Photo Highlights of Morocco and Holy Week

I tagged along with my co-worker Natasha, the other native speaker at my school, and two of her friends Ashley and Rachel for a weekend in Morocco at the end of March.We had planned on going to Fez but once I saw Chef Chaouen I was sold. The hostal owner talked us into staying two days. Chef Chaouen is an established stop on the dirty hippy backpacker circuit, but for good reason. It is beautiful. All of the buildings are painted white and blue. Plus it is small enough and sincere enough, that you can enjoy the overwhelming generosity of people without fearing much worse than a pushy rug salesman.This is an abandoned mosque on the edge of town. Lower left you see my companions. From the left Ashley, Natasha and Rachel.One of the things that tends to get left out of the whole Muslim-women-head-scarf debate is the fact that many older men still where traditional robes that don't show much more. (And that at least in Tangier many young women where western dress.)The town as seen from the mosque at dusk.Then we went to Tangier, a modern, bustling, diiirty port city, and it was shocking in comparison. I took this picture because I thought the upside down English was funny.But Tangier also had its photogenic side.
The wall of the Casbah, which it turns out just means fortress, and is not necessarily rockin'.

The Bay of Tangier and the port.


Then during Holy Week Johanna and Kelly, my old roomies , came to visit and we headed south for the typical processions in Sevilla. I had this idea that Catholicism had this dichotomy between Carnival and Lent, yet the processions of Sevilla are a solemn Lenten occasion with plenty of party. It can be confusing for an outsider. Once the three of us ended up in this bar packed full of happy drunken people, then suddenly it was empty and everyone was out in the street silently watching a bloody crucifixion pass by. Except for us, we were still in the bar being oblivious and noisy until someone gave us a dirty look.Jesus.The Klan modeled their get up on the penitents in medieval processions, the same costume survives here with its original meaning. It can still be weird for folks from the US though.This one goes out to Lis, and all the other French horn player who had to learn a new instrument for marching band. These bad asses march with French horns.

The whole procession environment ended up being a little intense, and we fled to the beach in Cádiz. It was slightly to cold for the beach, and it was the first times any of us had sun bathed, so we didn't realize we were getting burned. I think on the ensuing train ride to Córdoba we went a little crazy. (Obama advisors note the placement of the accent in Córdoba; he's taking a lot of flack here in Spain for mispronouncing it in the big Cairo speech.)

I enjoy a bocadillo de tortilla y pimiento. Spanish omlette and roasted peppers . Yum. I put this horribly embarassing picture of myself so Kelly and Johanna can't get mad at me for the following:Kelly models salt-water, the best of all hair products. Johanna rocks out on an imaginary bass as part of a game. Kelly shouted a character then took a picture of me or Johanna. I sucked; I always just laughed. Last night in Madrid we went to a tango show at a Café Central.

better late than never: Granada photos

So I left my camera in Granada but I just got it back! Granada was kind of one of those everything went wrong kind of trips. Here I am coming to visit Federico García Lorca's birth place when it was closed.

Then I took pictures of the outside of the Alhambra because I didn't know you needed to get tickets in advance.


A street in a market.



Pomegranates galore. Granada is Spanish for pomegranate.

Felizes festas em Lisboa!

I feel like from now on a longer and longer amount of time will pass between blog entries. Maybe I can stem the tide with a New Year's Resolution.

So I was on the point of taking the apartment with the mamaphobe, but I decided to visit two more apartments, and one of them stuck. So since the beginning of December I've been living with an andaluz, Alberto, and a French guy, Greg. Both are really cool. Alberto does computer animation and Greg is doing a professional exchange at a TV station.

Then a couple of weeks ago I went to Granada, with another auxiliar, Molly for a three day weekend. For some reason it didn't occur to us, three day weekend, everyone will be traveling... hmmm... let's make a hostel reservation. so we wandered around aimlessly looking for a place to stay when finally as a last resort we ended up staying with Molly's ex-boyfriend and his family. They are from Brazil, and amazingly welcoming. It wasn't exactly what I expected but I got some awesome Brazilian food out of the deal. I also saw my cousin Jenna who is an auxiliar down there.

Now I'm in Lisbon. Being an absolute tourist. Today I saw o Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, the most beautiful monastery I've ever seen. Okay as far as I know it's only the second monastery I've ever seen after El Escorial, but it was amazing. I arrived alone but have ended doing a lot with another guy from my hostel. Just as I'm missing home most, the travel gods decided to send me a little bit of Chicago in an unexpected way, this guy Lucio, another Brazilian, who is returning home in a roundabout way from a year working in Chicago. And much as when I got back from Chile I wouldn't talk about anything else, he was really excited to talk Chicago. Unfortunately, as soon as I got here the cold I've been holding back for the past couple days hit me, so I've been going at a pretty slow pace, but that's all right. Lisbon is absolutely beautiful. This hostel, Goodnight Backpacker's Hostel, is maybe the friendliest I've ever been in. So even if I don't see everything it's a good change of pace.

a travel parable

I burnt myself today trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich. It seems like it should be simple, but using a baguette instead of a gringo style loaf bread, and a kind of cheese I´m not used to, and olive oil instead of butter, and a stove I´m still not entirely used to, it quickly got complicated. If on the other hand I had tried to make a bocadillo de jamón serrano...

Finde 2: drums in the park and Toledo

This is a long one so I divided it into to parts to make it easier to digest:

Part 1, Sunday, El Retiro

"There´s something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone," croons Johnny Cash, and he´s right. Especially if your wandering around aimlessly in a city you´re just getting to know. And it´s that first cloudy, breezy day that let´s you know it´s definitely Fall. And everyone seems to be with someone else except you. And you just missed an appointment  to see an apartment that seemed really promising because you hit the snooze too many times.

