It's strange to think that I've almost been here a month. The volume of this blog has significantly decreased--but I'm hoping to catch up over the next week or so, when I'll be traveling in Toledo, Segovia, Madrid, and Asturias (northern Spain). We've got a week off before classes start up again and I'm hoping to make the most of it, both in terms of travel and blogging!
Also, I actually have been writing--just not on the blog. I'm going to be a columnist for the Harvard Crimson this semester and have been devoting a bit of time to newspaper-article researching and writing. The column isn't up yet, but will be soon. If you're interested you can read my past and future articles (all opinion pieces) online at http://www.thecrimson.com/writer.aspx?ID=1202985. Just to warn you, I wrote two feminist-y pieces last year that got some readers riled up and so you may run into a handful of angry comments. (If you really like me, you can Google me and see what happens. There's a girl out there who's written an entire web page rebutting my two articles; while I'm flattered and glad to spark discussion, I'm not sure that the articles themselves merit quite so much analysis!)
Anyway, more on Granada to come. I have good stories to share, but my language class' final exam is tomorrow and tonight I need to stop procrastinating (by writing blog posts) and review our grammar. Hasta luego!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
16 September 2007
Hola todos! Sorry for the hiatus from posting. I spent last week getting over culture shock--I was annoyed by Siesta, by all of the graffiti here, and by the lack of vegetable dishes anywhere. After a few days of frustration, though, I got over it and had a great weekend. Which brings me to this blog post...
Things really began on Thursday night, when a group of us from Arcadia (the program that I'm studying abroad with) decided to check out a local bar named Copa Real. We walked in, and it was fantastic: there was Spanish music playing, there was only Spanish being spoken, and the bartender's name was Jesus. After several nights of tapas bars that played The Killers and Shakira, it was nice to go somewhere that felt local. After an hour or two of drinking and dancing, we continued on to a nearby Kabob King (the Moorish fast food influence here) for schwarmas, baklava, and easy conversation till the early hours of the morning.
I took Friday easy--attended class and went to the Post Office, but did little else. After Thursday night, I wanted to stay in, and so my residencia-mate Ali and my friends Noemi and Jason gathered in Ali's room for homemade tinto de verano. (Red wine + Fanta limon = delicious.) They headed out to a botellon, or the Spanish version of a tailgate party minus the sporting event, around one a.m.; I opted for a quieter night of reading and writing.
Saturday I woke up and met the group at 11a.m. for a tour of the Alibaicin. The Albaicin is the ancient Moorish part of Granada, and it is beautiful. I'd gotten so used to the modern, commercial area surrounding Gran Via de Colon, the street that I walk down every day, that I'd forgotten there's a whole part of the city that looks, well, Spanish. The buildings were white and tumbly, with tile roofs. The hill faced the Alhambra and offered views from nearly every plaza. Tucked between the old houses were churches, fountains, and gardens. There were even the ruins of a Spanish bath complex, which as students we were allowed to walk through for free. We explored the hill for nearly an hour before descending, and I'm definitely going to return some afternoon this week and read in one of the high-up plazas.
Saturday night my friend Lauren and I decided to try out a tapas bar that's rather far away from the city's commercial center, but near to our residencia. I walk by it everyday and, despite not looking like much from the outside, is usually crowded. We sat down at the bar and ordered vino tinto and chorizo en vino--both our tapas and our racciones were large and delicious. (A good find!) After we finished eating, we ran into three other girls from Arcadia who were on their way to a flamenco show in a cave... we tagged along, and inadvertently arrived at my favorite thing that I've seen so far in Granada.
Flamenco is amazing. It combines Andulusian, Islamic, and Gypsy cultures (or so says the internet) and goes something like this. In a dimly-lit cave, a man sits on the right of a small stage in a wooden chair, playing a guitar. A strong, masculine-looking woman with flowers in her hair sits next to him, singing mournfully but with determination, punctuating each wail with a clap of her hands or a stomp of her feet. On the stage, a woman with curly black hair pulled back tautly dances--her steps are abrupt and angry, and her expression and hands add nuance to what her feet are trying to say. The whole experience is passionate and mesmerizing. Words really fail to capture it.
