the last post from spain

I will be spending my last three days in Barcelona, the city I began in and the city I will end in. This time I will be staying with friends I made while I was there in February. In (less!) than a week I will be back home with friends and family, gearing up for the always wonderful Oregon summers. I have been terribly anxious and excited to return. My hands are trembling along with my brain as I plan all my summer projects, my mind swarming with ideas for art pieces, plans to finish the apple cider press Taylor and I started last year, plans for bicycle trips, and the prospect of seeing loved ones. Lately my dreams have been strange, vivid, and always of people back home. Here in Murcia the days are getting hotter, the birds are singing and screeching, my allergies are getting worse, and the family is very sad to see me go. I am going to miss them a lot, and I hope with all my heart to return someday not too far in the future. Clara and I have formed a really strong bond, and she is especially bummed.
I will be coming home with strong arms from carrying around Manuel. Among many new things I have done and experienced in the past few months, I have gotten very good at preforming tasks such as loading a dishwasher, brushing my teeth, reading the paper, and playing hungry wolves, all with a six month old in my arms.
I have decided that if for whatever reason one cannnot or does not wish to join PeaceCorps, work for the U.N. or stick daisies into the fire arms of riot police; then the best thing you can do to create world peace is to travel and learn another langauge. That knowledge is compassion, and most hate comes from lack of understanding. Never in my life have I felt so stupid as in the last few months. I generally think of myself as a sufficiently intelligent person, occasionally even clever, but in Spanish I am just the American girl, fumbling over words and expressing myself with the most basic of vocabulary. You can see how someone who had no previous knowledge of me might talk to me for two minutes and decide that I am an idiot, and then decide that my entire country was probably full of idiots, and that we really aren´t worth anything.
Recently I was talking about spelling bees with my family. As the Spanish language is totally phoenetic, the concept of contest for something as simple as spelling is ridiculous to them. If one didn´t know how completely not phoenetic the English language is, you can see how they might see a spelling bee on television and think us to be a bunch of slow brains.
The more understanding that is spread across the globe, the more friends we have in every country, the less likely we are to blow each other up. This spreads beyond human kind, if somehow we could communicate with chickens, perhaps have a conversation about Freudian theory or even the weather with a cow, I think it very unlikely that we would feel the same about slaughtering and eating this animal afterwards.
Two things that I think our country could do greatly improve our relationships with the rest of the world (okay fine, there are a lot of things...) are 1) to somehow convince our corporately sponsored media to report on what is going on in countries other than our own. And 2) to make learning foreign languages a higher priority in our public school system.
At this point I have sort of gone into ranting mode, and I am not sure how to wrap up my thoughts, but in my very first blog I warned my readers that I am not a talented writer and I think I am just simply not going to end with any sort of conclusion. I am going to go swimming instead. I will see you all in Portland soon.

Actually this lack of conclusion is very fitting for my last blog from Spain, because I do not feel like anything is ending. I am going home, but not forever, and I am leaving Spain, but I plan to return.

Bye.

The beginning.

