I am in my eleventh month in Spain, including my semester of study abroad in Sevilla 3 years ago, and some things continue to impress me about this country. There are plenty of stereotypes of Spain that generally hold true; macho bravado, passionate vocal exchanges, love of futbol, and a distinctly European fashion sense are all generally characteristic of Spanish culture. What gets left out, and what has struck me recently, is the consistent presence of a particular local culture integrated into Spain’s national traditions. This local culture often blends into Spain’s national character, and can be difficult to distinguish from it. Several distinctly local qualities, however, mark this important difference. Food, music, and language are generally held to be the most defining elements of a culture. I would add to this list a pattern of interaction with or knowledge of the surrounding natural environment. Let me explain.
Food -as so many contemporary students, academics, activists, and ordinary eaters are recognizing- tells a lot about a group of people and their culture. Where the food comes from, the agriculture behind it, the systems of cultivation, harvest, and distribution, the processes behind eating… these are forces that drive and ground economic and social organization. It also says a great deal about their views and traditions regarding natural surroundings, ecology, and landscape.
While there are plenty of nationally typical food types and sources, each region of Spain has a particular taste. This taste is defined, generally, by what is locally available: coastal cities and towns specialize in seafood, dairy regions are known for their cheeses, mountainous regions feast on cured ham from free range acorn-fed pigs. Add to this the omnipresent influence of wine and olive oil, both of which are inherently characterized by their origin, and it seems that every typical Spanish food is closely associated with a place (ignoring, for now, the influx and wide availability of processed and packaged food in supermarkets everywhere). In fact, even in a grocery store, every wine, oil, fruit, vegetable, cheese, or egg is labeled with its origin (either with the country, if imported, or with the Spanish province if domestically sourced).
The other side of the food issue (the first being source and production), also important, is how the food is eaten. Anywhere in Spain, the norm is light breakfasts, big lunches followed by generous siestas, and fairly light dinners. In Granada province, where I am currently residing, free small food portions called tapas are served to compliment any drink (beer, wine, even soda) one might order. Other regions serve tapas for a price. Still others do not subscribe to this stereotypical Spanish style of eating.
Concerning music, each region of Spain has a local take on the traditional Spanish styles. Flamenco guitar, rhythm, and singing are endemic to Andalucía, but this famous style influences music elsewhere in Spain (everything from grunge rock to pop to opera). Musical styles that may seem similar to an outside eye are distinct to a Spaniard. In Cadiz, where I recently attended the infamous Carnaval celebration, music groups dress up to sing original musical satires full of local and national references that are often indecipherable to non-locals. In a recent trip to the Canary Islands, I was lucky enough to listen to locals discuss their particular cultural traditions. Their music, as well as their food, is as distinct from the rest of Spain as the islands’ geographical location. While flamenco shows North African influence in its hand-clapped rhythms and twisting vocal power, Canarian music displays the rhythmic dissonance of Berber singing to the tune of a small stringed instrument (similar to Bolivia’s charango) not found elsewhere in Spain.
As for language, one need look no farther than accents. Regions, provinces, and even towns have their own particular vocabulary and pronunciation. Some drop the “S”, others blur consonants, and still others sing their vowels. Each locality recognizes and celebrates its accent, sometimes (as in Motril) self-deprecatingly. Each locality also has a reputation elsewhere in the region or country. The Canaries, for example, blend the sing-song of African languages with the straightforward pronunciation of the Caribbean to produce an accent unique to Spain.
All of this you can read in a guidebook or travel article. Also readily apparent -and very important to Spain in my eyes- is the consistent knowledge and presence of local and regional histories in contemporary economic activities, arts, and education. What reveals itself more slowly through these obvious elements, though it may be the deepest aspect of a local culture, is the connection to place. Maybe I am especially moved by the comparison to the United States, where the vast majority of residents would be unable to name the watershed where they live, the dominant trees of the area, endemic species, traditionally cultivated crops, or even the cardinal directions.
