediocre moments special was Catherine's constant pauses for camera shots. Her attention to detail made me look at everything more closely, and thus made the trip more enjoyable.

Not that I needed to see the small details to enjoy it. Most things were quite obvious. The Louvre, for instance. I've never enjoyed museums, least of all of art. But this was ridiculous. The Mona Lisa sits mounted in a special glass frame on its own huge wall springing out of the middle of a side room. She is the queen of the art world, and although on first glance she may not be anything special, the circumstances make her, as I heard a British guy explaining to his wife, "the most iconic painting of our time." Catherine and I stared at her for a few minutes, then decided it was time to see the other 30,000 works the Napoleonic-castle-turned-art-museum features. I suddenly came to love art. Specifically Renaissance paintings, and a new French portraiter whose name I can't remember, but whose paintings stick out to me because they all contained redheads. We spent 8 hours in the Louvre, missing Saint-Chappelle and the Conciergerie to see more art. Oh, did I mention we got in FREE to see these priceless masterpieces with out Deusto student IDs?

Catherine and I stayed for free 15 minutes outside Paris in the relaxed train town Chatou, with her warm-hearted Uncle Benoit, who gave us baguette for breakfast every morning, and showed us all the shows he's working on as an actor, choreographer, and specialist in body language. The overall attitude I experienced towards estadounidenses (Americans) was like a fuzzy intrigue...I was a cute zoo animal to them, and though I got the feeling they looked down on my lack of French and sneaker wearing, they still got wide-eyed and smiley when I told them where I was from.


We wandered through Notre Dame, the namesake cathedral of one of my favorite US universities, highlighted by stained glass windows and gargoyles. We got lost in a hallway, the Hall of Mirrors in the palace of Versailles, which we paid 25 euro to see (never again), and then figured out we might have used our student IDs like at the Louvre. Versailles also boasts the Domain of Marie Antoinette, a quaint collection of cottages, vineyards, and windmills all surrounding the queen's retreat house in the center. Very cute despite the fact that it was raining and we were without paraguas. The greenery made Catherine continually sigh for Quebec.

I "did it" at the Moulin Rouge
Benoit and his girlfriend Sarah also took us on a tour of Montmarte, the famous artist's corner of Paris, where portrait painters line the square and capture your face on canvas for a reasonable price. At the foot of this "Mont" is the "red light district," which we HAD to see, for one sight: the Moulin Rouge. There was a vent in front of the famous windmill letting out the wind from the metro; if you stood on the vent in front of the windmill it made a perfect "windy" picture. I also took another VERY important video there. Self-explanatory. When I finished the phrase, a French woman passed with a very polite, "No, merci." Made the embarassment totally worth it.



Out with a Bang
We ended our trip on a Monday night at the Arc d' Triumph. I did feel a little teary-eyed leaving it, and Paris, forever. It was more than the end of an amazing time. This being my last major trip for the semester (until mom comes, of course), I knew it signified the end of the Indiana Jones era, and the beginning of the goodbye-transition era, which is never easy. It was, however, fitting that our last site was the Arc. We went out with triumph...with victory...and I feel the same way about Spain. However sad, I am triumphant! What a great word.
the pang of sadness at the arc: leaving spain, but victorious!

June: Important Month for Lebanon

This article made me a little uneasy (but also intrigued) about my timing for a Lebanon trip. Hezbollah was declared a terrorist organization by the US, and the party could win the June 7 "free" elections in Lebanon.

Catching a Pick-Pocketer: the Other Side of Iberia

Let's see, it began in the usual manner, the wide-eyed strawberry blonde with the all-too-professional backpack waiting at a bus station. But even from there I was having a great time. There were about 200 people crowding on the bus to the center of Lisbon from the airport on the bus. I was next to a blue-eyed Irish couple, who kept me entertained with their accents. I hadn't heard nuthin yet. Emerging from the bus onto Rua Augusta, I heard a symphony of the strangest language (next to Euskera) I have witnessed yet. It sounds like an eastern-European-French mixed with raw vivacity. Called Portuguese. And no, knowing Spanish did NOT help me understand it spoken. Some other things I witnessed in Lisbon:

• A plethora of pregnant women. I had heard the portuguese like to...have children.
• hills. Lisbon is built on seven, providing glorious views of the river from the castles atop each of them.
• Many 20-something fit businessmen in suits and ties. Thank you, God. The difference from the Basques? More of them were walking around with smiles.
• I met the funnest Philadelphia native ever. Her name's Maria, and she's taking a 3-month tour of Europe. Check out her blog! She's a riot! I miss her accent and ecstatic voice.
• Belem, the quaint suburb featuring the beautiful Torre, pure white jumping out from the storm-blue sea. The view was something wicked.