From the Flamenco cave, we went to a Salsa bar, where a few locals took pity on us and tried to show us basic steps. After an embarrassing hour or so, we gave up and taxi-ed it home.
Today I had an "intercambio" (language exchange) scheduled with a guy named Antonio. It was fun; we discussed American music and movies, Spanish politics, and why Spanish guys are so frustratingly machisto. (I'm sick to death of the catcalls here; after getting groped a few times, I've become a very unfriendly person. I curse at overly-forward Spanish men in English and trust that they get the gist of what I'm saying. Most of the time they seem to, or at least they back off.) But anyways, Antonio, who was not too sketchy, gave me a ride home on his Vespa! Now I understand that this is a very stereotypical Spanish-guy thing to do, but still: I got to ride on a Vespa! Now I'm back in my dorm, frustrated that everywhere is closed on Sundays and eating a dinner of sliced bread and (the Spanish margarine called) Tulipan.
This week ought to be fun. My plans are: learn some music, visit the herb market, and make it into the Sierra Nevada for an afternoon of hiking with Noe. I feel like I'm finally settling into a life here. Yay!
Things really began on Thursday night, when a group of us from Arcadia (the program that I'm studying abroad with) decided to check out a local bar named Copa Real. We walked in, and it was fantastic: there was Spanish music playing, there was only Spanish being spoken, and the bartender's name was Jesus. After several nights of tapas bars that played The Killers and Shakira, it was nice to go somewhere that felt local. After an hour or two of drinking and dancing, we continued on to a nearby Kabob King (the Moorish fast food influence here) for schwarmas, baklava, and easy conversation till the early hours of the morning.
I took Friday easy--attended class and went to the Post Office, but did little else. After Thursday night, I wanted to stay in, and so my residencia-mate Ali and my friends Noemi and Jason gathered in Ali's room for homemade tinto de verano. (Red wine + Fanta limon = delicious.) They headed out to a botellon, or the Spanish version of a tailgate party minus the sporting event, around one a.m.; I opted for a quieter night of reading and writing.
Saturday I woke up and met the group at 11a.m. for a tour of the Alibaicin. The Albaicin is the ancient Moorish part of Granada, and it is beautiful. I'd gotten so used to the modern, commercial area surrounding Gran Via de Colon, the street that I walk down every day, that I'd forgotten there's a whole part of the city that looks, well, Spanish. The buildings were white and tumbly, with tile roofs. The hill faced the Alhambra and offered views from nearly every plaza. Tucked between the old houses were churches, fountains, and gardens. There were even the ruins of a Spanish bath complex, which as students we were allowed to walk through for free. We explored the hill for nearly an hour before descending, and I'm definitely going to return some afternoon this week and read in one of the high-up plazas.
Saturday night my friend Lauren and I decided to try out a tapas bar that's rather far away from the city's commercial center, but near to our residencia. I walk by it everyday and, despite not looking like much from the outside, is usually crowded. We sat down at the bar and ordered vino tinto and chorizo en vino--both our tapas and our racciones were large and delicious. (A good find!) After we finished eating, we ran into three other girls from Arcadia who were on their way to a flamenco show in a cave... we tagged along, and inadvertently arrived at my favorite thing that I've seen so far in Granada.
Flamenco is amazing. It combines Andulusian, Islamic, and Gypsy cultures (or so says the internet) and goes something like this. In a dimly-lit cave, a man sits on the right of a small stage in a wooden chair, playing a guitar. A strong, masculine-looking woman with flowers in her hair sits next to him, singing mournfully but with determination, punctuating each wail with a clap of her hands or a stomp of her feet. On the stage, a woman with curly black hair pulled back tautly dances--her steps are abrupt and angry, and her expression and hands add nuance to what her feet are trying to say. The whole experience is passionate and mesmerizing. Words really fail to capture it.