Spain’s local communities, inundated as they are with video games and pop culture, maintain an impressive awareness of their surrounding landscapes, local agricultural traditions, and situation relative to other populations. One of Motril’s local newspapers is titled after the zone’s watershed, the Gaudalfeo. Children can name dozens of crops cultivated in the area, in addition to various landforms along the coast and in the interior, and can describe the location and characteristics of numerous towns and villages in the area. On the tiny island of La Gomera, in the Canaries, the population maintains an awareness of the historical agricultural methods of terraced grain production and palm tree cultivation. They pay tribute to their ancestors’ abilities to maintain their civilization by using the island’s limited resources in a way that preserves its ecological equilibrium and balances the impact of human economic activities.
My point is not to glorify Spanish culture. As with any Western industrialized society, it has plenty of faults and shortcomings to balance the benefits of modernity. And these aforementioned elements of local culture, which I respect and admire, still lack the depth and breadth that I think is necessary for a more sustainable place-based culture. The distancing of livelihoods and cultures from the specific place that they inhabit is an unequivocally negative effect of modern society. Knowledge of place, through music and food and local history, is essential to a healthy culture. Human cultures have always emerged out of a specific environment and circumstance, and when they lose touch with this place or are transplanted they either adapt or perish. We, as Western civilization, can learn these lessons by looking at our collective histories, by observing the world around us, and by thoughtfully considering both the future we face and the future we want.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Saturday, January 23, 2010
New Years Whirlwind: Italy, Croatia, Bosnia
Planes, trains, and automobiles -in the rain- could be the title of this post. That, and a multicultural whirlwind of language, food, and environment, is the story of our New Years travels. Long-envisioned, planned and scrapped and re-planned, our big trip to Italy and Bosnia finally came to pass. First, though, we shared a small warm Christmas in a packed apartment in Motril, Spain during the rainiest week of the year. ‘Twas a far cry from the white Christmas enjoyed stateside, but full of holiday spirit nonetheless. Being away from familiar settings for important occasions has the positive effect of refocusing that time on the people around you, and we made the most of the company with good food, small gifts, and indoor laughter to warm everything that the heater under the coffee table couldn’t cover. On a related note, warm feet are consistently undervalued as a prerequisite for winter happiness.
In an unfortunate and freakily unusual weather phenomenon, rain practically covered southern Europe during the 3 weeks of our Christmas vacation. So, after hiding from the cold and wet in Spain, we had no choice but to face it during our exploration of Italy, Croatia, and Bosnia. The journey began with a delayed flight, missed train, and language barriers. Before long, however, Jasmina and Jordan (a visiting friend from Raleigh, N.C.) and I were hopping night trains across Italy, passing Milan, Verona, and Venice by in the dark. We passed the night on the cold marble floor of the Trieste, Italy, train station after brushing our teeth in a plaza fountain. Needless to say, it was an exercise in maintaining our positive travelling attitude in the midst of less-than-ideal circumstances.
A series of buses through the gray and beautiful evergreen landscape of Croatia landed us in the capital city of Zagreb. Left with a full day until the next available bus departure, we explored the parks, plazas, and alleys of this quietly regal city. We toasted Jordan’s 23rd birthday with midnight red wine our of paper cups, shortly before our bus crossed into Bosnia. By the time of our arrival in Sarajevo, we had endured more than 20 hours of public transportation in a variety of forms. The power of new places, youthful positivity, and good company prevailed in our hearts though, and we were able to reflect fondly on our journey thus far.
In Sarajevo, we re-united with another travelling pod of ex-pat friends in the apartment of Jasmina’s gracious and hospitable aunt. We got lucky with a break in the rain for New Year’s Eve, joining the masses in the city center for a raucous gathering that included live music, street drinking, and ear-splitting fireworks from every side at once. We explored the boisterous nightlife, finally settling on a pub with a live band doing rock covers of American songs, where we danced into the first morning of 2010.