Day trips from Lisbon are as fantastic as Lisbon itself. Everything in Portugal is so close together that it's almost difficult to miss the good points if you have enough time. I went to Sintra, the fairy tale capital of Portugal, home of four of Portugal's most beautiful castles, all in the mountains. The Quinta da Regaleira, the garden of the national palace, was designed after Dante's inferno...a descent into hell and back again. We (Mari and I) had one episode crossing an algae-green forest floor on stones when suddenly a duck swam by us and we realied the floor was actually completely motionless water.
Cascais is basically Hawaii plus European history. Viny cobblestone mansions speckle the rocky shore. Lagoons spring out of harbors. Rich tourists take off their sneakers.
From there I headed north to Porto, the land of Father Rui, the Portuguese Jesuit I befriended at LMU, one of the sweetest souls on Earth, I'm convinced. It was he who convinced me to venture north from Lisbon to his hometown, where I met his most incredible family. They were out of a story book. The kind-eyed, whiny father Afonso, whose inner smile lit up the room; the busy housewife Deolinda, who kept her husband in line, the 86-year-old step-grandma with three teeth who ate more than her weight for dinner. They showed me the room where I could have stayed had I elected their house instead of a hostel. It was paradise. They fed me a four-course meal, then a cinammon cake for dessert, and sent me on home with a plethora of kisses and a bag of more food. "Don't forget to eat all of it," Rui translated for me, "or you'll get cranky."
I felt a pang of sadness driving away from them, even though we only interacted for five hours. Portuguese hospitality at its finest. I found it in other places: the cab drivers, who speak perfect English, the passersby who offer to take your picture whil you're fiddling with your camera, the kind old women who tell you to put your map away because they'd be delighted to take you "there" themselves.
I am in love with Portugal. Some more high/lowlights:
The amazing tram ride down from Castelo Sao Jorge. We spent 5 minutes in a packed tram with about 30 retired French tourists, slightly drunk, who sang all the way down, and took pictures of the cool Americans. One old man kept yelling "MADEMOISELLE" and "MERCI" out the window at strangers passing by for no reason at all. Another got angry at the conductor for making me pay the entry fee. "GRATIS!" he kept yelling. The driver wasn't amused.
One of my FAVORITE stories to tell: I almost got pick-pocketed after the 10-hour return trip to Madrid from Porto. I noticed a tall Hispanic man and his tall son approaching me from either side at the ticket machine for the metro. One of them asked me if this was how you get to the airport, and I kindly answered yes, then back away from them, asking for space. They apologized and let me alone for awhile, but as soon as I started taking out change for the machine, they approached again. Annoyed, and convinced they were harmless, I was sticking money into the machine when I felt movement in my purse. I looked down, and saw the father's sleeve covering his hand as it rummaged through the outer pocket. Here's the fun part. There were only dirty tissues in the outer pocket. I keep all my valuables in a money belt underneath my shirt. Nonetheless, I slapped his hand (more reflex than punishment...perhaps a bad decision in the end) and remember giving him the most venemous stare I could contain. "PERDON, POR FAVOR," I announced loudly. I could see his shame in his face, and he and his son quickly left the area. Nothing I had was stolen. Clever ploy, asking for help in getting to the airport.

Up next: Thursday night bus to PARIS.

Some Whims and Bragging

It's 2:57 in the morning on a spooky, grey Monday in SanSe. I went to bed at 6am last night and 7am two nights before that, so my body is pretty fed up with me trying to sleep right now. But I have a feeling this sleeplessness is due to more than habit; the following rockets are blasting off in my brain of late:

