A Reunion In Madrid

So, I was reunited with my mommy in Madrid, and it was awesome.

Madrid is beautiful and so, well, big. Its spaciousness reminded me of Lisbon, Portugal. Looming neoclassical buildings in light airy blues, rich browns, opening into plazas filled, and I mean FILLED, with people. Little arches opening up into huge spaces, sculptures of Spanish royalty, on horseback, towering over the crowd.


I definitely did not go to any museums, but I will. The Prado, the Reina Sofia, and the Thyss.... Something Gallery are all world famous (although clearly not famous enough for me to remember the name of one, hehe.) It will be nice to visit the museums with someone who, really, taught me to love art, who dragged me through galleries as a kid, who left art books out in the house for me to page through as I slowly grew up, who put the crayon in my right hand (which I would then promptly put in my left hand, my inner southpaw undenialable at even a young age).

Madrid, is, well, European City, exemplified. It has a little less difinitve personality than London, or Amsterdam, or Rome, but it is beautiful and grand nontheless.

Madrid and Momskies

I am counting down until, well tomorrow, when I get to finally leave Granada for the capital of Spain, MADRID!


And best of all? I get to see my mom. Yay!

Haha, I mean, it will be an experience, seeing the city that supposedly represents Spain as its center, both geographically and govermentally. And also, the MUSEUMSSS...will be incredible.

Needless to say I will be doing my homework for the rest of the day, but miss everyone!

Love ya'll
me

Another Day, Another Feelin

Í would like to begin by apologizing, not of the inappropriate accent over that I, I oddly like it, but for my slow spiral into emotion writing. I began this blog to talk about world travels and experiences, cross cultural exchanges and bilingual conversations. I am afraid to admit it, but this little webby site of mine has slowly developed into a creature of my own making, a naval gazing blog pretending to be something it is not. I have been to talk, almost entirely about me, myself, and of course, Í. Well, I am sorry.

I guess, at this point, my adventures here in Spain have become me, and while life has rounded out its roughness, smoothed out its edges, I am still trying to figure out this guy (two thumbs pointed at my chest). It have a little less than one month left, I am returning to Chicago at noon on the 18th. So for now, here I am, in Spain, exploring, savoring and simaltaneously counting down the days until my grand return. I expect flowers, a parade, and no less than three puppies upon my descent back into normalcy.

So, what about Spain? My secret connection, my emotional rock, my HOME. Well, it will weep without me, cry. Alright, maybe not, maybe no one will really care, but I will forever keep this place in my heart. Secretly cuddling my downright Spanishness in the deepest corners of my mind.

I guess, in life, there is no finality but death, and I guess, my relationship with Spain is the same. A living, breathing entity, I have developed a friendship with it, and as soon as I land back in America, I do not know how I will deal without my dear friend. See, I hope to return to Granada one day, to walk Camino de Ronda, visit the Alhambra, climb up to the Mirador, but I do not know when or if ever that will happen. So my goodbye, although hopefully not final, with be indefinite. Hazy. Unclear. Sudden. Sad. Nervous. Excited.

So, here I am, loathing those damn magdelenas (I still hate them) and enjoying the last moments of our life together, preparing for the long distance relationship that I will have after the 18th (I promise to check CNN.com, watching Spanish language TV, try to keep some sort of contact with my friend accross the miles.) I am here, trying to savor the Granada air, inhale the space that is Spain, and enjoy the moments as they gentle evaporate away.

Screw You BREAKFAST GOODS!

Alas, I am alone again, counting down the days until I go to Madrid and whittling away the hours by doing a whole ton of homework. But, since my family has left me once more, I return to the Spain I know. The apartment, the squeaky bed, the awkward exchanges between my señora and myself, the fried food.

