I can’t even write this without crying. My host mom told she is sad now, that our time is very short. Every thing reminds me – the orange trees and smell of their flowers on the evening walks home, the ever-lasting Spanish sunshine, the last classes, the few remaining days. All of them say the same thing: the time has come to move on.

This first round of goodbyes will be tough – the people I have come to love will cease to be a part of my life, maybe forever, or at least in the way that they have been these last few months. My friends here, my family. But June brings the hardest goodbye of all. I leave the Alhambra and the olive trees and the wine. Siestas and fiestas and paella and art and history and… I leave a way of being and speaking and loving and living that I don’t think I realized I loved so much until I sat down in that plaza today.

As difficult as it is, I’m trying not to dwell on it too much and just enjoy. One week from today we say goodbye. Every evening is an evening less I have to wander through the orange-scented streets and BE HERE. One week to live the fact that sí, eso es la vida.

¡Cómo de entre mis manos te resbalas!
¡Oh, cómo te deslizas, edad mía!
¡Que mudos pasos traes, oh muerte fría,
pues con callado pie todo lo iguales!
Feroz, de tierra el débil muro escalas,
En quien lozana juventud se fía;
Atiende el vuelo, sin mirar las alas.
¡Oh condición moral! ¡Oh dura suerte!
¡Que no puede querer vivir mañana
sin la pension de procurar mi muerte!
Cualquier instante de la vida humana
es nueva ejecución, con que me advierte
cuán frágil es, cuán mísera, cuán vana…

-Francisco de Quevedo

Tell me of your life, or rather, of your death.
The six months that seemed a mountain of time have reduced themselves to a hill; come June, merely a part of the road already traveled, with more shrinking mountains of other adventures ahead.
There I sat, abundant in time, dying as it passed by.
3 months. Una colina. Except now I can see death scaling. I watch each moment die and anticipate each new death – I have planned them. I have already killed time not yet here.
One by one, this day and the next, weekend by weekend.
June.
A flat surface. An airplane. Away.

It’s been awhile since the last one, and that last one didn’t say much about my life so far. Where to begin…

Since Madrid I have visited Cádiz, Córdoba, and most recently Nerja. Cádiz is the land of Carnaval, greatest excuse to drink on the steps of a cathedral, talk to Spanish people and eat DANK hot dogs and chocolate covered strawberries. We arrived around 6:00 pm Saturday and met up with our bus at 6:00 am Sunday morning, with only beer/wine, food and good stories in between.

Córdoba was also great, although not at all in the same way. Our day in Córdoba included a two-hour lounging session at some Arab baths (including a massage) and a tour of the famous Mesquita/Catedral that Córdoba is famous for. We also spent a decent amount of time in the Alcazar: palace gardens of Spanish royalty – Beautiful! Two cones of ice cream, lots of sunshine and fun pictures… Still, the trip was altogether too short.

And Nerja: two-hour winding bus ride into the province of Malaga, a beach town full of English and German retirees. Two friends and I rented an apartment about two minutes from the beach and spent the weekend cooking for ourselves (a greatly missed ability in these parts), watching the news in English (!), and sleeping in the sand. Please see the last blog for my thoughts on the ocean… It couldn’t have been a better weekend (well, it could have been a little cheaper I guess, but that’s true of most things. At least it was worth every sentimo).

And now? I continue on with what has become a somewhat steady routine: 5 classes total, each of which meets 2x/week; volunteering in an English class at a small elementary school; flamenco classes; meetings with my intercambio; vino tinto; lots of food, bread, and coffee (I tried to NOT drink it this weekend and ended up with the WORST headache both days. I guess there is no going back); and spending my money all too easily on things only my waistline has anything to show for.