Although somewhat daunted by a steady cold rain in a city that is normally a winter wonderland in January, we set out to get to know the mysterious and haunting beauty of Sarajevo. As the epicenter of civil conflict in the former Yugoslavia, Sarajevo bears many scars of war. Faces of people, as well as buildings, showed the effect of a long siege and a difficult recovery. Juxtaposed with this painful history, however, was the quiet impressiveness of a city that has been an important cultural capital in Byzantine, Ottoman, and Austrian Empires. “Balkans” in Slavic means “war”, and a history of conflict has endowed Sarajevo with architecture, culture, and collective memory that is as diverse as any in Europe. In one street, I stood on the spot where World War I started with the shooting of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The streets of the old town feature Turkish markets alongside Austrian government buildings, all overseen by the multitude of minarets reaching skyward from Sarajevo’s countless mosques.
The view from a high lookout, of mosques and churches and graveyards and a winding river and houses lining the slopes of the long valley like a quilt, cemented the physical beauty and emotional pull of Sarajevo in my mind. During our time in Sarajevo, we also drove out to the mountainous site of the 1984 Winter Olympics, visited the city’s Sarajevsko brewery, and enjoyed a plethora of home-cooked Bosnian food and Turkish coffee. After a short 4 day visit, we left Sarajevo on a bus through the dramatic landscapes of Herzegovina and Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast. Before catching an overnight ferry to Italy, we spent some time wandering the old town of Split, which includes the well-preserved ruins of Diocletian’s Palace.
Once in Italy, on our train from Ancona to Florence, we observed the rare and unusual view of a snow-covered Tuscany. By the time we arrived in Florence, however, and for the duration of our trip, cold constant rain was back as the norm. We were lucky to find an apartment of young Italian hosts through the travel networking site CouchSurfing. Staying with locals, rather than in a hostel or hotel, is a sure way to introduce some excitement and unpredictability into your stay in a place, and our friendly Italian hosts were true to this maxim. We cooked dinner for a big group of Italians one night, shared stories and trivia questions over red wine, and tagged along on some nightlife adventures around Florence during our 3 nights in the apartment.
Florence, renowned for its artistic history and cultural vibrancy, had plenty of charms even in the rain. With cheap umbrellas and wet shoes, we braved the rain to walk and walk and walk, seeing as much of the city as we could on foot and on a budget. We also visited the nearby city of Siena, Florence’s historical political and social rival, where the feeling of old Europe filled every street and doorway. Our last stop was Bologna, where we enjoyed the free museums and exhibitions that so nicely distinguish a well-established university town. There, as elsewhere in Italy, the amazing pizza and diverse aperitivi (drinks and finger-food buffet) made food a highlight of the trip.
Upon our return to Spain, I reflected on the whirlwind of language, food, culture, and environments that we encountered in our travel. It was a challenge to sort through the chaos of impressions left by such an intense experience, containing as it did 4 countries, 3 languages, and over 45 hours of transportation in its different forms (plane, train, taxi, bus, car, tram, ferry) in the space of 2 weeks. Ultimately, as ever, I am left full of gratitude to be able to pursue such transient experience and to appreciate the people, food, surroundings, and thoughts that I encounter along the way. And again, the excitement of being surrounded by a new language and working to expand my mastery of a few basic phrases only deepens my desire for new languages. After 11 days of this intensity, the familiarity and rhythms of my relatively settled life here in Spain seem almost surreal in their normalcy. But, as always, there is a job to do and a life to live upon any return, and so I do my best to turn my mind back to that world even as this experience remains large in my thoughts.
In an unfortunate and freakily unusual weather phenomenon, rain practically covered southern Europe during the 3 weeks of our Christmas vacation. So, after hiding from the cold and wet in Spain, we had no choice but to face it during our exploration of Italy, Croatia, and Bosnia. The journey began with a delayed flight, missed train, and language barriers. Before long, however, Jasmina and Jordan (a visiting friend from Raleigh, N.C.) and I were hopping night trains across Italy, passing Milan, Verona, and Venice by in the dark. We passed the night on the cold marble floor of the Trieste, Italy, train station after brushing our teeth in a plaza fountain. Needless to say, it was an exercise in maintaining our positive travelling attitude in the midst of less-than-ideal circumstances.
