Wandering Feet

We pick up this story on the days leading up to Thanksgiving. I was feeling rather blue because it was my first Thanksgiving away from home. However, my exchange program put on a really lovely feast for us in a fancy hotel. Everyone dressed up and each table of students got an entire turkey to themselves and endless wine. Leave it to the American kids to completely take advantage of this, but spirits were high on what could have been a really tough day to be away from family.

My friend Diego carved the turkey and we had corn, some very odd mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce that I managed to spill on my white shirt (just as Father dearest thoughtfully advised me not to do), stuffing, and apple pie and ice cream for dessert. Not bad, Spain, not bad. Pleasantly buzzed from the wine, two of my friends broke the wishbone and we all announced to each other that we loved each other and wanted to be at everyone’s weddings.

When I came home that night and closed the door to my piso, I suddenly stopped and thought: “Damn, I have some really great friends.” The truth is, I do have a family in Barcelona. I have a big family.

I have my roommates, two boys who I know will take care of me, two boys who have explicitly said that if I ever find myself in trouble, they will drop everything, find me, and bring me home safe.

I have my American friends, who I know will always be there if I need to rant in English and with whom I can share my occasional homesickness. After all, talking about being homesick is the easiest way to make it disappear: because the worst part about being homesick is thinking you’re the only one who has it, when in reality everyone has those feelings.

I have my youth group (mainly Latino immigrants with the biggest hearts ever) and even though the boys drive me positively crazy with their wild dreams to smuggle themselves in my suitcase to go to California, I know that if I ever needed anything, they would go out of their way to help me.

Recently, I have discovered I even have Spanish friends. (!!!) One of the only Spanish guys in my youth group introduced me to his friends and they have taken a real liking to me. In fact, they have kind of adopted me. Finally, a group of people who don’t think I’m just an exotic face that can teach them English: they think I’m smart, and funny, and brash… fuerte is the word that usually follows me, which can either mean “strong” or “shocking.” They like me. We’ve been hanging out for the past month and I’m still excited that I have friends. They invite me to clubs, to their houses for a party, to go shopping, to go the gym… normal friend stuff.

These people are my support system, my rocks when things get shaky in Barcelona. If I fall, I won’t be falling far. This epiphany on Thanksgiving night made me realize I was living the life. After eight years of dreaming about studying in Spain, my dream has become reality and I am thriving.

Cut to the next morning: it was early. Too early to be alive. Too early to be walking forty minutes across town because it was too early to catch the metro to get the first train to the airport. But I was awake and walking forty minutes across town because it was too early to catch the metro to get the first train to the airport. Regardless, I made my way from my barrio (neighborhood) to the train station by foot, from city center to the airport by train, from Barcelona to Málaga by plane, and from Málaga to Granada by bus, where I met up with my former UCSB roomie and buddy for life, Audra.

Audra is studying in Granada for the entire school year as well. Got to give the girl props because she has taken six levels of Spanish in a single year to have the language requirements to study in Spain… and she has learned and improved so much since she’s been overseas. I feel like a proud momma.

Anyway, Granada is a charming city in the south of Spain in a region called Andalucía. Here, the siesta is sacred, especially during their scorching summers when there is nothing else you want to do than sleep the heat away, and everyone is really friendly. The andaluces have interesting accents that take some getting used to: the letters “s” and “d” are often dropped. (Hence the title: Gracias Granada! --> Gracia Graná!) This accent apparently is slightly frowned upon because it has the stereotype of being lazy or unintelligent, but it’s not really the case: they are humble, open, and easy-going people that are really a pleasure to be around.

Granada is known for La Alhambra, a massive hill in the middle of the city that used to be an Arab fortress for thousands of years. Beautiful palaces, a stone fortress, and extensive gardens have been preserved and I knew that it was one of the monuments in Spain that I had to hit up… and I got to hang out with my friend!