• My mom is coming to Spain June 7-18, and we are going to have a fairy-tale-filled week, literally. Check out the CASTLE we're spending one night in, called Parador de Olite. I am looking forward to re-connecting with my SoCal roots while she's here; I literally haven't seen anyone from home for 5 months, and it will be an excellent rejuvenation for blasting off to Lebanon.
• Speaking of Lebanon, my complicated itinerary means that I won't arrive in Beirut until 3:30am on the 21st of June. Not my favorite time to arrive in a completely new city in the Middle East, but I'll take it. On the way there, I have a 12-hour layover in Budapest, the capital of Hungary.
• I've been thinking (REALLY?), and I've decided study abroad, or, rather, being away from "home" for extended periods of time, by nature holds the highest highs and the lowest lows of life. Like falling in love. It is, really. You are enamored and entranced and never want to leave, you are thrown off a bus with your mega-backpack, you are stuck in tear-zone wanting to just lie on the Ventura beach with your dog and an ice cream, you are two months from the end and already planning your return trip. This roller-coaster six months has given me serious heartache, but how fantastic that I wouldn't trade it for anything.
• Speaking of return trip: Molly, the best bud in LA, has decided she and I are going to live together in Europe after graduation from LMU in May 2010. Unfortunately, she is more stubborn than I am, and I am just as impractical as she is, so after the mere suggestion, I am already planning for this idea. Ways to make it happen so far: teaching English in southern Italy while she works as a flight attendant, taking Arabic language/culture classes in Granada in southern Spain while she teaches Latin, electronic journalism from a remote Greek island...okay, someone stop me. NO. DON'T! Why shouldn't it be possible? Look what we've done so far!
• Things I miss (excluding people): sunsets on the bluff, hearing American English from someone other than my closest friends/family, the LAIR (school cafeteria) of all things, Penguin's frozen yogurt, flip-flops and pajamas to class

That's all for now. I could go on for hours, but it's time to take another shot at breaking the Spanish no-sleep cycle and lying down for a bit.

Videos from Semana Santa

In hopes of pointlessly trying to capture some of the magical movement in the South of Spain, I've uploaded here my favorite videos. They are nothing compared to the real thing, but something compared to nothing, for sure. :)

I can't figure out how to change the direction of videos on my computer (help, anyone?), so for now, enjoy the insane speed of flamenco tapping sideways. This video was taken in a small, dark, one-room tavern in Malaga, Spain, called Kelipe/Kalipe Flamenco. The dancer was la jefa: the director of the tavern. She is accompanied by her husband drumming (right side of the video/outside the frame), another dancer (left side), and a drummer (you see him easily).


This is a Madonna float passing our street corner. If you can see them, take a look at the bearers' faces, which tell all. 100 to carry a float this side, 200 to carry the largest ones. I also love the sway of the gold as it lifts off from the pavement...delicate but firm.



We bought tickets to a bullfight for 60 centavos (.6 euro). It worked because I had found this view of a bull ring from the mountain in Malaga, and was whistfully watching the bull ring thinking, "wouldn't it be cool if there was a bull fight today; to be able to see this from afar." And then I realized there was a bullfight that day. So this is the view from a moorish building in Malaga, where we paid the entrance fee to see the bullfight. I explain what's going on in the video.

Where SoCal meets Dubai

I'll jump right in without taking a breath. Sometimes that's the only option when the clock is ticking. Hectic, happy month, finally getting the chance to reflect on it. Here's what it has involved.

The Holy Week Experience: Malaga
I spent Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday of Holy Week in Malaga, watching the processions, sensing the solemnity, and having fun with Miriam, Johnnie, Julian, and some friends we met at the hostel. High/lowlights:

• Waiting outside on the somewhat nasty beach, waiting for the hostel to open, as the sun came up over Costa del Sol. Despite the cold, and wishes that I had organized arrival time better, it was beautiful. Picture to the right!
• Processions:
• The absolute power and faith expressed in the music, parading, faces.
• The sheer luxury of the floats: Madonna made of porcelain and swallowed by gold candles, Jesus' pearl face. Blurry picture of Madonna float hoisted by 200 men.
• The moment after the parade pause when the men shove their shoulders under the wood planks and hoist the several-ton float into the air, reminding me of a swinging chandelier.
• The occasional laughter, drunk group of adolescent men, or shirtless participant... reminding me we were still in Spain on a Thursday/Friday night!
• Flamenco: "the soul of the Spanish south," says my guidebook. very true. it was passionate and terrifying and fantastic and colorful and overdone. the dancers' lightspeed heels and drummer's knotted fingers.
• Bullfight: too squeamish and poor to see one in person, I watched parts of a bullfight from a mountainside in Malaga. close enough for me!

