Primavera: Spanish Style

Today I received a letter from one Milaine Dickinson calling me out on "how much I fail at blogging". It is true. So just wanted to say. HI MILAINE, thanks for the letter.

Spring is hot in Sevilla which makes going to class even less appealing then it was when it was clouding and cold-ish. My classes are very interesting this term. I am taking Spanish Phonetics and Phonology, Psychology of Learning a Second Language, Cultural Anthropology of Latin America and Interamerican Relations. On top of that I give three English conversation classes twice a week. I haven't traveled anywhere outside of Spain so far this semester though I will be heading to Ireland for a week this Saturday. Words cannot describe how excited I am. On that note, I have a lot of work to do to prepare for the end of the term and me writing this post is just another form of procrastination. Know that I miss all of you (whoever actually reads this) so much!

Paz y amor desde España.

The North: A different country.

After final exams and final farewells, I’m off to northern Spain for Christmas. First to Barcelona I headed with a connecting flight to Santander the next morning. The night was spent at my friend Lauren’s followed by a day catching up on our experiences of living abroad in Spain. Occasional threats were made to steal her roommate’s pug, the beyond cute, Kiwi. Early the next morning, I flew to Santander to meet my dad and sister, Claire, for the first time since early September.  Claire and I resumed our banter hilarious to us, not so much to others, while dad and Luke chatted as we drove into town from the airport. Not everyone would view two oranges from Sevilla as a treasure to deliver. These are no ordinary oranges. They are huge, juicy, and extremely flavorful. Needless to say, dad was instantly hooked and was questioning the sanity of my having packed clothes instead of just oranges. As we made our way though the center of Santander we managed to cross the main street before the march of strikers reached us and made our way to a café for some pinchos, the small portioned foods, similar to tapas.  Dad met Luke’s favorite vendor at the produce market, Begonia, and we walked by the sunny bay. For months I’d missed this calm, peaceful feeling with family around me. The next few days Luke escorted Claire, dad and I about Santander.  Included in the tour was Gerardo Diego primary school. Our visit coincided with a celebration of culture, where all the children were dressed in traditional montañes, the Cantanbrian mountain people’s, attire. What is it about this setting, performing for parents, that turns them all into cherubs! As they sang traditional Spanish songs, finishing with the English song “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”, parents laughed and snapped pictures of their children’s antics, whether that moment was a total meltdown or enthusiastic participation in the simple songs.

            Over the next few days we toured small towns around Santander on the northern coast visiting Bilbao and the fabulous Guggenheim museum in the Basque region of Northern Spain. We visited Potes, the biggest town among the Picos de Europa (Peaks of Europe), La Iglesia de Lebeña, and Castro, a small fishing village near Bilbao. Though I am not a religious person at all, the churches of Spain are works of arts that inspire the spirit. The Iglesia de Lebeña was so beautiful, made even more so by the story surrounding it and of course the warmth and beauty of the day of our visit. The story is told that a Count in Cantabria would regularly would go hunting and riding horses around his land, ignoring his land and the people. One day while hunting he was struck blind. He believed  this was God’s punishment for his lack of devotion and his less than pious ways. He decided that building a church would demonstrate his devotion and his sight would be restored. During this time, he met his wife, a woman from Andalucía, in the south of Spain. They fell in love.  As a monument to their love, the Count decided to plant trees native to Cantanbria, El Tejo de Lebeña and an olive tree, native to the south. His gesture represented not only a merging of their two regional cultures but a blend of tradtional pagan beliefs of the north with the more traditional Catholic views of the south. Hundreds of years past, about seven hundred, when one day during a storm the Tejo was uprooted and split apart. The people of the surrounding area mourned the loss of this enduring icon of love and tradition until one day, a man from the upper mountains came down to share his treasure. He told the people that he had taken a cutting from the tree and in fact had a small sprout that would, in time, be able to be planted in place of the old tree.  The love, the union lives on.

