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!