april 23

The fact that I have only slightly more than a month left in Spain has been looming over my head like a giant cloud for the past week. I wouldn´t say it´s a terribly grey or menacing cloud, but not quite white and fluffy either. Maybe pale grey... with some red polka dots. I feel both dread and excitement at the thought of going home. As I explained in my previous post, living with my host family has been a radically different experience from the first few months of independant travel. At times I have felt that maybe I would be making better use of my time if I were traveling around and seeing more of the country, but more exciting isn´t nesecarily better. I have been welcomed into this family as one of their own, and I am experiencing real culture every day. Every breakfast and every back yard soccer game is a much more unique experience than a visit to a museum. Last weekend we went out on an excursion with some other families from the kids´ school; I feel quite certain that hiking on dusty trails lined with rosemary shrubs with a group of twenty little Spanish kids and their parents, a sleeping baby in my arms, is something I never would have done if I were still traveling on my own.
Also I have grown to love these kids so much in the past month. They are not angels, Tomás has a bad temper, Araceli cries for attention, and Manuel refuses to be set down (sometimes he won´t even let you sit down while holding him.) But they are also extremely sweet, and hilarious. Spanish is a very expressive language, people like to speak with a lot of inflection and wave their hands about madly. The Spanish kids pick up on this and their personalities often seem bigger than their ages. Tomás is especially clever and loves to joke around. We were sitting around the table and eating tortilla (not at all like Mexican tortilla, it´s actually an omelete) the other day, and Clara´s brother (who made the tortilla) told me that he would show me how to make it sometime if I wanted. Little Tomás chimed in "¡Por su marido!" and everyone laughed.
"For her husband."
(Thanks, Tomás, way to be progressive.)
I really do believe that this place is magical. Spain is sophisticated and modern just like the rest of Western Europe, but it also holds a certain roughness that often feels much more like Latin America. Gothic and Roman architecture exists along side citrus trees (so heavy with fruit that they need little crutches holding up the branches, very much like Dalí paintings) and succulent cactus. Mangy dogs bark at me while I ride my bike along the narrow and windy "highway" into town, and neatly dressed, conservative Catholic mothers swerve around me and drive straight through the red traffic lights. The culture is laid back to the extreme, but not tranquil, more like a "I would really rather drink some wine and take a nap than listen to your stupid problem so please go away," kind of attitude. It´s not rude, but it´s not polite, and no one is offended. There are so many rules about politeness in American culture, that I feel have resulted in passive agressiveness. Dad Tomás and I kind of have an on going joke about how ridiculously polite even the English language is. In Spanish you say "Give me the spoon," and "I don´t want it," while in English you say "Could you please hand me the spoon?" and "I don´t think I would like that, thank you." At first it seems a bit harsh, but then you realize that there is no reason to be offended by directness.
So while I am thoroughly enjoying my days of playing tickle monster and peek a boo, running to the supermarket with Clara, taking free Spanish classes at the university (just started!), and going to bed exhausted from all of the above, I am also feeling somewhat ready to return home. I am looking forward to Portland summer. I know that once I am home I will probably long for Spain again, but I think it is quite likely that someday I will return. I have already promised myself that someday I am going to live in Granada, if only for a little while.
For the present time I am just trying to soak in as much of the sun, the scent of orange blossoms, and Spanish language as possible.
In one of my first blogs I wrote that my only fear was that I would come home from this trip, which I have been building up for so long, having accomplished nor learned nothing. I am pleased to say that the need for this fear was swept away long ago. Ihave learned and grown in many ways that I was not at all expecting. I know that is a little cheesy, but it´s true. I have learned more than I could have imagined about this country, my own country, myself, and what is possible and achievable.
I can´t wait to travel to everywhere else in the world.
Saludos.