I guess the return of family made things easier, hell it made stuff FUN! I was tourguide, translator, and all of it was paid for by someone else! I didnt even clean that much, really. I was no personal slave, trust me. It was a gift to have people who love me and know me back in my life. But, after waiving goodbye to my last visitor, I fought to keep tears from falling down my face. Suddenly, I was alone again, on Gran Via again, with way to many bags and not enough hands, I stumbled onto a bus filled with people who stared at me, and with no one to talk to, I took notice of the glares. At the moment, I was a bag lady, carrying all my supplies of the week back home to Calle Morena, and I felt even more homeless. I knew where I was going, but coming back to the house, the apartment where I have been living for the past two months felt almost as strange as my first night in the place, almost worse because all the excitement was gone.

I guess the reminder of family, of love, was almost a cruel tease. A bit of delicious dessert that is immediately taken away from you, as the tiny flavor still lingers in your mouth. You try to savor it, but it turns into the empty flavor of your mouth before you know it. Here I am, craving home, and I return to the reality that is my life, the normality of my Spanish life. I wake up, at 7.45, get dressed, eat breakfast of cafe con leche and little magdelenas (cupcakes, butter and muffin blending into one unsatisfyingly sweet morning), I walk to class, I sit in composition, I sit in culture, I get another cafe con leche, I return to school, do my emailing and blogging, and then I go to literature, sit for two hours, walk home again for lunch, eat with my señor and penelope, their daughter, take a nap, wake up, walk back to school, use the internet, return home, do homework-read-watch tv with my señora, and go to bed, only to start the day again (sometimes i have art history in the afternoon, or I tutor, I those days I stay at school for lunch). But my life has become routine here, and the change of it took me out of my comfort zone and into a more comfortable one.

This morning, as I sat with my coffee and those damn magdalenas, I realized something. I hate them. I cannot eat them anymore. I do not want to eat them anymore. They are not good for me, they leave me still hungry after I do, and they filled me with the guilt of highly fattening carbohydrates (a war I have been battling, and losing, all my life). They represent Spain to me, right now. I understand them, have developed a method of eating them, know exactly what to expect and how many calories are in each one (about 139). I know them, I get it, but it is not what I want and not what I need. Its how I feel, I understand Spain just enought. Not like an anthropologist studying the culture, but like an outside observer savoring the difference. I see it now, I understand it, but because I am not here for the long run, not willing to accept that magdalenas will be my breakfast forever, I see no need in eating them anymore. They just make me fat. I get it, I see what is different, I see what I am here, I see it, but I will never understand, never grow accustomed to it, especially knowing that I am still going to return.

Clearly, I have begun to grow bitter. But do not get me wrong, it is just one of those mornings, on of those days where I am ready to return, for my GRAND RETURN HOME. But I am still here, still stuffing bready butter in my mouth.


I am sorry for such an angry post, I guess it came out rougher than I meant. I love Spain, do not get me wrong, but today, it is just one of those days, where, thoughts of coming home fill my head and heart wit dizzying joy.

Alas, I have a month, and then who knows when I will return to Spain? It is a country that will always have a piece of my soul, a country that will always represent my time of learning and independance, a country that has taught me not only a language, but life in a way I had never seen. Spain is beautiful, but today, well, I would rather be in Buffalo Grove, chilling with family, going with friends to IHOP. Yes. Sometimes, I must admit, those little mundane things becomes my most vivid dreams.

FAMILY! FRIENDS! VISITORS!!!!

So, I have been serving as faithful tourguide, translator and personal cook for family this week, and in this time I have learned to things,
1. I love my family, and anyplace feels so much more like home with them there.
2. I love Granada, I mean, it is still a gorgeous place...

See, living here you forget, but showing people around, somehow you begin to remember...
We went to the Alhambra, yesterday, and as the sun set over the mountains, and made our way through the Generalife Gardens, our view towering over the majority of the city, took hold of me and shook me. Here I was, living in this place, so beautiful and genuine, and I was taking it for granted. But luckily, having family here, they remind me of how cool and fun it is.

Also, I feel so much better being here. With family to keep me grounded I just feel okay. MEeting the Señora was funny little experience, which consisted of me sitting and talkingwith her, while the other two watched, my every attempt to translate was interrupted with more Spanish from Lola. Ha. Lady loves to talk. Infront of new people. Not so much to me. But oh well.