Soul of Andalucia: Sevilla
From Malaga, we went back to Sevilla, the capital of Andalucia, where we spent three days seeing everything. The Cathedral/Giralda, Plaza de Espana (where the walls are made entirely of individually painted mosaic tiles)...one of my favs was riding a 4-person Flinstone's bike through Parque de Maria Luisa. I saw Mikayla for a couple hours (love that girl), and also ate helado with Mary Beth Kime, who I had always wanted to get to know better.
Met some interesting people:
Rheut (nickname Mu) from Thailand, who I fell in love with almost immediately due to how much I miss Earm (nickname Chutima), my Thai exchange sister. He, like all Thai people I have met, struck me as smiley, open, peaceful, and he has facebook! I love (mostly) all things Thai! And will probably end up there one day...
Danielle from Washington DC, who is spending the semester in Scotland, but vacationing in Spain. We walked through Plaza de Espana together. I burnt her pasta (yeah, i know, how does that happen) and still haven't forgiven myself.
August, the curly-haired 20-year-old magician from Kansas, vacationing in Spain. He had a great time showing me card and rope tricks.

Mezquita Land: Cordoba
From there, Johnnie/Julian headed off to Tarifa (the southernmost point of Spain), while I went to Cordoba, a small but intriguing Moorish city, famous for La Mezquita. Two highlights:
1. La Mezquita, where hundreds of Moorish arches surround a golden capilla (chapel), the epitome of Mudejar (Christian-Islam mix art) architecture. It
blew me away.
2. A night walking around Cordoba with Claudio from Austria, Sebastian from Chile, Suzie the Kiwi and Allison the Aussie.

Where SoCal Meets Dubai: Granada
Having exhausted quaint Cordoba, I took a two-hour bus to Granada, which my guidebook told me was the ONE city everyone has to visit in Spain. I whole-heartedly agree. I had only two days in Granada and ache for more. Highlights:
Albaycin: the neighborhood, a reasonably far walk from all the city action, where I stayed. it's the arabic quarter of the city, full of white walls and cobblestones and olive trees and rainbow-colored flowers, but also of Arabic, wide-eyed children, Catholic churches, tea shops, and hippies.
The "ambiente" (vibe): walking down from my neighborhood, i passed thirty or more shops full of 3 euro scarves, elaborate vases, the smell of herbal tea...all boasting Arabic names and vendors. I remember feeling incredibly excited for Lebanon all of a sudden.

La Alhambra: the most beautiful building in Spain, called the "Taj Mahal of Europe." words don't work here. check out my pictures. the one thing i will say is that every wall was delicately carved with porcelain and pearl Arabic script, which I whole-heartedly gobbled up. I wish I could get married there.
Stay tuned.

Between Andalucia

I'm back from Andalucia for three days of class; I leave for Barcelona in less than 48 hours. So pardon me for not describing all my travels quite yet. In the meantime, keep up with what's going on in my neck of the woods:

Martitegi, leader of the Basque separatist terrorist organization ETA, captured in France

Heather-ana Jones

Woke up the morning of April 6(Candy Mandy's--my flatmate's--birthday, I might add) feeling like someone had once more stuffed a mucus hose into my nasal cavity. Had no desire to get up. Then remembered I was to leave for Andalucia in two days, and had no choice but to get up...so much to do/think about! I am of course looking forward to two weeks in the South and weekends in Barcelona, Portugal, Paris, Madrid and Zaragoza, but right now I want to curl into a hole and hide from work.
Our web page design for Taller de Escritura Multimedia, for example, is due the day we get back from vacation. A week later I have a major report due on the interplay of demographics, territory, and the environment. Then I worry about transportation to Barcelona, Paris, ya know...then flight tickets to Beirut and then to LA when SINARC has ended. So much to do, and it doesn't feel very good to do all of it right now while I'm sick. Procrastination and I need to stop hanging out so much.
In spite of all this, I am in a place of real consolation lately. First of all, yesterday and today are my last two days of actual surf class. Yesterday, we had a regimented, somewhat feminine surf monitor named Inigo who got me closer to standing up on that darn board than I've ever been before. Nearly standing up fully was such a rush. It's like a roller coaster, only more fun, because the speed and power are natural, and flow through your body. As I fell off I screamed, but out of excitement. I can't wait to get back out there today.
Also, today I had a few minutes alone in my piso while Mandy was out celebrating to do whatever I wanted. I like being alone in a habitation every once in a while...I danced to Sing,Sing,Sing and practiced the steps of standing up on a surfboard. Suddenly my head cleared and I felt invigorated. Wow, this exercise thing can be cool! Just don't ask me to run. Or shoot baskets. Or throw American footballs.
Last night I also finalized my trip to Granada and Cordoba. Olga from Germany and I were going to meet up in Granada, and yesterday she sent me the link to buy tickets to the Alhambra, the Moorish castle known as the most beautiful building in Spain. Turns out the day I planned on going, the 16 of April, was already completely full...they only permit 8100 entries a day. So I re-booked hostels to be able to enter on Saturday the 18. I will be entering the most beautiful building in Spain at 2:30pm on Saturday the 18!
I leave tomorrow at 3pm with Johnnie from Holland and Julian from Germany to go to Madrid, where we will meet my flatmate Miriam, and then head to Malaga together. You won't hear from me until at least the 21st of April, so it's hasta luego for now. Wherever life takes you, I hope you dance!
Working on trips to New York/Ghana, grad school in London