This weekend is Sevilla. Dad comes a week from tomorrow with Pam for their two-week tour of the peninsula. I continue to mark one day after another off my calendar of remaining days… occasionally things pass much more happily when you just don’t think about time. I think that’s why the Spaniards are how they are with coming and going – things are just so much less of a hassle and a hustle and a horror when time isn’t such a concern. It makes me chuckle to see all of us American students pulling out our planners and writing every last detail and to-do item despite our life right now: I have at MOST 5 hours of homework every week. And yet we can’t help but be engulfed in our need to organize what we are doing when, with what little we have to do and with so much time. So an afternoon passes and you’ve accomplished very little in the grand scheme of things? Meh, time. It passes. So does everything that must get done, and usually without much worry, ESPECIALLY here. I will worry when I have no choice next year on American soil living on American time. And even then… time passes the same everywhere. It’s only our perceptions of the importance of that passing time that are so different. It’s only now that I realize how intense our perceptions are.

I’m spent for the evening. Despite my return to the world of caffeination, I have yet to get rid of this headache. I promise something more thoughtful and descriptive next time!

¡Besos fuertos para todos!

I watched it, the tide that creeps forward and recedes, the fluid mass that connects this shore with that one, connects these memories with those ones.

My whole body ached to see it.

There was some tranquility in knowing I was a little closer to the people I love, my feet docked in the salt and sand – maybe not in the same ocean but in the same waters; the same world that is always different.

Every time there is another story to add. It’s a good place to keep memories - no matter where I go there it is, always the same rolling waves and peaceful feeling, accepting the stories I tell, and keeping them adrift until the next time we meet. It makes me happy and it breaks my heart: coming and going, being reminded of feelings I once had, of the days when I floated without reason or problem, cradled by time and life and happiness and devastation as they all floated by.

They steep in the adventures we are bold enough to reveal- every particle of sand, a volume of one memoir or another, every shell and granule of salt a chronicle of something passed. No tomorrow without today, no now without before…

…always the possibility of a tomorrow without me.

My body still aches.

My two feet planted in the sand.
A gentle breeze.
Waves coming.
Moments going.

In my mind are only thoughts of the sea.

Or so it is said. As of late that hasn’t exactly been the case. The hills of the Sierra Nevadas have been getting a decent amount too and good old Granada has had its fair share of wet mornings and freezing afternoons. Just like home, right? Spain in general is suffering a rather severe winter. Go figure; I packed mostly warm weather clothing. At least we are gifted with the occasional thunder crack and lightening bolts, more than one can say for the rain in Oregon. Winter would be so much more bearable at Willamette if it were a little more exciting. Sunday night was a good night for winter storms here, for the low rumbles and sudden flashes, a good night not to use the blackout blinds or to close the window. I haven’t slept so well in a long while.

Monday morning we took a taxi to the Palacio de Congresos where we caught a bus and rolled through those rainy plains of Spain – the gentle rise and fall of olive trees and occasional vineyards blanketed by grey skies – to Madrid. We left at 9:30 and arrived around 2:30. We spent the evening exploring el museo de la Reina Sofia, where the infamous Guernica by Picasso is housed. If you ever visit, beware of the green exit signs pointing to white metal double doors: they are emergency exits, not to be confused with exhibit exits, and once you pass through them you will find yourself in an emergency exit stairwell and will have to wait for a friend to let you back in, if you are lucky enough to have a phone and know a friend’s number. We stayed in the Hotel Alexandra (the towels had my name on them and everything) and ventured to dinner in a little restaurant very close by.

Tuesday morning we met with a history Professor from Segovia named Eduardo who took us on a short historic visit of just a few of the sites around Madrid, including the palacio real, the plaza mayor and la puerta del sol aka mile zero of every highway in Spain. After lunch, we ventured to el Prado museo and took in hundred’s of classic Spanish art pieces (Goya, El Greco, Velasquez…) and an impressive exhibit of Francis Bacon’s work. We were there for a good 3-3.5 hours and had I not been so tired, could have easily stayed there for several more.