Granada is very different from Barcelona. It’s small, very Spanish, and has a very tranquil vibe compared to the rush of the city. Everything is cheaper and the best thing is that all alcoholic beverages are served with a tapa. Tapas can be just about everything under the sun that is edible and bite-sized, but it is usually a piece of bread with meat or cheese on it or a bowl of pickled vegetables. Not all tapas are created equal and everyone knows the local joints where one can get the biggest and tastiest tapas for the best price. A lot of students will make entire meals out of their tapas, simply by getting a drink or two and a plate of tapas. For example, that day for lunch, Audra and I went to her favorite tapería that served a plate of four different types of tapas and a tinto de verano (red wine mixed with lemon/orange soda) for only 2 euros! In Barcelona, I could barely get just the drink for that much!

That day we did a little wandering and even spoke to each other in Spanish. It was kind of weird to speak to my friend in a different language, but it was fun to see how our Spanish had evolved based on the words/phrases we heard in each of our cities. For example, the andaluces use “bueno” to mean “okay” while the Catalans are more likely to say “vale.”

In the newer part of the city, Audra complained how she thought that nature was severely lacking, but I thought it was relatively green. (Really, the only reason why Barcelona has trees is because the engineer who designed the enlargement of the city had the sense to mandate a tree built every 8 meters to keep fresh air in the city.) There were charming little plazas and a river that ran through part of the city.

We wandered around the Albacín and Sacromonte, two barrios that sort of reminded me of the Barrio Gótico of Barcelona… except with hills. There were plenty of windy, narrow roads; some roads were so small that I wondered how cars managed to get up there, but it seemed like that was just a challenge. We had to press ourselves against old stone walls to avoid getting hit by cars navigating these roads.

I was really charmed by the old buildings, blindingly white in the late November sun and covered with ivy and details with Arabic influences. Audra explained to me that when the Christians finally conquered Granada, they tried to equally “take over” the buildings by adding on a bell tower, a symbol of Christianity at the time. This way, it is quite common to see a building with Arabic arches (shaped like mushrooms) and a bell tower tacked on top.

We continued even further back toward the hills in Granada toward Sacromonte. Here, many of the buildings are built directly into the mountainside and many gypsies live there. We walked to a mirador (lookout area) where we were able to see the Alhambra from on the other side of the river. Even from there, it was breathtaking and the atmosphere was very Spanish: I even got to hear some impromptu flamenco music! It was a bit like a bird call, where one man would belt out a few notes and suddenly three more from different parts of the plaza would chime in for a few notes before others would respond with their own call.

I know I keep mentioning that Andalucía and Granada are very “Spanish” and I suppose I must explain: Barcelona and Catalunya pride themselves on being catalán rather than Spanish; their culture is unique. You can’t really see a flamenco show in Catalunya and bullfights are actually illegal. So there. In general, almost everywhere in Spain except perhaps Galicia and País Vasco are more “Spanish” than Catalunya.

Still exhausted from my journey (I had slept only two hours that night and managed to get a little shut eye on my flight and bus ride), Audra and I watched Midnight in Paris and decided we were going to seduce Spanish men and have the four of us rendezvous to Paris for one grand, blurry weekend. It was nice in theory. And then we slept for two hours, dreaming of buttery croissants and the Louvre.

That Friday night, the Granada program was celebrating their Thanksgiving dinner, so that’s how I got two turkey dinners in two days. We started off with tapas, then sat down for a salad, some delicious turkey, and the Spanish go at pumpkin pie. The attempt was much appreciated. After dinner, we went back to Audra’s piso and curled up in bed. Just like old times when we had shared an apartment, we talked in the dark before we decided that we really needed to sleep. It’s good to know that some friendships never change.

The next morning, we were up bright and early to explore La Alhambra. I experienced the most terrifying bus ride of my life as we quickly rounded corners and shimmied along narrow roads. I do believe that the bus drivers in Granada have enough cojones for all of mankind.

Once we arrived on La Alhambra, it became abundantly clear why this had remained a stronghold for years: a deep ravine wound around the steep slope of the hills that offered little chance of an uphill march. Above that loomed a great stone fort that probably laughed at the thousand of soldiers that attempted to conquer the terrain.

We first walked around the Alcazaba, the fort. This is the oldest building on the hill and there is a really lovely view from the highest tower.