Senior Year Microcosm

Last night was my last party night in San Sebastian for a "long time," though I know that phrase is incredibly relative. On Wednesday this week, I will return to Andalucía for Holy Week (Semana Santa)...then after that, the other travel fun begins. Here is mas o menos mi itinerario:
Wednesday 04/08: To Málaga (via Madrid) on bus
Thursday 04/09-11: Spend Semana Santa in Málaga
Easter Sunday 04/12-15: To Sevilla
Wednesday 04/15-17: To Granada
Friday 04/17-19: To Córdoba
I need to stress the importance of this situation. Other than (perhaps Rome), the Spanish south is the most sought-after spot for Semana Santa. Spain becomes a heart beating with the lament and joy of Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I have heard Sevilla is virtually inaccessible during the week because the processions (called pasos) go down every street. Málaga, where I will spenfd the deepest days of Holy Week, has the longest processions in the world.
Holy Week and Easter are coming at an ideal time. As I have said, San Sebastián and the Erasmus people here have definitely captured my heart. I will miss the friends I have made here during my two weeks. But I itch for more, for exploring the world around me that has been waiting. Once more, it hits me. You're in Europe! Think of what you could do!
Not that it's bad to want to go dancing every night, or go to a bar with silly Swedes and Germans, but it's time I expanded my horizons. And SanSe will be waiting (I hope. Wow, the irony of a meteor or tidal wave destroying this place while I'm gone). But it won't be waiting for long...:(. That's why I've titled this post "senior year microcosm." It's like Semana Santa and the weeks proceeding will be a study abroad of study abroad...I will be leaving my "home" in the Spanish north to see the world, but will be very happy to be back. The problem is, only a month-and-a-half after I get back, study abroad goes away, and I head to Lebanon, and then to LMU. Then only a few months after that, college goes away, and I head for the real world #$%^!! It appears I will be getting a lot of practice at goodbyes. I. Hate. Those.
At Altxerri Jazz Bar last night, down the street from mi piso, the German sweetie-pie Inga and I found ourselves talking about the end of study abroad, and what it means to be relatively near the end, or at least approaching the end. I began to tear up. I am going to really, really cry when I have to leave this place and these people...it's just like college; the reason you love it so much is that it's finite. Like life, I suppose.
Another reason Semana Santa is coming at a good time...so that I don't feel like reality has slapped me in the face on the day I'm set to jet off for Lebanon, I need to put this experience in perspective. To not rely on parties and dancing and cute accents to keep me happy...to become more reflective and less GO. And from what I have heard, you have no choice in southern Spain during Holy Week but to become introspective, even solemn. I may not call myself Catholic anymore, but I still feel the weight of the coming week pressing on my heart. For once this semester, I will give myself all the rest and thought I need.
Things don't die down for me after Semana Santa:
Monday 04/20: Meghan Fitch will be stopping in SanSe. She's doing an internship in London Parliament and (very wisely) decided to spend part of her vacation in Spain.
04/21-23: brief back-to-class break
Thursday 04/23-26: Barcelona with Elisabeth Randall, now studying in Strasbourg, France.
05/01-02 OR 08-09: Madrid: hanging with Brooke/Jordan and friends, but also hopefully seeing un partido de fútbol.
05/14-19: Portugal with Heather from New York, Katrine from Denmark, Sonja from Germany. Also, meeting Father Rui the Portuguese Jesuit in Porto. Apparently he's flying in to his hometown, Porto, on the 18th, which is, by chance (or more than that), one of the days I will be in Portugal!
05/21-24: PARIS
There's a lot more I want to do: go to the party island Ibiza, an island off the east coast of Spain. Walk in Ignatius' enroute to Santiago de Compostela. See the miraculous spring at Lourdes. But you can't do it all, and I think, by then, that I will want to rest awhile with my Erasmus friends :)
So there's my next month-and-a-half. I am bittersweet about it...just as I was to come to Spain. But I have the deep-down feeling that I will be so much more than thankful that I did it in the end. Oh world, I love you. A lot. Thank you.