Wednesday brought lots of rain and cold at el escorial, a palace/monastery with a gorgeous library. After that was el valle de los caidos, also freezing and rather awe-inspiring and intense. It was built by Franco after the end of the Spanish civil war and used as a mass burial site for the dead on both sides of the fight. The basilica contains giant robed and faceless statues representing the 50,000+ unknown soldiers whose bodies lie in two rooms of the basilica. The whole monument is built into a mountainside (the stones of which are visible on the inside of the basilica) and shadowed by a giant stone cross that is multiple stories tall and visible from across the valley. The monument happens to be the burial site of Franco as well.

That night we discovered a delicious (and cheap) wrap restaurant across from our hotel, as well as a $2.35 bottle of sparkling red wine at the 24-hr store next door. Word of advice: Madrid = expensive. $2.35 bottles of wine and/or $1.50 40s are the way to go.

Thursday took us to Segovia, probably one of my favorite places thus far. With el acueducto romano, a sweet castle (after which the Snow White castle is designed) and lots of delicious bakeries and cute shops, it was unbelievably easy to spend four hours wandering around. Plus, it was sunny and warm, something we had yet to enjoy during our excursion. That night Taryn and I met up with Haley Rosenthal for a night on the town. We started at a “cave bar” with $10 drinks (cheap, according to Haley) and then moved to a discotec with lots of techno music and even more expensive drinks. It’s a good thing I can dance without being intoxicatedQ Our goal for the evening (at least for Taryn and me) was to be able to ride the metro back in the morning (which opens at 6:00). So after Haley and her girlies left around 4:30, Taryn and I enjoyed each other’s company until we could dance no longer, caught the metro, showered, packed, grabbed breakfast and met the group for the final day of ‘excursión’ in Toledo…

…which would have been beautiful had it not been snowing, hailing, raining and windy as soon as we stepped off the bus. We were troopers after a cup of coffee and, despite the lack of sleep, managed to enjoy several museums and churches (and lunch) before jumping on the bus back to Granada (and sleeping the entire way back).

Today is Sunday and I have a tad bit of a soar throat probably from little sleep and the cold wet weather. It was nice to get out of Granada, to be carefree and wander and learn, but it was even more fulfilling to arrive home Friday night unbelievably happy to be driving through the familiar sites and sounds of this place. You know you’re at home when…. Finally.

I miss things. I was lying in bed Friday night, worn out from week two of Spanish intensivo and week three of “the dream.” I sat reading emails from recruitment, browsing pictures of friends, and anticipating the skype dates that awaited me in the morning. Amidst my kanoodling, I came upon a little known fact: I am roughly 5700 miles away from home. The pictures, the messages, the distance… I was overwhelmed. I was overwhelmed by the distance and how alone I am.

I have never been alone in this way. I sat in bed craving a s’more in front of Arley’s fireplace or an opportunity to facebook chat session with Veah while we sit next to each other in room 1. I needed a what’s-the-deal-with-boys/ Eliza-was-a tragedy-last-night session. I wanted a text message from my little brother or a scrub-worthy Tuesday afternoon with no class and one of Steve’s muffins. I scoured facebook, eagerly anticipating news of new members and updates on all the things 5700 miles of land and water and language separate me from. I started to tear up when it dawned on me that I hadn’t had a bowl of cereal or a cup of green tea in over 20 days… and with that, the last three weeks of fear and excitement, sadness and contentment poured out of me. I shut off my computer and I turned out the light and I stared out the window and I missed things.

I needed the tough moment. I usually do. Saturday was good - I still checked facebook twenty times for news of new girls, but letting the feelings out reinforced the opportunities I have to look forward to amidst all that is absent. I don’t get Steve’s muffins, I get mama’s paella every Sunday afternoon. I don’t get smore’s at Arley’s, I get churros y chocolate at Café Brasilia with Taryn. I can’t do campus tours because ‘tis the time for botellones, discotecas and late nights (well, early mornings actually). And scrub-worthy Tuesdays are actually scrub-worthy Fridays with no class. Nothing is replaced; new things are just temporarily included.