April 5

Writing from Madrid. The family is spending their Semana Santa (Easter, except here you get the whole week off work!) in Villarobledo, a small town where all of their family resides, in between Murcia and Madrid. So while we were already fairly close I thought I would come here for a couple days, it is the capital after all. Most of whom I have talked with have informed me that Madrid is not really that great, other than the very impressive museums (this seems to be especially the opinon of young people). So far I can mostly agree. I spent a few hours of my day in the Reina Sophia Museum, which was incredible and huge, and then the rest of my day wandering about and hanging out in a park. The museum is mostly fairly modern paintings and some sculpture. Upon entering an exhibit of surrealist art, I was frozen in place when I realized that the paintings before me were Dalís. A few years ago I made a list of one hundred things I wanted to do before I die, and seeing a Dalí was number forty something. The paintings that this museum contains are not particularly famous, but the just the presence of them sent shivers down my spine and made me feel feverish and dizzy. Number forty-something: check.
This evening as I was eating and reading by myself in a cafe, I got a phone call from Tomás, just checking in and making sure I was alright. What a radical transition it has been to be living with my new host family, from travelling across Spain totally on my own and wandering around strange towns with my back pack, looking for hostels or addresses of friends of friends. While I now have this whole new responsibilty of making sure nothing horrible happens to these three young Spanish children, I also have my own ¨mom and dad¨holding my hand. The other day when I went to the train station, and Tomás actually gave me a ride and then went in with me, bought my ticket, and led me to the exact platform I needed. After the last two months it feels like a band aid and a lolly pop. I have been trying to run and do yoga whenever I can, as I find that it helps me to maintain my energy with the kids if I get exercise. The only problem is that the parents don´t want me running alone, for fear of men bothering me. At the dinner party they were hosting we were dicussing this topic and in an attempt to shrug off their worries I tried to jokingly tell them that I would be okay because I have a knife that I could bring with me. Except that instead of ¨cuchillo¨, I told them that I have a ¨cucharillo¨ or a little spoon. So to all my family back home, don´t you be worrying about me! I can take care of myself! I´ve got my little spoon!
I have yet to convince them that I can handle running alone.
But overall I am still enjoying my job and currently my main focus is cramming my brain with Spanish. I spend a lot of time reading childrens´books and magazines, and everywhere I go I carry around a small notebook to record new words I hear. Hopefully I will be able to take a few classes in Murica, I think just one or two days a week of an upper intermediate level class would be extremely beneficial, at this point I mostly need specific grammar instruction.
I can´t believe I have already been with the Jimenez´s for two whole weeks. I am anticipating that these next two months are going to fly by. Hope everyone at home is well and had a nice Easter (if you celebrate Easter, if not, hope you had a nice Sunday.)
Un montón de abrazos.

March 24, Murcia

I am now in Murcia (about two hours south of Valencia) with the family for whom I will be an au pair for the next two months. They live about ten minutes outside the city in a big house, with a swimming pool and orange trees in the yard. The parents are great, Clara and Tomás, they have been nothing but welcoming and friendly. There are three kids, baby Manuel (five months), Araceli (4 years) and the younger Tomás (6 years). The main objective of my job is to speak English with the children and help out Clara in whatever way I can. In the mornings I watch after Manuel and help get Araceli and Tomásito ready for school. While they are at school I can do as I please, but sometimes run errands with Clara. Yesterday we went to the supermarket and bought vegetarian things and toothpaste. When the kids come home we play and I give them an English lesson. Last night they were very cranky while I tried to show them clips of Sesame Street and the Muppets show on YouTube, asking about what color each muppet was, and counting along with the Count. Araceli sort of through a fit and ran away, but eventually Tomás got into it and even laughed a little at the singing bats in the Count´s dungeon. I think they really miss Johnna, their previous au pair, who left only a few days ago. Tonight if I can get Araceli to stay and name a few colors and numbers I will be satisfied. After lessons we make dinner and get ready for bed.
Sometimes I go with Clara to pick up the children from school, so far this has been one of the most chaotic experiences of my life. The drivers in Spain are all absolutley insane. We park just about anywhere we like before exiting the car and dashing across multiple lanes of traffic to reach the school. Once inside the courtyard of the school, still breathing hard with the adrenaline of parking, we are instantly swarmed by many very small human beings with sticky fingers and running noses. They seemingly have no control of their flailing limbs as they hurdle themsleves in every direction, often colliding painfully with our knees. The first task is to pick out which sticky being belongs to us, and then somehow convince it to follow us to the car. Usually this takes about an hour. Clara and I have a disadvantage since we must collect two of them, and also carry with us Manuel. I suppose this is why I am around.
Mostly the parents speak in Spanish with me, and although I often can´t find the words to come up with more of a response than, ¨sí, está bien,¨ I understand almost all of what they say to me, and I think that my improvement over the next two months will be fairly drastic. My only real complaint thus far is that they don´t usually drink coffee and all that is available is Nes Café. My job is enjoyable and not too dificult, but it is exhausting, and I am really missing the real stuff.
Right now the kids are at school, Tomás is at work, and Clara is with Manuel, so I think I will go make some ¨coffee¨and then maybe set out for a little exploration of the neighborhood. Thus far I have not had time to leave the house on my own. ¡Hasta luego!