CADIZ

I did something I've never done before (which is happening a lot lately)...I wrote down blurbs of what happened on my trip to Andalucia (the southern Arab-influenced province in Spain) entre el 20 y 23 de marzo in my journal, so that I'd remember them for this blog. That tells you how dead-set I am on describing it just how it was...I won't exaggerate (too much), and I'll try to get the feelings and sensations that went through me just right, as chronicled in my journal.

It began rather reluctantly at 12:30am on Friday. I love San Sebastian. I love it. The people, the luxury, the life...and I've become unnaturally attached to it. So leaving for the opposite side of the country didn't really appeal to me. Especially on a Thursday night. I missed salsa and the usual Erasmus festivities. You don't understand (you might)...I live for San Seb Thursday nights, the dance, the conversation, the craziness. This time I was especially looking forward to dancing/talking to a couple people...but I digress! So I missed this night in order to sit on a bus for 6 hours (cheapest way to Madrid...I can take it). And then sit on a plane for two more. And then sit on a train for two more. If you've never spent a long time traveling, it gets tiring FAST, lemme tell you. I'd get bored on long trips even if Rafael Nadal came along to strip for me. Wow, another digression.

But my fickle kiddy mind quickly turned this reluctance into the excitement. I grew up this weekend, if only a little. My bus dropped me off at the wrong stop in Madrid, meaning I had to navigate the Madrid metro system in order to get from Avenida de America to Barajas Airport...within an hour. I'm still a sissy when it comes to public transportation (and to international travel...though that's changing quickly), so this freaked me out. I started by staring at the turnstiles for a few minutes, marveling at how absolutely everyone but me seemed to know exactly what they were doing. So I meandered on over to "informacion," where you would think the attendant would be pleasant to people who need informacion. Not so. This greasy-haired dyed-blonde with a smoky face and skull eyes snapped at me through the glass, "Tomas el 4, y despues el 8," telling me which metros to take as if I should have known it all along. Then she threw a map of me. All the lines scared me, as did the tiny ticket she gave me, but WOW, good metro systems are easy to figure out, aren't they? Because within ten minutes (after getting on metro 4 going the wrong direction) I was on my way to Barajas no sweat. Hey mom, didja hear that? Heather learned how to read a metro map and get around Madrid on her own...big girl now! (but not really)

On the plane I read El Pais, one of the major Spanish newspapers...the words swallowed me. Yes, my Spanish has improved, but I laugh at how unfluent I am sometimes, like when reading newspapers, or hearing conversations between jovenes. All I can say is thank God for airplanes; the trip to Sevilla from Madrid was a breeze, and before I knew it I was emerging into the warmish southern Spanish air looking for Mikayla...who missed the bus to the airport on accident, so I also learned how to navigate the Sevilla EA bus system! Not so bad!

Andalucia: First impressions
Older and poorer. This was my vibe as I began to trudge around Sevilla, with Mikayla (SO HAPPY TO SEE HER) as my guide. That is, older buildings and a poorer appearance. My feet were not moving; I wanted nothing more than to sink into a down comforter. But that too changed quickly. The Basques were in PV waaay before the Moors, Romans, and Christians fought over Sevilla, so its difficult to compare the age of the two cities. And I'm sure Sevilla has its rich people. But in the "heart of the Spanish south," which some call the heart of Spain itself, cracks covered the adobe walls, and I saw litter, dirt, and horse poop...things which San Sebastian has, but they are certainly better hidden here, in the wealthiest autonomia of spain.
On the other hand, I also saw the patterns and colors of the Moors in Spain (Muslims), whose influence in everywhere in Sevilla. Gold domes, puzzle-piece archways, Morrocans and Arabic: I saw and heard the magic of the Arab world from centuries past in Sevilla. I was especially excited to hear four distinct African languages, spoken by tourists and street vendors who were probably taking a day trip from the north of the continent, only a two-hour plane ride away. Even Mikayla and Jordan, who, owing to their Spanish culture classes, are full of ridiculous architectural trivia, praised Sevilla for "la mezcla de cultura"...the obvious mix of culture that contributes to the confusion and beauty of the city. I almost got tired of looking up and seeing steeples, domes, mosaics...beauty is exhausting, you know? Like watching too much Rafael Nadal tennis...oops, there's that darn digression again.