Bilbao, not a small town, hosts the Guggenheim Art Museum. The building is a work of art, with large swaths of glimmering steel that seems to have woven upon itself to create the imposing building. Arriving near lunch time, we stopped for the obligatory tortilla española (traditional Spanish potato omelette) then headed into the museum. We saw everything from an exhibit of Dutch masters of the Golden Age to an Andy Warhol piece titled 500 Marilyns. We later took the tram to the old city in search of more traditional Spanish buildings, food and a place where Dad could rest his leg. We found all three, though the food was a bit difficult since we managed to begin our search right at the beginning of siesta when almost all stores and restaurants close down for 2.5 to 3 hours, what is essentially, nap time in Spain. We found a spot, where we feasted on little tortilla pinchos and a café con leche.

Mom arrived on Christmas Eve, regailing us with her story of her traveling guardian angel, Craig, the Australian, who helped Mom through London because as he told her, “…my mother would approve.” He helped Mom choose a taxi as she traveled one train station to another to reach Stanstead airport. The taxi driver was an Irishman who happened to be a huge fan of American college football, with eyes reminiscent of Grandpa Mickey’s. He took Mom by the main sights of London, the Royal Palace, and Trafalgar Square among them,  as the sun glistened on the snowy city. When we picked Mom up at the airport in Santander our joy was palpable. We headed back into town, in search, once again, for pinchos. The streets were filled to capacity with festive Spaniards decked out in reindeer ears and Santa hats, participating in botellon-essentially buying alcohol at stores, then drinking to excess in the streets. It was about two in the afternoon, so I guess maybe the time for celebration was nigh. After unsuccesful attempts to squeeze into two or three bars, we went to Casalita, one of Luke’s favorite spots, and enjoyed some delicious pinchos, wine, and free Champagne and polvorones (pig lard with flour, sugar, and chocolate or nut flavoring) on the house! Mom was in heaven and we were there with her. After this, we tooled through town, admiring the beautiful mountains providing a backdrop to the bay and stopped to inhale the wind and vistas that nearly blew us away. That night we walked through the center of Santander, admiring all the lights that were up for the holidays and enjoyed a calm and peaceful Christmas Eve together.  Full of laughter and the wonderful stew that Luke prepared, we retired on Christmas Eve, happy that we were all together.

On Christmas day, we feasted on French toast and set off on a driving adventure of the Picos de Europa. It was a gorgeous day driving through rural northern Spain. We encountered green valleys filled with sunlight surrounded by snowy peaks, mountain ponies who blocked the roads at time, and snow everywhere. I could not have asked for more. Spending time with my family for Christmas was all I needed. We debated that day and the next where we should spend my birthday, on the 27th. It was a toss up between Logroño or Salamanca. We settled upon Salamanca.

The day before we left for Salamanca, we journeyed to San Sebastían, which I was told is a hot spot for delicious food.   Of course the food was spectacular, but the city  was absolutely stunning. The town surrounded a crystal clear blue bay, with green hills all around. We walked by the beach and made our way to La Cuchara de San Telmo where we were served some of the best pinchos I have ever had. These particular pinchos were prepared by two brothers form Argentina that had owned the restaurant for 10 years. We sampled risotto with goat cheese, octopus, cow cheeck, and…pig ear. Yes you read correctly, pig ear. Luke decided to inform me, mid-chew. After that I had trouble finishing my bite…. None the less, San Sebastían was a jewel among the northern Spanish coast. A center of delicious cuisine and Basque ETA resistance groups.

I spent my 21st birthday in Salamanca, Spain. It was interesting turning 21 in a country that has the legal drinking age at 18. As we explored the old, beautiful city, I could not wrap my head around celebrating my birthday or that now I was legal in the United States. I do not drink much really, so it was not some sort of amazing milestone to be legal, but it will make it easier for me to hang out with people in the States now. Salamanca hosted several huge, amazing churches and an old university that seriously rivaled the university I attend in Sevilla. I believe the University of Salamanca is one of the oldest, if not the oldest university in Spain. We celebrated my birthday out for dinner and drinking a couple bottles of red and white Spanish wine. They were absolutely delicious but the laughter and companionship of family was the highlight of the evening. Our hotel was located on the Plaza Mayor with a balcony view of the Spanish night life.