Outside of that, wandering the streets of Granada has taken on a new element of fun and I am really not wanted anyone to leave me...
Alas, I must be off. But all is well.
miss everyone lots
love everyone lots
me.

Eating Arroz With A Spoon, Not Paella With A Fork

So, today is Saturday, a day of family meals with the kids, in the case of my señora and señor. So, today we had arroz con pollo, which is, essentially, paella minus the ham and seafood. I sat down to a plate of hot, saffrony goodness; rice, chicken, red peppers and artichokes, sitting in a bowl, a thick sauce sticking the pieces together. But there was no fork and knife to cut the huge pieces of cjhicken, just a spoon and bread, to be used to make mouth sized pieces. So, I ate, awkwardly breaking the chicken with the edge of my spoon, and feared that the chicken would slip in the sauce and go flying somewhere in the direction of my señor. Luckily, it did not happen. Nonthless, it was quite the struggle.

I guess, sadly, that is all I have report, nothing very new or exciting here. So...the paella story is the best I can come up with...ha.

Well, I have, as of late, simply been doing homework and living my life here in Spain. I am really just counting down the days until the arrival of my guests, ONE MORE TO GO!! yay.

Miss you all,
love you all
me

Rain, Rain: Go! A! Way!

So, I woke this morning to another dreary day. It has, this week, been pretty dark and cloudy, chilly and blue. The drizzles erupt some what spontanteously, often lasting no more than ten minutes, in turn, leading you to uselessly carry around a moist umbrella the majority of each day. Well, here I am, basking in the Spanish rain.

Wasn´t the rhyme that The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly on the Plain? I live in the mountains!! Why!? Oh Why!?

Well, I guess, in all reality, if the only thing I have to complain about is rain, then, gosh darnit, I sure am lucky. And I admit that.

Here I am traveling the world and I am getting upset with rain. Well, there is always nature, something that I am slowly, with maturity, learning I secretly despise. Don´t get me wrong, I do not say burn all rainforest and destroy all animals! Hell, I love the platypus, the weeping willow, the grasshopper (although only from a safe distance) but I am definitely not outdoorsy (see my entry on the Alpurjarras).

needless to say, I appreciate nature from a safe distance. seeing the sierra nevadas covered in snow on a sunny day, while walking down a paved road filled with cars and people. that is my nature. that nature of people, of modernity, of a borderline bugless land.

Well, in the end, I guess, that is about all I have to say. Just wandering the concrete jungles of Spain, and trying to avoid getting wet.

A Little More Spanish

After my last outburst, I feel the need to talk about something more, well, Spanish.

Today, Wednesday, is my tutoring day, where I go in and chit chat with a seventeen year old Spanish girl in her native tongue then in my own. After an hour intercambio I teach her two younger sbiling English. I believe I have mentioned that they are all incredible in English, and that it is a bit of a feeling inadequate hour for me. Well, today, I ate dinner with them. The family had graciously invited me, I accepted and they made me vegetarian food.

First, to begin, I told them I was a veggie, not Jewish. It was not that I wanted to keep a secret from them, it was that I was too lazy to explain to the family what my kosher meant, and what restrictions it created. I figured it didn´t really matter. I was not hiding it, I was just lazy, as always.

So, I will now tell you all about my experiences eating dinner with another family, I almost feel like I cheated on Lola and Rafael...no, they knew, I informed them, they were not jealous.

So, I had always thought that military family meant cold and rigid, but the family was warm and friendly. The mother of the children, whose name I cannot for the life of me remember, was so unbelievably nice to me. Each time I came over she offered me anything under the sun, and reiterated that if I EVEr need ANYTHHING they were there to help me. Mind you, I literally come in for two hours a week, and they give ME money. So, finally, after a few weeks of class, I ate dinner with them.