After, we went to Carlos V’s palace, built in the 1500s during the Renaissance. It’s an impressive building, but it clashes so terribly with the beautiful Arabic palaces. Rather like spray painting a penguin red and then sending it back to its flock, I would think. (Do not try this at home, kids.)

The Nasarid Palaces, however, took the cake. The Arabs really took into account water and light when building these beautiful palaces that remain jaw-dropping, even without the paint that used to adorn the walls. There were tons of trickling fountains and little aqueducts along the pathways.

What really interested me is that the palace walls and ceilings were highly decorated with carvings, but there were no humans, plants, or animals. The Arabs did not paint any living object, so most of the carvings consist of Arabic characters. It is hard to put into words exactly what I saw… the only thing I can think to say is the geometry of the buildings was beautiful. I suppose that means a lot coming from a person who avoids math at all costs, but what I mean is that the shapes and construction of the buildings really wowed me.

We continued from the palaces to the Generalife Palace and Gardens, which was supposed to be the king’s “escape” from his official/public life in the Nasarid palaces… except I couldn’t help but wonder what he was trying to escape when he spent his kinghood in some of the most glorious buildings in Europe. Pfft.

The gardens were immense and a pleasure to wander around with the autumn leaves and neatly trimmed hedges.

We exited the park and walked down the road to an olive orchard on a hill. We could see the Sierra Nevadas with just a tad of snow covering their peaks.

After, we ventured to an old country house that had beautiful and extensive gardens. Yeah, I could definitely be content living there.

Hungry from walking all morning, we got some paella and natilla (pudding) for lunch along with a generous amount of tinto de verano. With how much we ate, there was nothing to do but take a siesta afterward.

When we woke up, we went shopping for souvenirs and later met up with one of Audra’s friends for tapas in a neat bar. The tapas were massive. People seemed to go to the bar in groups and everyone ordered a drink; along with the drinks came the first plate of tapas. Every round after that got a different plate of tapas and we kept an eye on the plates that left the kitchen to see the sequence of tapas that evening. To keep out of the cold before heading to a club, we went to a tea bar where we enjoyed some té pakistani (chai tea steeped in warm milk).

Our night at the club El Camborio was extremely fun. Lots of dancing, met some interesting people, and had plenty of fun until it was time to go home. A few hours of sleep later, I was all ready to go to the bus station and buy my ticket to take me from Granada to Málaga to catch my flight. But instead, I learned some valuable lessons and spent the night busing across Spain.

Andalucía is a rather poor area, and so the buses fill up fast. Had I had known this, I would have gotten my ticket days prior instead of waiting 30 minutes before departure. Upon realizing that the bus was full and there was no other way to get me to the airport in time for my flight, I went into full panic mode.

“I am literally this close to crying,” I told Audra as we surfed the Internet, trying to figure out my options for getting me back to Barna. Then, a distinctly American voice rang out:

“Now, there will be no tears,” a man said and proceeded to fix everything. His name was Christopher Collins and he was from Texas, in Spain for work. We think. He ended up getting me an amazing discount to cut my bus ticket (from Granada to Madrid, then Madrid to Barcelona) from 47 euros to only 25. It was overwhelmingly kind and so I offered to buy him a drink while we waited for my bus. He ended up paying for everything, which was even nicer. He was a little quirky, but later Audra remarked, “I think he’s just lonely. I mean, he must get something out of helping you.”

So, instead I learned two lessons: always buy your bus tickets 24 hours ahead of time and when the shit hits the fan, there are usually people around to help you clean up.

I managed to sleep on the bus and caught my transfer in time (I had a 5 minute window), arriving in Barcelona-Sants at 6 am. I unpacked, showered, and crashed in bed, consciously deciding to sleep through my first class of the day.

All in all, Granada was super fun: a nice weekend destination, a fun city to walk around, and a great multicultural vibe with the Spanish and Arabic influences. It was also really great to see my friend and we planned our next trip together for December. This is a story for another post, but I will say that we met each other halfway… in Valencia. :)

Wandering Feet

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Barça or Bust

Monday, February 6, 2012

"Gracia Graná!": a Thanksgiving Story