Not a Care in Santander

Monday, May 14, 2012

Feria de Abril- Seville

April 28, 2012

After spending a day in Seville it has become my favorite city in Spain. We couldn’t have had better timing because we were there during Feria de abril. It is an annual festival in April that has been tradition in Seville since 1847. It’s a celebration of the culture including the cattle, bullfighting, family, and flamenco in Andalucia. During the day we got to see many famous monuments in Seville including Plaza de Espana, Cathedral de Santa María de la Sede, Isabel II's Bridge that cross the Guadalquivir River, Plaza de Torros, and Torre de Oro. One of my favorite parts of the day was seeing the beautiful women of Spain around town wearing traditional flamenco dresses, Spanish jewelry, shawls, and flowers in their hair. I was envious of every girl I passed. They looked so beautiful and elegant in their festival attire.

During the night my favorite part was going to the Feria celebration. It was pouring down rain but it didn’t stop us from enjoying the fun. There were tons of circus like tents filled with people and twinkly lights strung between each tent. Sounds of laughter, flamenco music, and the Spanish language poured out of the tents. The city was so full of life and magical. The people gave off vibes of happiness, positivity, cheerfulness, sensuality, and cheer. It reminded me of my younger sister Lane and made me miss her.

I was in heaven when I got a chance to go inside one of the tents and watch men and women dance flamenco to live guitar. The movement of the dresses, the music, quality of dance, the power in their rhythmic stomping and clapping, and the intensity between the leads and follows gave me goose bumps. I crossed another goal off my Spain checklist- watch flamenco dancing. It was even better than I imagined because I got to see the style in its truest form where it was born in the south of Spain. As I checked one thing off my list, I’ve added another. I hope to have an opportunity to travel to Seville again and learn how to dance flamenco.

Cathedral de Santa María de la Sede

Plaza de Torros

Pepe Luis Vazquez Statue

What a macho man

Alex y yo infront of the Plaza de Torros

Girls in flamenco dresses

Torre de Oro

The blurryness adds to the artistic photograph, right?

La Plaza de Espana

Girls in flamenco dresses at La Plaza de Espana
I was very jealous by this point

Me in the Santander section of Plaza de Espana

A young flamenco girl

Luz

Flamenco dancers at Feria de Abril

The lighted arch at Feria de Abril

Thursday, May 10, 2012

There's No Place Like Home- Morocco

Marisol, Alex, Oresta, and Natalie on the Ferry to Morocco

Me on the ferry- First sight of Africa

The second I stepped off the bus in Tanger, Morocco, I thought to myself "I'm not in Kansas anymore." If I could, I would have clicked my heels together and fled back to the hostel in Spain. Getting off the bus was a madhouse and flurry of people grabbing bags, shouting at each other, shouting at us, and heading in all different directions. We had been warned about people pretending to be your friend to get money from you, so when several men stood outside the bus stop following us so they could “show us the city” for a “student price”, we knew to avoid them. In fact it was essential to avoid eye contact with the men on the streets to keep them from approaching us. Although, we did make eye contact with a couple of young guys who we met on the ferry ride who we figured we could trust. Since they were from the area they offered to help show us the beach and the best tourist places to go. We parted ways once we got to the beach and quickly realized it was unsafe for 5 girls to wander a city without the company of a man.

The Moroccan beach was gorgeous with soft sand, a clear blue ocean, and lots of people playing soccer. As we approached the ocean it was apparent that we were not welcome there. Groups of men started walking closer to us and watching us like hawks. It was hot outside and I was boiling but I didn’t dare to take off my jacket because I didn’t want to draw even more unwanted attention to myself. I felt very uncomfortable and very sad at the same time knowing that women don’t have the freedom to enjoy the beach unless they were accompanied by a man.

The whole time I’d been there I was on edge and had to keep my eyes and ears open from all directions. I held on to my purse so tightly that my knuckles were as white and I made my arm go numb. Homeless children would come up to us to try to pickpocket us or beg for money, men would stare at us, whistle, yell things, grab their crotches, and sometimes follow us. I have never felt so unsafe or harassed in my life.