A series of buses through the gray and beautiful evergreen landscape of Croatia landed us in the capital city of Zagreb. Left with a full day until the next available bus departure, we explored the parks, plazas, and alleys of this quietly regal city. We toasted Jordan’s 23rd birthday with midnight red wine our of paper cups, shortly before our bus crossed into Bosnia. By the time of our arrival in Sarajevo, we had endured more than 20 hours of public transportation in a variety of forms. The power of new places, youthful positivity, and good company prevailed in our hearts though, and we were able to reflect fondly on our journey thus far.
In Sarajevo, we re-united with another travelling pod of ex-pat friends in the apartment of Jasmina’s gracious and hospitable aunt. We got lucky with a break in the rain for New Year’s Eve, joining the masses in the city center for a raucous gathering that included live music, street drinking, and ear-splitting fireworks from every side at once. We explored the boisterous nightlife, finally settling on a pub with a live band doing rock covers of American songs, where we danced into the first morning of 2010.
Although somewhat daunted by a steady cold rain in a city that is normally a winter wonderland in January, we set out to get to know the mysterious and haunting beauty of Sarajevo. As the epicenter of civil conflict in the former Yugoslavia, Sarajevo bears many scars of war. Faces of people, as well as buildings, showed the effect of a long siege and a difficult recovery. Juxtaposed with this painful history, however, was the quiet impressiveness of a city that has been an important cultural capital in Byzantine, Ottoman, and Austrian Empires. “Balkans” in Slavic means “war”, and a history of conflict has endowed Sarajevo with architecture, culture, and collective memory that is as diverse as any in Europe. In one street, I stood on the spot where World War I started with the shooting of Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand. The streets of the old town feature Turkish markets alongside Austrian government buildings, all overseen by the multitude of minarets reaching skyward from Sarajevo’s countless mosques.
The view from a high lookout, of mosques and churches and graveyards and a winding river and houses lining the slopes of the long valley like a quilt, cemented the physical beauty and emotional pull of Sarajevo in my mind. During our time in Sarajevo, we also drove out to the mountainous site of the 1984 Winter Olympics, visited the city’s Sarajevsko brewery, and enjoyed a plethora of home-cooked Bosnian food and Turkish coffee. After a short 4 day visit, we left Sarajevo on a bus through the dramatic landscapes of Herzegovina and Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast. Before catching an overnight ferry to Italy, we spent some time wandering the old town of Split, which includes the well-preserved ruins of Diocletian’s Palace.
Once in Italy, on our train from Ancona to Florence, we observed the rare and unusual view of a snow-covered Tuscany. By the time we arrived in Florence, however, and for the duration of our trip, cold constant rain was back as the norm. We were lucky to find an apartment of young Italian hosts through the travel networking site CouchSurfing. Staying with locals, rather than in a hostel or hotel, is a sure way to introduce some excitement and unpredictability into your stay in a place, and our friendly Italian hosts were true to this maxim. We cooked dinner for a big group of Italians one night, shared stories and trivia questions over red wine, and tagged along on some nightlife adventures around Florence during our 3 nights in the apartment.
Florence, renowned for its artistic history and cultural vibrancy, had plenty of charms even in the rain. With cheap umbrellas and wet shoes, we braved the rain to walk and walk and walk, seeing as much of the city as we could on foot and on a budget. We also visited the nearby city of Siena, Florence’s historical political and social rival, where the feeling of old Europe filled every street and doorway. Our last stop was Bologna, where we enjoyed the free museums and exhibitions that so nicely distinguish a well-established university town. There, as elsewhere in Italy, the amazing pizza and diverse aperitivi (drinks and finger-food buffet) made food a highlight of the trip.
