hello again

Being in Spain for the month of August has been like finding a good spot on the beach on the hottest day of the summer. When you know the beach is going to be packed you can do one of two things: stay home and forget about the beach all together, or get up bright and early like a good rubberneck does, bring shovels and books, playing cards, a ball and racket, bocci, board games, a guitar, maybe a mouth harp, a stereo if you're not musically inclined, extra sunscreen, an unbroken umbrella if you're lucky, and one of those fold-up reclining chairs that has a cup holder for your beverage. In the case that you find yourself accompanied by all of those outlandish pleasantries at once, you'll first have to bring a sizable cooler filled with a substantial amount of ice to last the whole day and fill it with beer and tinto de verano. At that point, you can hang up your pirate flag, and plan on baking in the sun and goobing around until the tide washes you away or your eyeballs roll back into your head and you're dying of heat exhaustion. From that vantage point, I'm pretty certain that you're living something like a modern day Helios would- as long as you don't plan on setting fire to the Earth. Or, you're probably less like a supernatural sun god than a sun worshipper. Well, even in the case that you run out of cold drinks, you might as well have supernatural powers because that coca-cola-fanta-cerveza-goat's milk guy will come skipping along the beach soon enough to replenish your desires. Everything is within reach and you have everything you need, even though it may not seem like much. At 2 o'clock you're probably sweating heaps of sand and salt and could use a nap or a sandwich or something, but you stick it out. Even in the heat of it all, you have the best spot on the whole damn beach, so there's nothing that's going to get you to leave. That's it, through the heat of mid day, and the rip tide, and those annoying children and old people that throw sand or scream at each other. In any event, big or small, you deal with the heat and the headaches because you know you're in the right place, and you don't complain because there's nothing to really complain about, and you live on nothing because nothing is everything, and you entertain yourself on simplicity and laughter and easiness because that's really what's important. So, it's been kind of like that, except for I never woke up early to go to the beach, or had anything more than a towel and maybe some water; but it felt like luxury because the sun was out and good people were around.

So, we just left Cádiz where we spend almost a month getting to know the people that we worked together with in the hostel and then the guests that flew out before you even got a chance to remember their names and where they were from. The latter usually came first, recognizable by sufficient inbreeding of white Europeans, and I would be the asshole who would call out for people according to their respective country. In any case, before anything else they were people, people of all shapes and sizes, they were travelers, musicians, artists, clowns, statues, students, weirdos, goobers, learners, teachers, bums, lovers, alcoholics, orphans, hippies, stoners, writers, legends, bourgeois, gypsies capitalists and anarchists, bosses and workers, they were dancers and cooks, they were bored and excited all at the same time. And following that they were products of the places they came from: they were italians, germans, russians, polish, swedish, israelis, irish, english, australians, spanish, french, canadians, dutch, portuguese, mexicans, chileans, peruvians, argentinians, north carolinians, alaskans... each one their own twisted individual with some soul stricken story to tell. Sometimes they had been gone so long that you could wipe the nation off their face, and not even they knew how to identify themselves. A name will do. Some were quiet and spent time writing and reading on the terrace, others were more talkative and bought beers all around to make friends and ignite conversation. Some played guitar and when they played it would be humble where no one could hear them, while others played loud in the kitchen for people to dance and sing to. Some guests had a tinge in their eye that read they had been traveling for years and years of their life and nothing was the same. It said, "I am a guest here and in my own home. My home is nowhere and that is where I am going." It was hard getting to know those people because just like their home, you were impermanent.

We got to know a friendly few at the hostel who we spent most of our time with. Everyone had their own planless plan and it was nice for once not to be asked what I'm going to do after college. People barely thought to ask you what you were going to do after this. Because this is it. And if you're not a serial traveler, most people plan to stay until they decide to move on. It has made me feel more comfortable about not really knowing, even though things are vaguely planned out. Because even if you do plan, you’ve got to know there's no guarantee. For instance, finding a place in Istanbul has been a combination of friendly people and less friendly people who lie and assimilate (raise) prices for Americans and don’t trust the Spanish to rent a flat because they simply can't be trusted. Then there’s the whole being female thing, which we will see the consequences of soon enough. Despite it all, we’re on our way to eliminating such inequalities as race, class, and gender so that we can have a place to sleep in Turkey.