            We headed back to Santander the following day we headed back to Santander. Unfortunately the family had to depart, leaving Luke and I to pass the rest of the vacation in Spain. We spent the rest of our time generally being lazy, though we managed to go on a day trip to Oviedo where I ate some of the best food of my life. The tablón astur essentially consisted of a huge wooden plank FILLED with meat. JAMÓN!! After succesfully stuffing ourselves into we all promised to never eat again, we returned to Santander.

            I had a 14 hour bus ride awaiting me back to Sevilla. Luckily I had this lovely Christmas to occupy my thoughts.

Aristocats, Hunchbacks and Croissants, Oh my!

So I will admit..again…that I have been lax about blogging with regular posts. Though I have decided to do several posts as a late Christmas present! Don’t you all feel lucky.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, my friends Adrian and Cara set off on an adventure to France. Our tour would start in Marsailles, with a trip to Avignon, back to Marsailles then finish off the whirlwind tour in Paris, the city of almond croissants…I mean love. We set off bright and early on a Thursday morning to catch our flight to Marsailles. Everything went well, or as well as anything can go on a Ryanair flight and we made it to Marsailles. 

We were in France. Though I was expecting a resounding chorus of Little Town with cries of Bonjour, I was welcomed to a gorgeous town. Marseille happens to be the second largest city in France, behind Paris, sitting along the beautiful Côte d’Azur. We started our adventure by wandering around the city with our two French friends from Sevilla, Jennifer and Violaine, who had already made the trip easier with the knowledge I lacked of the French language. We stopped to pick up some tickets for a concert we were going to later on and generally soaked up the French environment. We meandered through the old Greek district that had quaint shutters and tiny streets that were just inviting us to get lost in. As our day wound down, we parted wasy with Jennifer and Violaine, who were headed home, and began the adventure of finding our hostel. We were all feeling a bit off, this being Thanksgiving day, with all of our families several thousand miles away, but the 1.50 euro bus ride that essentially gave us a tour of the city on our way to the hotel cured some of our longings for stuffing and for stuffing ourselves. 

We found our hostel, that was actually a hotel that sat near the football stadium. Adrian and I set off to find the stadium just as it started to rain and later found our way to a bread shop to acquire the baguettes we needed for our French Thanksgiving Feast. We ended up purchasing baguettes, Borsin cheese (so cheap!), carrots, oranges, and of course French red wine. We headed back to the hotel where Cara and I forced Adrian to list what he was thankful for, ate our unique dinner and listened to Citzen Cope as we enjoyed each others company. I could not have asked to have spent a holiday that brings family together with two better people.

           

The next day we decided to hike up to the highest point of Marseille where there just happened to be a famous church. Notre Dame de la Garde is a spectacular church, though the fact that we managed to make it may have made it that much better. It offered a birds eye view of the city and was constructed with different types of stone that reminded me of the mezquita in Cordoba. After braving the frigid tornado-like windows that woke me up better then any amount of coffee would have, we booked it to the train station. 

We caught our train to Avignon. The trip through the southern French countryside was absolutely gorgeous. As we pulled into Avignon, we saw a large wall surrounding the city, which from my experience can only mean good things in terms of historical preservation. Avignon was gorgeous from its unfinished bridge that jutted out over the river, to the Pope Palace that was used before the Vatican. 

We climbed on top of the wall and were greeted with sweeping views of chilly countryside with a few castles nestled among the hills. We stopped to play on the far superior playgrounds in the parks and any self-respecting 21 and 20 years old would do and headed to check into our hostel. As we rushed back through the city, realizing we would be late to the concert if we did not hurry up, we did stop to admire a stand in the Christmas market that was serving crepes, waffles and carmel apples. We stared longly for about a minute before continuing on. We made it back to the hostel where we changed into different clothes, feasted on more bread, cheese, and oranges and I promptly spilled my red wine all over the top of a dresser. Luckily, I believe, the wood was balsa or some sort of particle board so it soaked it right up, making it looked like that someone had bled profusley everywhere….oh crazy Americans. We headed to the train station where we had been told it would only run us about 12 euro for a taxi to the concert, apparently that meant for each of us. Money aside, we made it to the concert where we met up with another Oregonian, John Anthony, and we got to see RODRIGO Y GABRIELA!!!! 