Upon our return to Spain, I reflected on the whirlwind of language, food, culture, and environments that we encountered in our travel. It was a challenge to sort through the chaos of impressions left by such an intense experience, containing as it did 4 countries, 3 languages, and over 45 hours of transportation in its different forms (plane, train, taxi, bus, car, tram, ferry) in the space of 2 weeks. Ultimately, as ever, I am left full of gratitude to be able to pursue such transient experience and to appreciate the people, food, surroundings, and thoughts that I encounter along the way. And again, the excitement of being surrounded by a new language and working to expand my mastery of a few basic phrases only deepens my desire for new languages. After 11 days of this intensity, the familiarity and rhythms of my relatively settled life here in Spain seem almost surreal in their normalcy. But, as always, there is a job to do and a life to live upon any return, and so I do my best to turn my mind back to that world even as this experience remains large in my thoughts.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Ramble in Morocco (Travel blog vol. 2)
My most recent vagabond travel undertaking was an independent and somewhat haphazard voyage across the strait to Africa. A group of 2 boys and 3 girls, none speaking the national languages of French and Arabic, we nonetheless set off for Morocco with no hotel reservations, guides, maps, or concrete plans. We had a 5 day weekend, 4 cities in mind, and a lot of faith in the mantra that fate favors those who trust it. From the port city of Algeciras, we ferried over the Mediterranean to our first destination, the morning sun-washed city of Tangier. A cultural, artistic, and geographical crossroads, Tangier greeted us with the bustle and clamor of its port and the resident hangers-on. Once deeper into the city, however, we discovered the quiet beauty of the city with the help of an unofficial guide named Mustafa. He led us through the ancient winding streets of the hilltop medina and Casbah, or castle complex, where such mystical historical figures as Marlon Brando, Jimi Hendrix, and Bon Jovi have lived. Already pleasantly surprised by our relative good fortune thus far, we began the next stage of our journey in the company of new friends.
Thanks to the travel networking site CouchSurfing, we met up with 2 Moroccans who hosted us in their small coastal town of Assilah. In addition to a free place to stay, they also offered us a local’s view of the city, complete with conversations about Islamic culture and Arab youth as well as a tour of the seaside medina. Later, we had the unforgettable experience of riding on a flat 2-wheeled horse-drawn cart along busy highways and across rolling fields to a beautiful secluded beach (Paradise beach, in fact) set among high coastal bluffs. That night, we had the unique and incredible opportunity to go to a traditional Arab bath house located behind an unmarked dour at the end of a dark alley in the medina. The baths consisted of a dressing room, warm buffer room, and a completely tiled steam room where we washed ourselves with buckets of hot water from a continuously refilling reservoir. Morocco was surprisingly cold, especially at night, and the deep warmth of 2 ½ hours in a steam room was a welcome change.
Most excitingly, we had the chance to receive a traditional Hamman massage from the best masseuse in town. The wiry middle-aged Moroccan joined us in the steam room and proceeded to blow our minds with his strength and endurance as he conducted intense full body massages for 7 people in a row. The massage itself was much more than a backrub, and involved yoga-like stretch positions, synchronized inversions, and insane twists and lifts. The masseuse used his body as a tool for opening up our joints and muscles, and the heat, echoing noise, and rhythmic breathing made me lose all sense of relative time or space or position during the intense 15 minutes that I was under his control. The refreshing clean and physical vitality that I felt afterwards stayed with me for days.
From Assilah, we took a train to the bigger city of Fez, overcoming language barriers and transportation setback along the way. With less than 24 hours in the most important city in Morocco (culturally and historically speaking), we made the most of our time. We stayed in a hostel in the heart of the medina, and got a tour from a couple of American Fulbright scholars staying in Fez. They showed us the crowded main streets, winding alleys, markets and mosques of the medina, as well as the un-touristed residential neighborhoods that they had explored. Fez’s medina is the largest intact medieval Arab city, as well as the epicenter of Islamic philosophy and religion for much of its history. The hum of life there, of people and commerce and spirituality, was intoxicating and overwhelming, packed as it was into Fez’s warren of narrow streets and covered alleys.