Accordingly, I have dropped all my expectations of anything happening or not happening just so I can enjoy the ride. I met some really beautiful people in Cadiz from all parts of the world, and when we left we all smiled and said we'd see each other soon. I said it because I believe it, but others may not have. Why put my name in your book? What for? Don't cry, don't be sad. This is life. It is all fleeting. And they were older and wiser and they knew what they were saying. And they were probably right. But I'm still young and vivacious and I'll eat all the positivity that I want so I don't stomp on my own heart all at once. Cadiz is a beautiful place, which I've been in love with for quite some time. This time, we had our own apartment with a pretty magnificent view of a giant fuck-off church. We were also set across an apartment for old folks, a humbling view of walkers and televisions behind curtains too loud for anyone not to go deaf (unless you already are). Well, odd as it seems, it really made a quite peaceful atmosphere for a good night's sleep, or portion of the night if you include time for dancing with mosquitos and bed bugs.

Here's the view from our flat...

Well, since things are cooling off in Spain, I can finally leave my squishy spot on the beach and head for Eurasia or more specifically Byzantium or Constantinople or Istanbul or whatever you fancy. I choose to call it whichever because at this point it's just another spot on the map that I've never seen before. Until next time... signing off with a quote from Jack and some photos from Cadiz.

"What is the feeling when you're driving away from people, and they recede on the plain until you see their specks dispersing? It's the too huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lea forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies." -JK

Love & miss you all,

Jen

Sunset on the beach, still warm enough to swim

Lots of curls (cristy is somewhere in there)

Cristy taking a siesta on the terrace
us outside casa caracol

Kiss the joy as it flies, to live in eternity's sunrise

The days and, above all, the nights are getting hotter and balmier in Granada. Each and every way you turn you find more skin and more sweat and that means more cool showers and trips to the beach. Even the bugs and lizards stop by to tell you it's way too damn hot to be outside. My only option in this summer's sun is to stay out late and sleep off the heat of noon time; find a pool to sink into and this last weekend the fiesta de San Juan - a celebration that lasted all day and all night on the most beautiful beaches in Spain. (San Jose - Cabo de Gata)

diego, marina, migue, ana

Now, my weeks are filled with "goodbye" parties and one by one, each person I've grown close to this past year will return to their respective homes; places new for some and old for others. We will pick up where we left off or start anew. All with different perspectives and truths and our memories jumbled up in suitcases, backpacks, and sealed tight to never let them escape us. I have my brother's visit to look forward to, and our adventure ahead of us. The plan is Madrid, Barcelona, Paris, Bordeaux, London, Amsterdam. If I don't stay on top of things, we might just sleep through all the morning flights.

Well, unprecedentedly and just as I had imagined it, my exams are over and I can count my days left in Granada on my fingertips and with shaky hands. I knew it would happen this way, I just didn't know how. I suppose that's the one thing you never do. You can always imagine the way things will pan out; the reference point is your own (realistic, idealistic, imaginative, positive, negative). There's really infinite possibilities, but no matter how hard you try, even the best card dealer couldn't tell you which cards he'll lay down next. But damn is it a rush when you come out on top. A royal flush. Here are the faces of mine:

cómo os voy a echar de menos...

Charline

Diego

Maria

Cristy

Flor (and me)

Aaron, Aaron and I (at our fancy program dinner)

Diego and I

And introducing.. Señorito Rumba Rumbo Krathos Peligro Tolón Small

(The fifth addition to our family)

Patio Jam Session

and finally some friends and flamenco

I'm packing up all my stuff and not be able to believe where all the time has gone. Scattered in notebooks and between cracks are postcards and ticket stubs, notes and scribbled pictures; each a piece of a different story that I'll hold onto forever. There's only pasta left in the cabinets and we're out of sugar. My walls are bare just like they were when I got here but have more smudge marks and peeled-off paint. There's Rumba sleeping in my suitcase. I'm debating every other item I pull from a drawer and tying my body in knots to let loose. I look for words to express everything around me and tell people how much I love them and I draw blanks. There's too much love here and too much emotion and change. I'll start talking more about concrete things next time so that I don't spend one more hour staring at a plank computer screen. And so that I stay here right now and enjoy all that I am so damn lucky to have while it's right in front of me.

What luck. What destiny.

Much love,
Jen

rainbows and riding the lifecycle

The other day I went searching for a rainbow. Impromptu really, but compulsory. It was mostly gray out but the higher we climbed the more sunshine there was peering through the clouds and bouncing hopeful light-rays off the misty drizzle. My head was there, in the clouds, and searching in all directions for something that I felt was there but couldn't see. I think that's really where most the beauty in the world lies. We found a wall for climbing, and a ladder too, and all the signs said put down your jacket kid, it's time to get your feet wet. My feet didn't really get wet but they could have; nor did I find my rainbow where most people expect a rainbow to be. The rainbow was actually on a stick and faded from the sun. But I loved it and being with you is like watching the stars illuminate before one's dried-out eyes.