A traditional Spanish Omlette, or Tortilla de Patata was prepared, with well, egg and potato. Fancy, flowery bread was placed on the table, along with the omnipresent Manchego cheese, from La Mancha, so therefore of the highest quality, along with empanadas de atun y tomate (tuna and tomato baked yumminess). And finally, a sallad of cut lettuce and homemade salsa de ajo, garlic salsa. Essentially, it was arguably the most yummy dinner ever. I even got the recipe for how to make the salsa (only one problem, I need a mortar and pestle). So, if you cannot tell from my salivating, I clearly liked the meal. It had flavors beyond salt (aka, my favorite flavor, the one I miss most dearly, garlic). It was rich and delicious, and I did not eat too much, so I actually feel good right now.

So, beyond the yummy plates, it was more the feeling that I felt (how redundant!) at the table. I was being served, yes, so I felt a little uncomfortable, but I also felt like although I knew these people very little, they knew me well. They were so friendly, and although the mother spoke little to no English, and we only spoke in Spanish at the dinner table, somehow I felt okay there. It was a feeling of warmth that reminded me of my own family, of the embarassing stories, and even of the little fights that make outsiders feel awkward (ofcourse it happend, by hey, when a family loves, they also fight). Needless to say, I had a great dinner, a real Spanish dinner, with a normal Spanish family, and it left me hungry for my own dinner table, in America, with those that love me.

Let´s Get Political, a Post-Election Post, or How I Didn´t Vote, and Still Believe in Democracy...

I did not vote. I am twenty years old, it was my first election, and I did not vote. To me, it was as much a statement as voting for say...the Green Party (haha..you know who you are!!) You see, in my book, everyone has their drawbacks, and their positive appeals, and I find myself awkwardly arguing for both sides, and feeling a connection to neither.

I am too young to vote Republican. Period. I tried to argue with myself, rationalize McCain´s stances on all things social, but with his choice of Sarah Palin, well, he lost me. I have come to realize, especially living in Spain, that I am a feminist. Ms. Palin represents everything I cannot stand about the view of women: the ´sexy librarian´ ideal.

You see, women have fought long and hard for a right to vote, a right to stand up and be more than just mothers. Do not get me wrong, being a mother is the greatest thing one can do, I hope to be a mom one day, but I also know I can do more. Ms. Palin, although clearly doing more by being the Governer of Alaska, still somehow seems to see herself as merely a mother with a side job. You see, her stance, her appeal, is that she is a ¨hockey mom¨ a pitbull with lipstick...but why lipstick? Why beautify yourself? Why not just be a pitbull, wasn´t Winston Churchill just a bulldog?

Its the sexy librarian thing...What does a sexy librarian represent if not a meek, quiet woman, unassuming in the traditional, 17th century sense, except when she undoes her hair and becomes a sexual entity. The idea that she is only empowered by her sexuality is arguably the most demeaning thing that one can imagine. Just the idea that she was described as that implies her status in a man´s eye. She lowers us-She advertises herself as sexy librarian, whether outwardly or not, and in this way, she hurts us as women. Why not own your empowerment, be a bitch, as Hilary CLinton did?

So, in the end, I couldn´t vote for McCain. Because, let´s face it, he´s old, he could easily die in office, and easily leave the presidency to the beehive hairdo.

And Obama, Barry, as I like to call him. Well, nothing scares me more than such an extreme case of cult of personality. The shirts, the stickers, the chants. Okay, it was mainly the shirts, sold in hipster stores like Urban Outfitters, black ts, with red white and blue block printed images, strickingly similar to World War II era prints of Hitler, or Stalins ever present face in 40s Russia. I just couldn´t. No matter how much I agree with him on all things social, no matter my liberal leanings to pretty much everything, I cannot vote for someone who is soo revered and has really done very little ...


So, in the end. I did not vote.



Congrats to the winner, sorry to the loser. The economy will continue its downward spiral, because it is a cycle, so we shall see how people feel three months from now, when Bush is no where to be blamed.