Our last destination was the small mountain town of Chefchaouen, where we had barely 18 hours to enjoy one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen. Built against the side of a mountain and on the edge of a wilderness preserve, Chaouen’s steep streets led to wall after wall of every shade of blue, with blue doors set in them. Known as the “blue city,” Chaouen’s mosaic of whitewashed and painted streets, alleys, and doorsteps made for a mystical ambiance, somewhere between a traditional pueblo blanco of Andalucia and the extraterrestrial feel of rounded buildings and streets that seemed carved out of the mountain. While our haphazard itinerary actually worked out, and we visited all the towns we aimed for and even made (barely) our ferry on time, I seriously regret that we had so little time in this town.
So, 4 nights and 5 days of vagabond travel in Morocco came to an end with a strange blend of satisfaction with the wonders of the experience, gratitude for our good fortune, physical fatigue from the intensity of the trip, and an aching wish that the amazing trip did not have to end. The beauty of the landscape and cities of Morocco amazed me, as it did when I went there with a tour group in the past. The deepest impression, however, was left by the Moroccan people. Their generosity, positivity, and openness, contrary to their common reputation in Europe, repeatedly moved me. Their devotion, to God and Islam and family and health and traditions, was readily apparent. Their patience, too, with poverty and hardship and each other, was a marked contrast to American attitudes. Finally, the single quality that I admired the most and wish was not so alien to Western culture: humility, before people and life and God. It is often preached, and rarely practiced, but I saw it in the faces and actions and words of the Moroccans I encountered, and it refreshed and inspired me. I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to have such an experience, to be blessed with such luck and good times, but the return to normal life only makes such journeys seem even more surreal.
Thanks to the travel networking site CouchSurfing, we met up with 2 Moroccans who hosted us in their small coastal town of Assilah. In addition to a free place to stay, they also offered us a local’s view of the city, complete with conversations about Islamic culture and Arab youth as well as a tour of the seaside medina. Later, we had the unforgettable experience of riding on a flat 2-wheeled horse-drawn cart along busy highways and across rolling fields to a beautiful secluded beach (Paradise beach, in fact) set among high coastal bluffs. That night, we had the unique and incredible opportunity to go to a traditional Arab bath house located behind an unmarked dour at the end of a dark alley in the medina. The baths consisted of a dressing room, warm buffer room, and a completely tiled steam room where we washed ourselves with buckets of hot water from a continuously refilling reservoir. Morocco was surprisingly cold, especially at night, and the deep warmth of 2 ½ hours in a steam room was a welcome change.
Most excitingly, we had the chance to receive a traditional Hamman massage from the best masseuse in town. The wiry middle-aged Moroccan joined us in the steam room and proceeded to blow our minds with his strength and endurance as he conducted intense full body massages for 7 people in a row. The massage itself was much more than a backrub, and involved yoga-like stretch positions, synchronized inversions, and insane twists and lifts. The masseuse used his body as a tool for opening up our joints and muscles, and the heat, echoing noise, and rhythmic breathing made me lose all sense of relative time or space or position during the intense 15 minutes that I was under his control. The refreshing clean and physical vitality that I felt afterwards stayed with me for days.
From Assilah, we took a train to the bigger city of Fez, overcoming language barriers and transportation setback along the way. With less than 24 hours in the most important city in Morocco (culturally and historically speaking), we made the most of our time. We stayed in a hostel in the heart of the medina, and got a tour from a couple of American Fulbright scholars staying in Fez. They showed us the crowded main streets, winding alleys, markets and mosques of the medina, as well as the un-touristed residential neighborhoods that they had explored. Fez’s medina is the largest intact medieval Arab city, as well as the epicenter of Islamic philosophy and religion for much of its history. The hum of life there, of people and commerce and spirituality, was intoxicating and overwhelming, packed as it was into Fez’s warren of narrow streets and covered alleys.