March 18, Granada

Wandering through the labrynth of narrow alleys and one way streets that make of the Albacin district of Granada, the sun heats my back and hair, and the uneven cobblestones massage my feet through thin and worn out canvas sneakers. This place is magical; and after the frigid cold of Holland, the sun feels like a long lost friend. Already I am about three shades darker (okay, maybe pinker is more like it.) I am staying in a fantastic hostel, fully equipped with hammocks and a well stocked communal kitchen, in the old neighborhood, which is perched on the steep hillside on the northern side of the city. The streets are impossibly difficult to navigate, only the slope of the hill keeps me oriented and I keep track of where I have been by reading the scrawls of graffiti as my constellations. Most of the ground has been paved over in cement and stone, but here and there a thick cluster of cactus has managed to push it´s way through the cracks, and many palms and orange trees have been planted in the plazas and courtyards.
This area of Spain, Andalucia, is about a thousand times cheaper than Barcelona, and here they have the real tapas, the ones that come free with your drinks. Order a beer and you get a sandwhich along with it. Two beers (each costing about two euro) and you´ve had a full meal. It´s freaking awesome. Food in general is just much cheaper, and I have been frequenting a little produce stand near by about twice a day. The first day I went there they were throwing out a large bag of mushrooms that were just a tad too old to sell, so I have been feasting on them for the last couple days, fried with olive oil and garlic.
I have also made a few friends at my hostel, we´ve been going to for tapas, and exploring the caves behind our neighborhood where the gypsies and the hippies live. Yesterday I visited the Alhambra with a British guy who I´ve made good pals with.
There is only one computer available at the hostel, and I am itching to get outside into the sun, so I must end my writing here. Probably I won´t blog again until I arrive in Murcia for my job as an Au Pair. Muchos abrazos, amigos and familia, y hasta luego.

March 6: Amsterdam

Today is my fourth day in Amsterdam, I arrived very late on Tuesday night. Max had given me detailed instructions on how to get from the airport to his apartment via public transport, but of course the buses had all stopped running by the time I got in at one o clock in the morning. Wandering around the bus station looking for my bus and the times, a man kindly informed me that the buses had all shut down for the night, but that I was welcome to come sleep with him that night. Yeah no thanks. Also my Spanish cell phone was not happy to be in The Netherlands and wouldn't let me call Max, but I had his address so I shelled out the cash for a cab and after a bit more wandering around after exiting the cab, finally found his apartment and was joyfully greeted by a big Max hug. Then we went to sleep.
The next day we went to Max's favorite flea market to look for something orange for him to wear to the USA/Netherlands football match that night. We decided to try to fit both of us onto his bike, me sitting on the rack and him pedaling, we had one spill but made it alright. Once we got to the market I actually ended up buying a bicycle; a red and rusty piece of crap for 30 euro. I asked the vender if I could sell it back to him when I was leaving and he said yes, if I wanted to, but that it might be less troublesome to just throw it into one of the canals, that's how shitty it is. But having a bike is definitely a must here. Max and I have speculated that there are probably more bikes than people. There are absolutely no hills, and most everyone rides pretty slowly, but when riding through the busy areas near Central Station it can get kind of crazy. At times the bike lanes are absolutely packed and maneuvering through the intersections can be very stressful, especially when you throw tourists who don't understand the rules of yielding into the equation. Max explains that basically it's all about "flow", just keep a constant speed and pay attention and the flow will continue. Maybe biking in Amsterdam should be an Olympic sport.
This city is amazing in many other ways as well. I am completely in love with all the canals and houseboats. My only complaint is how freaking cold it is all the time.
Max has been kind of busy with school work, but hopefully we'll be out exploring more in the next few days. He actually needs to use the computer right now to work on his paper so I've got to go, but I'll post more soon. Hugs and high fives are sailing across the Atlantic towards everyone at home!