CADIZ
With Jordan (so good to see this madrileno estadounidense otra vez!) and Perry, his roommate for next year, we took a crowded train to Cadiz, the southernmost tip of Spain. Mikayla and I shared a bench and a chocolate bar (thank you). We got off the station at the last stop as the sun was going down and asked around for directions to Barcelo Cadiz, our hotel for the next three nights. Thanks to Jordan, who suggested we sneak him and Perry into our hotel room so that we'd all pay half-price, I spent three nights at one of the best hotels ever. I got the down comforter I had been wanting...plus pristine bathroom, cable TV, velvet carpet, and we were a hop away from the beach. The beach at Cadiz is famous. The white sand never ended and I couldn't see anything but blue on the horizon...very different from Donostia, where the bay is enclosed and there are mountains in the distance. I was enchanted. I was also closer to Africa than I'd ever been, and I felt it pulsing in me...I will end up on that continent sometime soon, you wait and see.
The best part was not the beach, though (for a California girl, Redondo...Cadiz...not much difference, haha!). It was what you saw when you turned your back to the ocean. The skyline of Moorish architecture: the gold-domed mosque, a whitewashed Cathedral, a lighthouse singing my name (we did go visit, the wind was intense, but worth the trip). It takes your breath away.
The people also made it worth it. Not the Cadiz people...though they seemed nice as well. I had a phenomenal time with Jordan and Mikayla and Perry. They are adventurous and open and I wouldn't mind going elsewhere with the three of them!

Memorable moments

• Talking to Mikayla as the sun set on the last night...she radiates subtle wisdom and peace (and silliness) and I love being around her. I learned a lot from her and hope to continue our friendship.
• White sand rippling as the wind blew it...it made me think of desert dunes, and I wanted so bad at that moment to up and move to Egypt or something.
• Eating tentacles. Stomach churns just thinking about it. It looked good at the table to our right. I'm glad I opened my mind, but never again.
  
• The wind on the long walk out to the lighthouse castle...the sand hit Mikayla and I like needles. I was Indiana Jones.
• Discovering a new culinary favorite, thanks to Jordan: patatas bravas. Literal translation: brave potatoes!! But don't call them that.
• The AMAZING typo on a Spanish menu translated into English: "Hoe Made Food."

How it all felt
Magical. Unreal. A little sad, leaving it...magic never lasts long. Also, free. There were moments and hours throughout the weekend where I realized I wasn't preoccupied with anything, neither homework nor men nor my future nor God. There was only me and the moment. Being alone, when done right, is such liberty.
Then again, as I pulled into San Sebastian bus station after going "home" all day Monday, I realized how happy I was to be back to "my city"...the people, the nights, and the two months that I have left.

I am thinking of you. Peace be with you.