Here is where things get real for those of you who have no idea where I was going or where I went with my story. Here is where I tell you what I did I where I went and all the unforgettable things I saw. And since I'm slow on the whole updating thing it'll probably be a long one..

Well if I had to estimate (and I'm not one for mathematics or time), I'd say a good month(s) ago I decided to take myself on another adventure to visit my pal Sonya in Berlin; with no bitter cold or bitter advice from others' experiences to hold me back. Flore and I hopped on a plane and trudged in all the wrong directions to finally end up at Sonya's warm apartment with German beer and pasta awaiting us. The adventures looked something like this:

Checking out Sonya's new ride she got at a flea market:

Sonya and I singing in the snow:

more yoga (inverse of bikram):

Flore busting a move:


We went to art spaces and huddled in warm cafés, ate turkish food and slid in the snow, ate cupcakes and thai food, toured the city and got a history lesson on foot..

We met lots of spanish speakers and english speakers that found refuge in the diversity of outlets that Berlin's bustling liberal city vibes provide. Not the annoying city vibes though that have you holding onto your fanny pack through the metros of Barcelona and your eyelids waning their delicate trust. It's the city vibe that leaves you feeling small and inspired. Lost and curious to explore. And despite the freezing cold your hands are warm in good company and excitement. Oh and then I ate a German Frankfurter cause I'm cliché and open-minded and it was ridiculously good (thanks to Sonya's help). =]

(Sonya & Flore outside an outdoor market)

Well, I was safe and sound and back in Spain and before I knew it Semana Santa came whipping around the corner like an army of children on Halloween, except these kids and adults came dressed-up affiliated with another breed of fear. For me, it rang American History X and the all haters that brought us the KKK. Here, they're called Christians. Personally, I was just innocently waiting for a pizza to arrive when two hours and this unforgettable procession below my house later, I realized that not only am I not getting my pizza but what looks like a recreation of my worst nightmare is solemnly trotting down my street and I am stuck in casa without food and pretty blatantly shocked. Oddly enough, while i'm snapping photos with my mouth ajar, my Spanish roommates don't really even bat an eyelash. But then again I guess neither do I when I see the Easter bunny laying eggs. I guess we just get accustomed to our own religious traditions. Ours are just more, well, cute..
Here's record of the debauchery:



This happens all day long and all week; some processions more moving than others and a constant solemn drumming ringing throughout the city. I decided one night to go out and see one up close since I heard that it was particularly uplifting. Proved, well, otherwise..

Here's our buddy Jesus on his cross and lots of drunk people swayed from either sickness or upliftedness..

Then, in an effort to escape we somehow got planted and stuck in the middle of the whole ordeal.. With not a street to turn down or up and all the people waiting to watch all the fierce sinners under that big jesus-platform break out in a canter and truck him up into the caves of the Sacromonte.

After hiding in an alleyway for 30 minutes to avoid the fired-up religious hooligans, my roommates and I finally found an escape route to get back home and I spent most of the walk in silent shock of the paranoia that we just mounted ourselves into. More than that, I can't really explain exactly how any of this succeeded nor really exactly how I felt at any given moment. Just for future reference: 1.) if anyone tells you Spain is no longer a catholic state don't listen to them. 2.) If you find yourself in or around or even close to a religious procession a) don't follow it (neither behind or especially in front) and b) don't drink more either.

Then, to further escape the ridiculousness of Semana Santa, my friend Aaron and I decided to take a trip back to hit the beaches of Barcelona that proved to be more wet than the sunny beach weather I had expected (and my cold didn't thank me). However, escaping anywhere is always an adventure and Aaron luckily got to pull in a few skate sessions while we were there.



(mad skills)


Nowadays, I'm every day enjoying every moment as most as I can. Although I can't feel time, I watch it swim past me in quick shutter speeds and turned pages on calenders. When there's no more pages to turn and all the fruit on the counter goes bad I'll finally know that I have to go back. But not because I'm missing burritos or my California-payed education, but because there's a ticket and an expiration date waiting for me. Your life, you then realize doesn't have a point on a map. And although your family occupies a space on that map, it's not always your home. Your family and your home you can create anywhere. I don't know how I fell into things the way I did but I think it's because I always carry my heart and soul with me wherever I go. And put all of them into whatever I'm doing.