February 28

I have just returned from a crazy scramble up a cliff face into an old cave that overlooks Logroño, I am dusty and sweaty. Now I am back in Anna and Cere´s apartment; some friends I met when Anna was a student teacher at my high school a few years ago. I am here visiting them for a couple days before I fly out of Bilbao to Amsterdam to visit a good friend who is studying abroad there. It´s been absolutely amazing to be with a couple real friends. Even though I really don´t know them that well they have been so kind and Anna and I have been having lots of fun biking around in ridiculous windy weather and talking about MLC. Also I have gotten the chance to use their washing machine and take a shower which is freaking wonderful! I think I might take another shower today! Before here I was in Lakabe, a super small cooperative village in the Basque mountainous region. The Basque country is unbelievably beautiful, with lots of mountains (not big ones like back home in the Cascades, but beautiful nonetheless) and rolling hills all dappled with little red rooved villages. Lakabe is nestled just out of sight above a minor highway in sort of a valley with lakes in the basin and chaotic montains all around. I say chaotic because compared to the neat rows of huge peaks that I am used to at home, the seemingly random juts upward of earth and rock feel that way to me. There are forty people who live in the village, sharing use of the gardens and animals (sheep, cows, horses, chickens, and a pig) and working on various building projects together. In the mornings we would begin work around 9:30, after having toast and coffee. There were usually a couple different projects going on that I could work on. Often I went up the mountain to work in the timber camp, basically getting really muddy and pushing around big logs. For two days I helped to plaster the walls of a house they were constructing. And sometimes I would just stay in the warm kitchen and help to cook lunch for everyone, each day we had lunch all together but breakfast and dinner were eaten separately with the people in your house.
When I first arrived, the bus from Pamplona pulled over along the side of the highway in seemingly the middle of nowhere and I was told that this was Lakabe. Apprehensively I stepped out of the bus and looked around at what was breathtakingly beautiful scenery, but definitely not a village, praying to myself that this was the right place. As the bus pulled away I saw that on the other side of the road was another small road winding up a hill, with a sign reading Lacabe, the C crossed out and replaced with a red spraypainted K (later I discovered that the C is the Spanish spelling, and the K the Basque.) Next to the sign was an old gray horse, nonchalantly munching on the dry grass. Like I said before, the village is completely hidden from the highway, so I had no idea where this road would lead me, but I clumsily slung on my gigantic back pack and trudged upwards. Soon I came upon the oh-so-quaint-and-european red tile rooves and stone walls of Lakabe. No people were anywhere in sight but hawks circled high above and a few cows grazed near by. I slowly wandered down what seemed to me like the main path through the cluster of houses, feeling sort of like I was trespassing on something much to foreign and picaresque for my American eyes, and not quite sure what to expect or where to go. As I passed one house a man with wild sandy hair peered out the window and motioned me to the door. His name was Staci and he welcomed me in and gave me some food before showing me to a room where I would sleep. There are about six houses in the village, each one containing around six people. I stayed in the common house, called Xuxcal, where all the visitors plus a few residents slept, and where communal meals were eaten. The people living there are all learning, if not already speaking, the Basque language, so everything in the house had little labels in Euskarra. I really wished that everything was labeled in Spanish. There were a couple people who spoke English there but they all spoke to eachother in Spanish and by the time I left I could understand about twice as much as I could when I arrived. I still feel like an idiot when I try to speak, but atleast I can usually keep up on the general topic of conversation when I am with others who are speaking with each other.
Being in Lakabe made me wish that I were going to be spending more time on farms while I was here, in order to take the job as an Au Pair in Murcia, I had to give up my plans to WWOOF. But I suppose that I can WWOOF anywhere, maybe in Oregon this summer.
I think I will have plenty of computer access in the next few weeks with Max so I will make sure to write a blog while I am in Amsterdam. Sending my love to everyone in the States, or where ever, I miss you all a lot. Abrazos.