Loving (and Leaving) Limbo

Inertia. For those who forget high school physics, objects in motion tend to stay in motion. So imagine a California car (named Heather...I'm just going to make this metaphor very clear) driving down a normal California road. The scenery is fantastic, almost perfect, but this car has been on this road for quite a while. Then you put the car on Spain Highway. There's so much to see and do that fills the car with goosebumps and utter excitement and fear...and you expect the car to take a pit stop and describe everything to you in blog form? Shame on you! (Let's not forget, Heather, that you created the blog in the first place, so you're the one who said you'd update this blog...Yes, you're right, my creepy third person personality) Anyway, there's my rationale for not updating my blog in a while.
Another feature of the car metaphor is that you're never stopped. Being the sola driver on her way up Monte Urgull or into a smoke-filled and male-packed nightclub or tapas bar is never comfortable...it may take my breath away, but I suffer the consequences. Sometimes I cannot breathe. This metaphorical car is always in motion, always thrown off balance, and so always a little uncomfortable. Sometimes a lot uncomfortable.
Spain is my limbo. All the Catholicism that has begun to take a stronger presence since Lent began in this 99% Catholic country (though very few people show it) makes this comparison even more accurate. I feel removed from the world, but not quite delivered to Paradise, like I'm supposed to figure things out and fix things up here before I really get thrown in headfirst. Because when I get back, I'll be on senior highway, headed for adult-dom. Oh, #$%@.
That isn't to say I don't go bed relaxed and ready for the next one, smiling all the way. Here's what's been happening (though, I remind you, things change quickly in limbo). Monday through Friday 10am through 3pm I usually spend in class or at Deusto working on group projects (I have one in EVERY class. EVERY class. not good for self-coined "free spirits"), sitting with extranjeros in the cafeteria, or wasting time on facebook (this has lessened of late, thankfully). Then I take some sort of trip...to sit on La Zurriola and think, to a French boutique with the word "rebajas" posted invitingly on the front glass, or, as Miriam/Ted/Mandy and I did last week, to one of the hidden and beautiful corners of San Sebastian. Tatyana from Belaruse told us about Palacio de Aiete, a quaint, green park only a 10-minute bus ride from our barrio, Parte Vieja. There was a waterfall that the rain accented beautifully...and the whole park fell together in moss, swans, flowers, silly red cottages...it was a little too much, at moments, especially since I was with the happy couple Ted and Miriam, who were as giddy as the swans were (if either of you are reading this, which I doubt, know that I am exaggerating for the sake of divirtiendome). On the downside, we were soaked, and I'll have to return for a pensive walk when verano (summer) starts for sure.
So that's an example of a "local trip." Some other ideas I have are climbing the non-Jesus mountain on the opposite side of Bahia de la Concha, walking every single passageway on Monte Urgull, and, as soon as classes start, SURFING. Karl, Corinna and I have mapped out times to take classes. Now we're waiting on an email from our instructor. Oh please, please, please let him be a well-formed young Spaniard.
Next, I try half-heartedly to do homework. The problem is (that I am lazy) that I'm only taking four very low-workload classes, and I know my grades don't transfer to my LMU GPA. So as much as the IDEAL would be to return to the US fluent in Spanish, I very, very much doubt that it will be the case. Especially with the amount of time I'm spending on facebook, writing ENGLISH blogposts, and chatting with Europeans who lack as much Spanish as I do.
Finally, I go out. This could entail a jazz club for flamenco guitar, Zibbibo (the bar literally underneath our flat), or, my personal favorite, DANCING. My favorite night of the week is hereby Thursday night, where the Erasmus gang goes to salsa dance at Bataplan (if you don't know this word by now, get updated on my blog, please!). I get reasonably dressed up, and I found out recently I've got good hips for salsa and merengue (Maria Frye, when I get back, you're on). We all end up getting free drinks afterwards at Molly Malone's, then the girls go home for primping while the guys...I don't know...drink...and we all end up returning to Bataplan until sunrise. It's pure fun, safe, magical...and the dancing just invigorates me. I don't know why I quit dance as a silly 4-year-old for soccer. Anyway, I'm glad to be somewhere where I'm old enough and accepted enough to dance freely and ridiculously, and even well...in LA I'd have to find a new group of friends and get a fake ID and a lot of spare time to make that happen.
So there's what limbo entails. NOT SO BAD. Like I said, forever, as time blows my bangs into my eyes, I remember this is going to end. Soon. And I wonder what I will learn from it, and how I will cope with leaving it for either heaven or...elsewhere.

Never doubt you cross my mind, and you are loved.

Favorite carnaval pics

When these girls shook their hips all the straws attached to their ridiculous costumes shimmied in every direction. It was kind of mesmerizing, but also hilarious.
















This is Jesus (who gets cable...he's equipped with a radio tower), who peacefully watches and protects the partying city from the top of Monte Urgull. I visit him on Sundays.
















These fellas reminded me of the first naked bike rider I ever saw (earlier in the month...see previous blogs), except they were enunciating their nakedness. I got my camera out too late, but their fronts sported fake black hair and...parts...everywhere you would expect.
This is me eating chocolate con churros. Quite obviously I was in heaven. I DID have a special occasion to eat them--Hannah in Spain--but won't require one in the future.


Lastly, the man below wins the prize for best carnaval costume (and highest self-esteem) overall...the snow queen from Narnia. He was having a great time.