The rest of my stories are daily and like almost all of our thoughts: repeat and repeat and repeat. Hopefully I can squeeze a few more of these out before I'm suddenly next to one of you and then our stories will unfold from memories. And then here's to hoping that none of this is a chunk of memories but a part of me and you.

Ginkgo leaves are growing again on all the trees on Gran Via and they tell me Spring is here. It reminds me of all the trees outside my old place in Santa Cruz and how soon they will get bigger and change colors just like they do back home..

happy spring and happy lifecycle to all.

love,
jen

It seems as though receiving news from home often comes needing to have a preface of the passage of time in mind. Prepare yourself for the worst. We take this caution and knowledge of the shortness and uncertainty of life when dealing with losses. Lost jobs and lost loved ones. Lost dogs, lost balances, and minds, and everything in between. The preparedness usually gives way to grievance, sadness, and then toward a more positive perspective if we are large enough to manifest it.

There's a saying in Spanish that goes, "no hay mal que por bien no venga." And if we open our eyes wide enough, we'll see that there are always good/positive things coming out of the negative/bad. I see this in the eyes of our president, with hopes of rebirthing "the better angels of our nature". In the sleepy and newborn eyelids of my new baby sister. The sun that showed her teeth just for a moment today amongst the usual looming clouds. Everything, everything must have two sides.

And the side to this story always has myriad turns too. Most recently, I'm keeping fairly occupied studying for my finals that the university so unreasonably likes to spread over a stretch of almost a month. Long enough to leave me time for a trip to Córdoba to interview some Sephardic Jews for my Anthropology of religion class, sign myself up for a Spanish guitar class, and do various spurts of study sessions commingled with various mingling and hour long coffee breaks.

Well, before all this perspiring, I'll share with you how went my winter break. It wasn't full of putting up Christmas lights or decorating trees, nor lighting menorahs or visiting with family. Not a mom's popovers or pumpkin pie in sight. This one took place in Spain and Portugal. And although the terrain was unfamiliar at best, the sensation of good close companionship is never far out of reach.

Tashy came to visit in Granada first, where we spent a splendor of a week fitting all our puzzle pieces back together in the easiest of ways. It was like playing games made for ages 3+ and before dawn we were rolling under memories and news and laughter over tapas+cerveza like schoolkids.




Then off to Sevilla. We packed our bags and left our baggage behind. Aaron Casey, Aaron Shapiro, Sonya, Tashy, and myself (insert between aaron & sonya):

Sevilla was great. We spent Christmas wandering around empty streets with baby Jesus' everywhere and not a place to go. While we were a majority of Jewish ethnicity, this was nothing new to some. However I had much to miss. With already an nontraditional undertone of the sunny Christmas day, we played it up. Spent the day walking along the Guadalquivir river,

secretly buying each other futile and fruitful gifts,

and ended the night in a boom of bruchetta, an italian pasta feast and bottomless wine to boot. Safe to say that although it was hard sans all of you (fam), it was an original and equally warm festivity. Well from there, after the sad farewell to my bestie, we headed to Portugal, driven by only the beast of all beasts, our true friend, Panda:


Panda brought us through the marshy/wetlands of the empty beachfront in Tavira and Faro...


...Through the ancient city walls of Evora and its neighboring town Guadalupe; where we discovered giant neolithic megaliths, cork trees, grazing animals, and all sorts of hidden treasures

some megalithic yoga..

and a crazy bone church (kid you not)

..and then finally, Panda brought us to Lisbon. The life-force of Portugal. Where we discovered what was reminiscent of of a European San Francisco in all it's hilly, golden gate, friendly danger lived-in sort of glory.

With a little luck of a panda, and Sonya's mad stick-shift driving skills, we made it safe and sound back to Granada. With all our faculties intact, and little pieces of our adventures left trickling down the highways and cities of portugal and spain. And under my belt a grand New Years in Lisbon filled with all you can eat sushi buffet and fireworks on the port.

Well with all this extra given time to "study", the distractions look something like this:

butt-sliding in the Sierras (30 minutes from home)

AND, my new beautiful guitar, gracias a los reyes magos (a.k.a. Santa) (a.k.a. my buddy Diego)

With said time, we (Diego and I) have taken to flamenco guitar classes. Which is amazing and challenging.. and a band of amateur flamenco guitarists accompanied by our new flamenco dancing roommate (Maria) is in the works..