So I rambled across town to what is at least for the time being my favorite café. It´s called Café Acuarela, and it has this great window that juts out into the street, so that you can people watch shamelessly with a pane of glass to protect you. And it´s just of Plaza de Chueca, "the gay plaza" to put it away I rather wouldn´t, so the people watching is good. Prostitutes with a wide range of gender identities, trendy young  couples of various orientations,  little old abuelas who have lived in the neighborhood since Franco kept these kind of vices in check but don´t bat an eyelash at the new neighbors. Journaled  a little. Read a little. Extremely loud and incredibly close which is phenomenal, and not exactly a pick me up, but kind of is because it makes you feel less lonely because everyone´s at least kinda lonely.

Then I rambled a little farther across town to el Retiro, "the Central Park of Madrid" to put it a way I rather wouldn´t put it.  And I´m midway through the gauntlet of dead white guys when I hear the unmistakable sound of a slap on a hand drum in the distance. Suddenly, my aimless wandering has an aim. I make towards the drum as best I can, indulging in the fantasy that it´s a group of Ghanians playing waka even though I know it´s not that likely. There are a lot of West African immigrants in Madrid, though. Finally I come across a lone drummer practicing with headphones. Slightly, disappointed I look for a bench at a safe enough distance that it´s not awkward, and I  hear another drum. I follow it to an artificial lake where I find another lone drummer banging away on a djembe-like drum, but I hear another drum and I follow that one. It´s more than one drum! I hear multiple parts fitting together in an intelligible pattern. Hand drums, rattles, stick drums. Following a call and response pattern! I dare to dream that it actually is West African, maybe even Ghanian. Finally, I come across a crowd behind a giant statue of a man in the fetal position. I climb up on top of a little wall-fence thing too see. They´re Colombians actually, but it´s really cool. The dancers are probably even better than the drumming. I watch awhile and leave satisfied. Go home, make some herbal tea, listen to some Johnny cash, write this and now I feel great.

Part 2, Saturday, Toledo

Okay, now rewind to Saturday, me and José go to Toledo and meet some of his friends. They´re married with kids, but  lot´s of fun. From the left that´s Manolo, a neighbor, Ismael, the co-worker who hooked me up with José, Manolo´s wife Cristina, me of course, Cristina and Manolo´s daughter Irene, and finally Ismael´s wife Ruth with their son Miguel.  I can´t say exactly why, but I really like Ruth a lot. She´s eager to make conversation and patient with my Spanish, but it´s more than that. In the background is the cathedral. Having one Spaniard to show you around is perfect,  but four is a little overwhelming. One of them would be explaining life under Franco, while one of them would be telling me how Queen Isabela sent Columbus to the new world (the one fact about Spanish history most Americans actually know), and someone else explained the difference between a Gothic and Roman cathedral, and someone else pointing out the view of the River Tajo. After a while I think they could tell I had had enough and they all chilled out a bit.

Toledo is magical, and therefore very toursity, but not so touristy that it ceases to be magical. The streets are even smaller than Calle del Codo. Sometimes the houses are built right out over the street forming a sort of archway called a cobertizo. Toledo was the capital until about 1600. It has a Jewish, Muslim, and Christian quarter each very noticeably different. While the Jews and Muslims kept the differences subtle, the Christians went out of the way to plaster huge crucifixes on every building just so it was clear. We´re talking life-sized with Jesus and the whole nine yards.

The irony of the layering of names in a town this old really struck me. One of the synagogues was renamed after the  Jews got kicked out: Sinagoga de Santa María la Blanca or Saint Mary the White´s Synagogue. Never thought I´d see that. Then another thousand years down the road the tourists brought another layer of culture: a vegetarian restaurant on Calle de la Tripería, roughly  Street Where We Sell the Innards of Animals. Yum.  This one-time vegetarian went ahead and tried the blood sausage. It´s not every day that you get to go back to the Middle Ages.

Washingtondcdublinmadrid: or what the hell time is it?

Well, my stomach just woke me up at 1:30 in the morning (that woud be 6:30 pm in Chicago I think) and said, "That was a nice aternoon nap. Where´s dinner?" However, if I´m ever going to get back on track the most I´m willing to give to my poor beleaguered stomach is a midnight snack and a blog entry.

Yesterday evening I completed the epic mulitstop journey from Chicago to Spain. First, I stopped in D.C. to visit Ross. Higlights include: visiting a hipstery bar in a gentrifying neighborhood, getting proselytized by Evangelicals, trying Yuengling (America´s oldest beer), getting proselytized by Scientologists, and playing kickball on the Mall in sight of the Washington Monument. Plus a lot of hauling my entire life all over the place and clinging nervously to my passport.

Then Sunday evening I got on a redeye to Dublin, and barely slept a wink, but I had an 8 hour layover so of course i had to explore. I Stumbled out of the airport, tried to understand the bus system for a second, and then just gave up, took a deep breath and got on the bus everyone else was getting on. On the way back into the airport, I noticed the friendly person in the clearly marked bus information kiosk, but oh well the blindly following strategy worked and got me downtown where I wanted to be. Highlights include: the really old and beautiful Old Library at Trinity College and a cool little cafe I found with my lonely planet (thanks for the lonely planet, Grace). Then back to the airport for the two hour flight to Spain, at which point too much worrying and coffee and too little food and sleep had turned my stomach into a pit of acid.

But yay! I finally made it to Spain. I´m staying with Jose Antonio, the previously mentioned friend of a co-worker at least for the time being, but it´s looking more and more like I´ll stay here long term. I slept an incredible fourteen hours last night, and then Jose Antonio showed around the neighborhood and the downtown area by car.