So, I apologize for gettin´all politicall...but, I needed to rant. I am done now. Hopefully my next entry will be a little funnier..why am I being a Debbie Downer all of a sudden? Sorry guys.

Miss ya all!
Luv,
me.

Another Cafe Con Leche

So, when it comes down to it, I realized that life in Andalucia has become, well, life.

The vacation is long over, and the struggle to maintain sanity period has faded, so now I am comfortably in my groove of life. Yeah. Thats it.

Essentially, my feelings towards every morning are the same as they would be if I were somewhere, well, anywhere else. I love Spain, do not get me wrong, and I wake up everyday reminding myself of the lucky oppurtunity I have to be here, to live here, and to spend someone elses money here ... but the romanticism of Spanish architecture, the colorful charisma of its culture, the endless array of tapas and vino, have become what is...always.

Its really like an alarm clock, at first the ring is powerful, wakes you up immediately, and you are ready to start your day. After a bit, your body gets used to it, you begin to loath it, ache to hit snooze. But, somehow, finally, you grow to accept it. You begin to recognize its sounds in your dreams, and to sometimes wake up before it, so used to what it does to you. That is where I am with Spain. I know my friends, I know my streets, I know just enough Spanish to get by, and I know that soon enough, it will all be over, my metaphoric alarm clock will break, and I will continue to wake up before it, expecting its casual noise.

After more than two months, the idea that my family is coming excites me beyond measure. The reality, or surreality of it all should be quite the momentous occasion. See, I have grown to know Granada, its context, on my own, so the sudden incorporation of all things good and homey will be quite the pastiche of life. See, its a cut and paste moment, a time when two things so seperate and unrelated will suddenly be one, a dada collage of my experiences. Being alone here has helped me grow up, has introduced me not only to new people and lives, but also to myself. Granted, I haven´t grown too much (well maybe width wise...) but I have realized a little bit more about myself, and my own ability to be: to merely exist as is, without people to define me or history to hold me in place. Don´t get me wrong, once again, its more that I am who I am be it in Chicago or Spain, it just took me two months living half way accross the world to realize that fact. Needless to say, the suddenly reincorporation of physical entities that represent love and care (that means you Sveta and Jenka!) is something that I am really excited to see and know again. After all this independance, it will be quite the feeling to see what my life REALLY is, what I am still and will always be, Liza.


i am excited. so happy. so nervous. and so unbelievably joyous to see the union of my home now, my little nook in the sierra nevadas, with the people who define and refine me, my family.


Sorry, for the deep jibber jabber, its just my feelings right now.

I´ll try to tell a funnier story next time.

Sevilla, Or Really Pretty But Nothing to Do

So, I went to Sevilla.

And it was pretty.

I went to the third largest cathedral in the world, the largest gothic cathedral period.

I went to a plaza that honored all the parts of Spain.

I went to the historic Jewish quarters and took a picture of a statue of Don Juan.

I watched a modern dance performance to ´Such Great Heights´ by the Postal Service.

And I admired the colors of the city, a spectrum of oranges and yellow that stung against the cloudy Autumn skies.

Sevilla was beautiful, a romantic city on the Guadalvivir, sitting pretty as the fourth largest city in Spain. But when it came down to it, it was not too, well busy with things to do. We read our guidebooks, were taken to the most tourist parts, and then found ourselves with a lot of extra time to, sit on the banks? Its the Spanish lifestyle, lots of coffee drinking and sitting. And a siesta. It is now what I am used to and I am a little nervous for when I have to leave and rturn back to a day that doesnt take a four hour break in the middle for a nappy-poo.



All in all, Sevilla was a great city. Filled with unbelievable architecture and colorful culture that can be attributed to the strong Flamenco heart that beats in its chest. The main street was lined with modern, black and white photos of Flamenco dancers, and ever store sold Flamenco related attire. It was a zesty city, one of vibrant spirit and pizazz. It was fun, beautiful, incredibly cheap, and there were Starbucks!

In the end. I enjoyed it. I cannot say I did much, but I love being there and experiencing it.