Our last destination was the small mountain town of Chefchaouen, where we had barely 18 hours to enjoy one of the most beautiful towns I have ever seen. Built against the side of a mountain and on the edge of a wilderness preserve, Chaouen’s steep streets led to wall after wall of every shade of blue, with blue doors set in them. Known as the “blue city,” Chaouen’s mosaic of whitewashed and painted streets, alleys, and doorsteps made for a mystical ambiance, somewhere between a traditional pueblo blanco of Andalucia and the extraterrestrial feel of rounded buildings and streets that seemed carved out of the mountain. While our haphazard itinerary actually worked out, and we visited all the towns we aimed for and even made (barely) our ferry on time, I seriously regret that we had so little time in this town.
So, 4 nights and 5 days of vagabond travel in Morocco came to an end with a strange blend of satisfaction with the wonders of the experience, gratitude for our good fortune, physical fatigue from the intensity of the trip, and an aching wish that the amazing trip did not have to end. The beauty of the landscape and cities of Morocco amazed me, as it did when I went there with a tour group in the past. The deepest impression, however, was left by the Moroccan people. Their generosity, positivity, and openness, contrary to their common reputation in Europe, repeatedly moved me. Their devotion, to God and Islam and family and health and traditions, was readily apparent. Their patience, too, with poverty and hardship and each other, was a marked contrast to American attitudes. Finally, the single quality that I admired the most and wish was not so alien to Western culture: humility, before people and life and God. It is often preached, and rarely practiced, but I saw it in the faces and actions and words of the Moroccans I encountered, and it refreshed and inspired me. I consider myself incredibly lucky to be able to have such an experience, to be blessed with such luck and good times, but the return to normal life only makes such journeys seem even more surreal.
The Travel Blog (vol. 1)
My blog promises, in addition to my rambling opinion writing, some accounts of the travel I undertake while I am here. So, I present the following...
One of the perks of my job is the time commitment. Not only is the program a manageable 8 months, but the hours are light and all contained in a four day work week. So, I go to school Monday through Thursday, teaching until 2 each day and tutoring later in the afternoon to fill time and make money for travel. Coincidentally, free Fridays make every weekend a long one, a potential foundation for a trip of some moderate variety. Many of these weekend trips are regional jaunts to some Andalucían city or other. If you were to pinpoint my location on a map (Motril, Spain), you would notice several things about its geographical situation, including: 1. It is on the Mediterranean Sea (which I can see from my balcony and bedroom window) and 2. It is situated at the base of the Sierra Nevada range, which contains continental Spain’s highest mountain (in the course of an afternoon jog, I can look down on the sunny Mediterranean and a few strides later look up at snow-capped peaks).
In addition to its interesting physical geography, Motril is also well-situated relative to other cities. The closest, and the capital of the province, is Granada. I’ve visited Granada a handful of times, for single days as well as whole weekends, and have really enjoyed the contrast of its international cosmopolitan feel with Motril’s small-town ambiance. Granada has one of Spain’s biggest and oldest universities, with a huge student presence and youthful energy to match. The city’s cultural significance, as the last Moorish stronghold in Spain and the home of the famed Alhambra, combines with its physical beauty to make it a highly-touristed place as well as a haven for Spain’s counterculture. Simultaneously Bohemian, hippy, and traditional, Granada is a melting pot of historical and contemporary cultures, and a fascinating place to have only an hour to the north. My other frequented destination is the port city of Malaga, the southern coast’s biggest. My girlfriend Jasmina lives there, teaching, which is reason enough to visit, but the city also has some appeal in and of itself. Thoroughly modern, Malaga is one of the tourism and fashion capitals of Spain. The hometown of Picasso, Malaga now boasts its own Picasso museum, the centerpiece of a robust arts and cultural scene. Other destinations in Andalucia have included a school field trip to the Sierra Nevada and a day trip to the British enclave and rock of Gibraltar (full of monkeys, see pictures for a thousand words).