For lunch we went to an authentic Moroccan café along the boardwalk. I ordered couscous with chicken. It was wonderful, and one of the few things I enjoyed about the experience. We sat at a table beside the sidewalk which was a huge mistake because crazy drunk men from the sidewalk would try to charge our table to get close to us. I’m not sure what they were trying to accomplish- stealing our purses, touching us, taking our food, or trying to haggle us but I didn’t want to find out. I was so appreciative of our waiter who stopped them and did everything he could to protect us. He pushed many men away from us, kept them from bothering us, and made sure we were safe. It was so bad and he was so embarrassed by the actions of these pedestrians that he told us lunch was on the house.

One place I did feel safe in Morocco were the street of vendors in Morocco. Most of them could speak English and they were respectful and kind towards us, mostly because they knew we had something they wanted- money. In morocco there isn’t a set price for anything and you have to haggle for prices. My favorite vendor was a man who reminded me of a character straight from the Disney movie Aladdin because he wore an outfit to fit the part. He showed us some scarves and insisted we look at every one. He would admire his products by saying “Very nice. Wow! Wow!” with so much enthusiasm in his funny accent.

Oresta infront of one of the church doors

The walk back to the bus station was hard and exhausting. I was tired and over stimulated by the entire experience because I had to watch my back at all times. The bus station only escalated it because we couldn’t figure out which bus to take, people were coming at us trying to haggle us from every direction, the bus station workers weren’t helpful, it was extremely hot, and I felt like I could have been kidnapped at any second. I was feeling overwhelmed from the culture shock.

When I got on the bus, I cride the whole ride home. Morocco was a beautiful place but I absolutely hated being there. I felt overwhelmed, fearful, and unsafe the entire day. It reminded me that not everyone in the world has the same rights, especially women. I can’t imagine what daily life is like for the women of Africa or other parts of the world where women don’t have freedoms, aren’t respected and are considered the property of a man. Through this experience I learned what it’s like to feel unwelcome, like an alien, outsider, to be disrespected, and how to handle myself in a place that’s unsafe. It reminded me how lucky I am to lead a wonderful life in America and have my home away from home in Spain. When we arrived back in Spain I almost kissed the ground with joy. There’s no place like home.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

The night I slept on the Streets of Malaga

April 27, 2012

My friends Natlie, Alex, Oresta, Marisol and I planned a trip to the south of Spain for our 5 day weekend which included Malaga, Sevilla, Granada, and Morocco in Africa. After a late night flight we arrived in Malaga at about 1 AM. We had a bus to catch the next morning to Algercias which left at 5 AM. We decided not to get a hostel because it wouldn’t be worth it for only a few hours of sleep. If I could go back I would have spent that 18 euro for a hostel, but instead I have a great story about the night I slept on the streets in Malaga. Here’s a breakdown of the night:

1:00 AM: We went to the super train station which was more like a mall, movie theater, and restaurant with a train station attached. We found some leather recliner massage chairs in the middle of the mall that we sat on until the security guards kicked us out.

Natalie, Alex, and Marisol in the recliner chairs in the super train station

1:30 AM: Found a hostel that was 18 euro for the night but haggled him down to 10. We decided that a few hours of sleep wasn’t worth 10 euro. In retrospect I would have gladly paid the 18 Euros to begin with.

2:00 We found a set of benches in front of a mall to lay down on. I “slept” for about 15 minutes.

2:45 We got too cold being in the wind so we moved up next to the building where it was less windy. To conserve warmth we all huddled together on the ground in a “cuddle pile.”

3:30 We started hearing static over the intercom of the building at random intervals. Then it turned into heavy breathing which was creepy. After about 5 minutes off that we heard the security guard make farting noises over the intercom and realized they were just messing with us. They told us to leave but we could sleep on another side of the building where other homeless people were. We’re not homeless, just poor travelers!

3:45 We snuck back into the bus station and sat on a bench. I read The Hunger Games because I wasn’t able to sleep in the cold. I felt just like the main character, Katniss, trying to find a comfortable place to sleep with limited resources and out in the cold. Again, we got kicked out by another grumpy security guard.

Sitting on the bus station bench before we got caught. We look fairly happy for how cold we were

Natalie, Marisol, me, Alex and Oresta

4:15 We stood out front of the bus station waiting for it to open. There were several drunk homeless guys out front too who tried talking to us. Thank goodness there were taxi drivers around and a couple in their thirties. I felt more protected. One of the drunken guys had completely lost his mind and was sitting in the middle of the street scooting across the road. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

5:00 FINALY got on the bus and slept the entire 3 hour ride to Algercias. It wasn’t laughing at the time but it’s funny to think back to now. I can guarantee you I won’t be doing that again! Next time I’ll gladly pay for a hostel.