If you are not familiar with them, well you should be. They are two Mexican guitartists Rodrigo and Gabriela. Irma, a French singer who did beat box covers of Jackson 5 songs using an Andrew Bird-like recording method opened, then my dreams came true. The concert was one of the best I have attended. It was their first time playing in Avignon, my first time in France and I was in southern France where lavender, one of my favorite things to smell and bake with, is renowned. 

Rodrigo and Gabriela gave a great show, playing some of their classics such as Diablo Rojo and Vikingman, adding in solos in which one Rodrigo started playing the opening chords of Manu Chao’s song Desaparecido. Adrian, already having waved his Mexico hat around wildly, began sining along with Rodrigo and was given a head nod. He could not have not been more pleased. (I apologize for all of the random music references, I hope you look them up!) After the concert, we ran into a very drunk Irishman who spoke to us in fluent French until we asked him to sing us a traditional Irish song. Expecting Danny Boy or something along those lines, I was surprised when he started sing Country Roads by John Denver. Needless to say, I could not stop laughing.

            

The next morning we took a train back to Marseille to catch a flight to Paris where I would be meeting up with one of my favorite people and my best friend Valerie. When we arrived back to Marseille, Adrian and I decided to quickly get a look at the Palais de Longchamp. We snapped some photos and headed back to catch a bus to airport. The next several hours consisted of some travel trouble, including me getting lost on the Paris subway, in fact, taking a train out of the city that was packed with French football fans heading to a game. I eventually got back on track and managed to get to the Eiffel Tower where I found a half-frozen Valerie and her friend Laura and managed to track down a fully frozen Josh. It was so amazing seeing Valerie after almost 6 months apart that I nearly cried, though I did not for fear of the tears freezing in the air. The five of us headed out to sample some some Parisian crepes. We ended up at a Greek restaurant, not quite typical, but the cinnamon, sugar, and butter crepe I had was none the less amazing! After only having seen Josh for about 2 hours, we parted ways. I needed some rest before my full day of touring with Valerie around Paris.

The next morning, we accidently woke up late. The classic trap of, “Oh they snoozed their alarm clocl, I should too!” caught us in its enticing claws but we still managed to hit the road at about 9:00. We of course started with a pastry. The next ten minutes of my life are hard to remember after starting my almond croissant, because I was deaf and blind to the world as my taste buds savored all the amazing tastes that were contained in a a little sugary treat. Riding on the wings of joy and a sugar high, we set off to the Eiffel tower where Valerie and I climbed to the second floor. It was surreal climbing up something I had only ever seen in movies, books, or pictures. The feeling was amazing. We later continued our tour to Sacre Coure in the Montmarte district. We wandered down the streets, briefly passing by the Moulin Rouge and stopping for a bite to eat before we walked to the Notre Dame. When we arrived at the Notre Dame, I was instantly reminded of childhood jokes of quoting the Disney movie “The Hunchback of Notre Dame when the portly gargoyle shouts “Pour the wine, and the cut the cheese!” (SEE!) 

We then walked across the street to my bookworm dream bookstore. Shakespeare and Company, walls filled to the ceiling with old and new books. Low soft lighting filled the main room, with christmas tree lights gently illuminating some of the darker corners. I could have easily spent a week living here, absorbing the wonderful atmosphere, but sadly had to leave after about 20 min. We headed back to the hostel where we grabbed our stuff. We got on the metro where Valerie and I had to say goodbye after seeing other for less then 24 hours. It was not enough, but we made the most of it. After a quick stop at the Louvre, I met Cara and Adrian at the Eiffel Tower. We headed back to the Friends Hostel that was located in a bit of a shady part of Paris. We were greeted with offers of hash and a woman dancing in between cars, shaking her butt at the hash sellers. Paris had and has a lot of character. After eating another crepe, we headed back to the hotel to get ready for our trip back to Sevilla the next day.

            

The morning came too quickly and we took a train through the snowy French countryside to the town where our plane awaited us. I try and convey how amazing this trip was through words or photos but the experience truly transcends those. I will though, give it a shot with this picture of a croissant.