There have also been more ambitious travels. The first, in early October, was a 5 day jaunt to Portugal. Taking advantage of an especially long weekend, I rented a car and drove across the Peninsula with some friends, enjoying the Iberian countryside and the nice roads as we zipped along. Our first stop was the beach town of Lagos, on Portugal’s southern coast, home to the cliff-backed beaches, grottoes, and bluffs that characterize the Algarve region. We even made it to the town of Sagres, perched on the Southwestern-most tip of the European continent, and once thought to be the end of the world. Continuing our four-wheeled adventure, I drove up the coast to Lisbon, where we navigated through what was easily the most challenging traffic and streets I have ever encountered (imagine New York City drivers in European streets). But we were able to enjoy the magic of the Portuguese capital, the most underrated in Europe. Colored stone buildings and cobble-stoned streets, combined with trolley cars climbing hills that look out over the broad Tajo River, made Lisbon feel like a cross between San Francisco and Madrid. Getting by on a mix of our Spanish and the limited Portuguese of our Africa-bound visitor Andrew Magill, we were able to deeply and fully enjoy the charming beauty and excitement of Spain’s closest neighbor.
Coming very soon... Morocco
One of the perks of my job is the time commitment. Not only is the program a manageable 8 months, but the hours are light and all contained in a four day work week. So, I go to school Monday through Thursday, teaching until 2 each day and tutoring later in the afternoon to fill time and make money for travel. Coincidentally, free Fridays make every weekend a long one, a potential foundation for a trip of some moderate variety. Many of these weekend trips are regional jaunts to some Andalucían city or other. If you were to pinpoint my location on a map (Motril, Spain), you would notice several things about its geographical situation, including: 1. It is on the Mediterranean Sea (which I can see from my balcony and bedroom window) and 2. It is situated at the base of the Sierra Nevada range, which contains continental Spain’s highest mountain (in the course of an afternoon jog, I can look down on the sunny Mediterranean and a few strides later look up at snow-capped peaks).
In addition to its interesting physical geography, Motril is also well-situated relative to other cities. The closest, and the capital of the province, is Granada. I’ve visited Granada a handful of times, for single days as well as whole weekends, and have really enjoyed the contrast of its international cosmopolitan feel with Motril’s small-town ambiance. Granada has one of Spain’s biggest and oldest universities, with a huge student presence and youthful energy to match. The city’s cultural significance, as the last Moorish stronghold in Spain and the home of the famed Alhambra, combines with its physical beauty to make it a highly-touristed place as well as a haven for Spain’s counterculture. Simultaneously Bohemian, hippy, and traditional, Granada is a melting pot of historical and contemporary cultures, and a fascinating place to have only an hour to the north. My other frequented destination is the port city of Malaga, the southern coast’s biggest. My girlfriend Jasmina lives there, teaching, which is reason enough to visit, but the city also has some appeal in and of itself. Thoroughly modern, Malaga is one of the tourism and fashion capitals of Spain. The hometown of Picasso, Malaga now boasts its own Picasso museum, the centerpiece of a robust arts and cultural scene. Other destinations in Andalucia have included a school field trip to the Sierra Nevada and a day trip to the British enclave and rock of Gibraltar (full of monkeys, see pictures for a thousand words).
There have also been more ambitious travels. The first, in early October, was a 5 day jaunt to Portugal. Taking advantage of an especially long weekend, I rented a car and drove across the Peninsula with some friends, enjoying the Iberian countryside and the nice roads as we zipped along. Our first stop was the beach town of Lagos, on Portugal’s southern coast, home to the cliff-backed beaches, grottoes, and bluffs that characterize the Algarve region. We even made it to the town of Sagres, perched on the Southwestern-most tip of the European continent, and once thought to be the end of the world. Continuing our four-wheeled adventure, I drove up the coast to Lisbon, where we navigated through what was easily the most challenging traffic and streets I have ever encountered (imagine New York City drivers in European streets). But we were able to enjoy the magic of the Portuguese capital, the most underrated in Europe. Colored stone buildings and cobble-stoned streets, combined with trolley cars climbing hills that look out over the broad Tajo River, made Lisbon feel like a cross between San Francisco and Madrid. Getting by on a mix of our Spanish and the limited Portuguese of our Africa-bound visitor Andrew Magill, we were able to deeply and fully enjoy the charming beauty and excitement of Spain’s closest neighbor.
Coming very soon... Morocco
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