"Pre-blogging" with cafe con leche after a very interesting night

Natalie, me, Marisol

Comillas y Santillana

We took an afternoon excursion to another town in Cantabria to view Villa de Comillas, Gaudi's Capricho, and and Santillana del Mar which is part of El Caminar de Santiago. Here are some pictures:

Villa de Comillas

Gaudi's Capricho

Santillana

Santillana del Mar

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Broadway, Tango and Guggenheim

April 25, 2012

Last Friday I fulfilled one of my goals which was to take a dance class, in Spanish, in Spain! Check, check and check! The first class I took was Broadway. Broadway style of dance usually involves jazz hands, spirit fingers, exaggerated facial expressions and box steps. I’m all for it, but I couldn’t convince any of my friends to come with me. The first 10 minutes of the class certainly fit that description, until the teacher instructed us to grab chairs from the corner of the room. I was a little confused and assumed it was a different technique for stretching. The moment she turned on Christina Aguilera’s song “Burlesque” and told us to let our hair loose, I knew the chairs weren’t for stretching.

On the academic side, I learned how to follow commands in Spanish as she would shout things like “point your toes”, “kick your right leg”, or “turn our head.” On the dance side of things, I learned how to do chair tricks and the technique behind it. It was just what I needed after a stressful week. At the end of class I thanked the instructor and asked when her next class was because I don’t want to miss it. When I approached her she didn’t even let me begin to ask my question before she asked me if I was classically trained. She noticed how graceful my movement is and how I carry myself. It was a wonderful compliment. I was proud of myself for taking a dance class where all the instruction was in Spanish and my ability to follow it with ease. It felt so good to get back into a dance studio use dance as my creative outlet.

After Broadway, Natalie met up with me and we took Argentine Tango. It was a little slow and a little less engaging than Broadway. The elderly couple teaching the class spent the first 20 minutes describing the history of tango and the theories behind it…. Yawn. Natalie and I looked around the room and noticed that everyone came to the class with their boyfriend, except us. Fortunately the instructor and his music assistant took turns dancing with Natalie and I so we weren’t wall flowers the whole time.

The assistant was around my age and his big ego didn’t match his abilities. He was constantly correcting me and belittling me so he could show off his 2 or so years of dance experience.. When I encounter people like this I demonstrate my 12 years of dance knowledge in a tactful way by asking genuine questions using technical dance vocabulary. Because I don’t have this vocabulary in Spanish, I just kept my mouth shut. At one point I couldn’t handle it anymore and felt facetious. I told him that even though I’m not an expert at Tango, I have enough dance experience to know that looking down at your feet the whole time you dance isn’t proper dance technique. He argued that he was watching my feet to make sure they were correct…. Bologna! He would know if my footwork was wrong, because if it was, I would have been stepping on his feet. Besides, when he demonstrated with the female instructor he was staring at the ground. I’m positive her footwork was correct.

On Saturday April 21 I went with Erika, Geoff, Margarita, Natalie, Danielle, and Michelle to the Guiggenheim modern art Museum in Bilboa. It’s about an hour bus ride from Santander. The museum is designed by North American architect Frank O. Gehry.

My favorite exhibits were The Matter of Time by Richard Serra, Mrs. Lenin and the Nightingale by George Baselitz and Installation for Bilbao by Jenny Holzer. Installation for Bilbao was my all time favorite because it brought tears to my eyes. It wasn’t just a painting on the wall to look at. It wasn’t a stand still sculpture. It was an experience utilizing LED lights, poetry, and movement through space. You could pass through the 9 columns of LED lights to stand on the other side of the room that was a deep shade of blue. The columns reminded me of a jail cell. The poem was a variation of Arno which is a body of writing originally composed for an AIDS research project. The poem had lines like “I say your name, I save your clothes, I kiss your lips.” Her intention was to evoke themes of intimacy, death, and loss. I read the poem as it climbed up the columns and trickled back down the other side of the room. It was an extremely moving experience reading the poem, with the lights, in that space and it brought tears to my eyes.