Yes, the ‘mountain’ is quite beautiful from the ‘valley’, more so than I realized while I dwelled upon it. I will continue to stand in awe and in yearning for the heights from which I have descended (to be nice and sappy and metaphorical) and I plan on scouring facebook on at least a (tri)weekly basis to remember the things that await me 5700 miles to the west. Saturday morning, however, found me staring out the window with a slightly different train of thought than that of the night before: its time to enjoy the valley that I have admired from the mountain for so long.

Let me start by saying that my thoughts are very mumble-jumbled and all over the place right now. Amidst the various letters, journals, documents, languages and experiences I have been immersed in these last few weeks, I am having a tad bit of difficulty keeping everything all together. This blog is an attempt to share all this AND put my thoughts together into something understandable, that makes a little more sense than the late night scribbles and poorly conceived spanish conversations I piece together on a regular basis. I hope you enjoy, and I apologize if you get lost. I get lost too, but thats most of the fun :) So lets begin.

“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.”
- Vaclav Havel

It started as it has every time before: the southwest blue skies touching the desert soils and black tarmac, the white wings of jet planes lingering somewhere between the two. Albuquerque to Denver, Denver to Philadelphia, and finally, after months of paperwork and anticipation, excitement and anxiety, one plane after another, it was Philadelphia to Madrid.
7 hours of flight time between one country and another. 8 hours between my real mother and my Spanish one. 80 hours in a Spanish Intensive Course during the month of January, and 6 months between now and the time I will set foot onto any desert soils beneath southwest skies familiar to me, again.

Time. Its heavy on my mind lately. Two whole weeks have passed since I left but many more lie ahead. I don't know which scares me more. The first days were hard; arriving in Madrid alone, unsure and unbelievably tired, I couldn't help but wonder why the heck I thought this was a good idea. The people weren't the friendliest nor the most understanding and I felt VERY much ALONE, in the most uncomfortable of ways. So I slept. I unpacked and repacked. I floated in a myriad of restless thoughts while I tried to bathe away my discomfort. I woke up at 2:00 am and packed some more. Finally, at around 9:00, I checked out of my hotel, made my way to the bus station, and waited to meet the place I currently consider home.

Since, things have improved tremendously. My host mother is AMAZING. She cooks us delicious food, does our laundry, and is the sweetest, most loving señora ever. Taryn and I have very much been included as parts of the family and "Ana Mama" as we call her has made it very clear that it is our house too. School is difficult - my lovely gee (miss you!) asked me how 4 hours of spanish a day were treating me. I had to correct her that its actually 24 hours of Spanish, 5.5 of which are spent in class, lol. I can always tell what kind of a day it will be first thing when I wake up: if my thoughts are in spanish, vale, things will be fine. If not, well, lots of coffee and and a little more work are required. Its getting easier - even though the 5.5 hours of class are resulting in long days and the realization that I need to study A LOT, they have already made understanding and speaking unbelievably better.

Other great things: Tapas are free with drinks here in Granada, something I know I am going to love (and hate when my clothes don't fit anymore) very much and miss when I venture outside the city. Beer and vino is also readily available (Granada has one of the highest bars per capita of any city in Spain. Perfect!). People like to dance ( Taryn and I didn't return until 6:30 am - early in spanish time - from dancing in a discoteca). I get nutella for breakfast EVERYDAY. The list goes on... I would say this whole Spain thing was a GREAT idea after all.

Ok. I need to study copious amounts of spanish grammar/sleep/stop babbling about things I have lots of time to share with you at a later date. In case you care to know, my address is:

Ana López Ruiz
Alexandra Ninneman
Fermín Garrido, 8 - Edificio Brasilia - Portal 1-1°D
18012 Granada SPAIN

Love is always appreciated :)
Un beso, and thanks for your attention despite the rambles!