From the Flamenco cave, we went to a Salsa bar, where a few locals took pity on us and tried to show us basic steps. After an embarrassing hour or so, we gave up and taxi-ed it home.
Today I had an "intercambio" (language exchange) scheduled with a guy named Antonio. It was fun; we discussed American music and movies, Spanish politics, and why Spanish guys are so frustratingly machisto. (I'm sick to death of the catcalls here; after getting groped a few times, I've become a very unfriendly person. I curse at overly-forward Spanish men in English and trust that they get the gist of what I'm saying. Most of the time they seem to, or at least they back off.) But anyways, Antonio, who was not too sketchy, gave me a ride home on his Vespa! Now I understand that this is a very stereotypical Spanish-guy thing to do, but still: I got to ride on a Vespa! Now I'm back in my dorm, frustrated that everywhere is closed on Sundays and eating a dinner of sliced bread and (the Spanish margarine called) Tulipan.
This week ought to be fun. My plans are: learn some music, visit the herb market, and make it into the Sierra Nevada for an afternoon of hiking with Noe. I feel like I'm finally settling into a life here. Yay!
Saturday, September 8, 2007
8 September 2007
Everyone should consider moving to Spain. Here are three good reasons:
2. Weather and environment. Since we've arrived, it's been 80-90 degrees F every day. The air is dry: I literally have not seen a cloud. Today we took a bus to the Costa Tropical, rock-jumped into the Mediterranean, basked in the sun, and communally decided that study abroad was a very good choice. Should you be more of a mountain than beach person (like me!), there is also Europe's second-highest mountain range and southernmost ski resort within a 10 minute bus ride away.
3. History and stuff. Way back in the day, there was an Ibero-Celtic settlement here (or so says Wikipedia), and the Phoenicians, Carthagenians and Greeks all dropped by to say hi. A succession of people lived here--and then from 1228 to 1492 it was the capital for the Muslim Nasrid Dynasty. In 1492, the Catholic rulers Isabella and Ferdinand took over. All this adds up to a heck of a lot of interesting art and architecture.
So, yeah. Come!
Monday, September 3, 2007
3 September 2007 (and before...)
From 31 August 2007, when I had no internet:
Hola de Granada! I’ve finally reached my “final” destination—that is, I’ll call
I woke up this morning a bit frazzled after a bad day of travel yesterday (I missed my flight and had to reschedule), but after a breakfast of café con leche, delicious fresh fruit, and dried ham I was more than ready to hit the streets.
Which I proceeded to do—via bus tour. It’s touristy, and cheesy, and yeah, the double-decker bus was painted red and purple, and my fellow passengers were Europeans wearing designer sunglasses and half-unbuttoned shirts… but
Which brings me to: I love it here. It’s arid and warm, and the soil is red.
It’s cleaner than
I’ll get back to my bus tour. It wound through streets just outside the heart of the city, first taking us up to see the entrance to La Alhambra and then bringing us back down the hill to a modern, slightly less picturesque part of the city—home to the university where I’ll be studying. Like any good bus tour, it included audio narration, and I learned that there’s a local legend about a girl who lived in the
When the tour dropped me back off downtown, I footed it up into the Albaicin, the Islamic market district. I bought an Horchata (a drink that I love—it’s milky and tastes of Almond) from a street vendor, and when he chatted with me and then kissed me goodbye on both cheeks I was half enchanted and half terrified! I kind of ran away.
My biggest challenge here, I think, is going to be language. I keep slipping into Chinese when I try to speak—or just making stupid, stupid mistakes. Spanish is beautiful, but it’s so much like French and English that I don’t even know how to begin studying: there are no characters to drill, which is what I’d start with when drilling Chinese all summer! I don’t think that we have a language pledge here, but I’m still going to try to speak Spanish as much as I can and not “cheat” by surviving in English, even though that seems like it would be easy here.
Tonight I’m going to a little Tapas bar that I found down the street. Tomorrow, my American classmates arrive and our program begins! I can’t believe that I get to live here for four months. I feel so lucky!
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