Enough said, while you all are enjoying your constant 70 degree and sunshiny weather, I'm stuck in the cold rain with the rest of Europe in Winter. Despite popular west cost American belief, Winter is in fact a season. And it bites especially in the morning and at night. However, I am withholding my jealousy because I am playing flamenco guitar in Spain. And I walk to school on cobblestone streets. And here there are separate worlds within hiking distances. And sometimes, after a long day of speaking solely Spanish my brain tends to collapse inward. And often, my life seems quite surreal as if I've dreamt it up entirely.

To your lives being waking dreams
And to full rounded positivity

Well, to get these good vibes a kickin, here's Cat with some words of advice:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ha3Rm4MSX-g

much love,
jen

PS.

I also invite you to check out more pictures on my Picasa:
http://picasaweb.google.com/llamsnej

to present

Keeping up is hard. Keeping up with blogs, school work, conversations, people's lives, and I even sometimes find it difficult to keep up with the present moment. It's always a memory before you even realize it was a moment. It's almost 4 months since I've seen the states. And my feet keep planting themselves wherever they can with a fever of animation.

I’ll start with the freshest and most recent of things.

المغرب

Presently, I am recovering from what can most accurately be described as the most magical adventure of sorts to Morocco. I took the trip on somewhat of a whim with my housemates Diego and Charline and friend Aaron. Within the four of us we were fluent in English, French and Spanish, which covered the bases and we got around pretty well. We left from a Spanish city called Algeciras not too far from Granada and took a ferry across the Strait to Tangiers. Where we slept huddled in two combined beds in a room best described as moist, and a Turkish bath to boot (not the luxurious kind). For four euro a night there’s really not much to complain about.

The morning after we made our way to Alciras, a beautiful pueblo on the beach where we shared the same roof with a man called Alibaba, his children, wife, and a couple who didn’t plan to leave any time soon. That night his wife made us a beautiful dinner which we enjoyed huddled in their humble kitchen with her children peeking in simply for laughter’s sake.

View from our window_

Day 3, we took a very unnecessarily long bus ride to Chefchaouen, making various hour-long stops along the way for motives such as a) filling the bus up (and I mean filling up the bus) with imported goods to sell for double the price to tourists and b) la festival de cordero a.k.a. massive genocide of sheep, goats & animals of this type, all cavorting in the streets to buy/sell/who knows what. Luckily we left before the D-DAY on Tuesday.

Here’s us sleeping somehow amongst many a thing as 10 boxes of Pringles on my lap

We spent the next two days in Chaouen, a small city nestled in the Rif Mountains, taking in the charm of colorful shops and restaurants, swirling through a labrynth of homes stacked like blocks on a hill that discover you lost in a ocean of blue and white painted magic.

The “SMALL SHOP” =]

Beautiful view atop the mountains_

The view of the city (other direction)_

Drank lots of Moroccan Whisky (mint tea) and Spanish Rum (rum); ate lots of pastries and cous cous; made lots of “qqquué bonito” remarks and smiles; did lots of negociating and made lots of deals; talked lots of spanish; met lots of people and had lots of gratifying conversations; saw lots of beautiful things, beautiful moments; & etc, etc, etc.

Well, as all moments do, this one hit the pavement and sent us back to Ceuta, back on a ferry, and before I knew it I was watching Africa drift away while Spain was close behind my back. Back into rhythms and responsibilities. And sifting through memories to trace my footsteps back to where I once was.

I didn't leave Morocco feeling like I was more privileged than anyone, or that I'm lucky to live in the highest of the three worlds, where coffee is served hot enough to burn a whole in your wallet and people hold their smiles long enough to receive their tip. Where there is always a quicker way to do things and stopping to watch the sunset is like slowing down when the traffics just speeding up. You’ll get run down if you don’t keep up. And we all know the only time you really get to slow down back home is when you're stuck on the 405.

If Spain counts by 1,2,3’s and L.A. goes by half each numeral, then Morocco is more like 1……….2…………who knows, they might not even get to 3.

Well, I felt like things were slow in Granada, European cities tend to steal that relaxed and intimate limelight. Until I realized that people in restaurants don't smile because they don't get tips. And then I went to Morocco, and maybe a few smiles hid hidden agendas but the rest were pure and screamed truths louder than their speaker-driven five-daily prayers.

“La prisa mata.” Take time. There’s no need to rush.

I can’t complain though. Every place I see is special and different unlike the rest. I am in Spain. Sometimes I close and open my eyes just to realize where I am.

And how beautiful all these gifts are.

Hm. I guess I should backtrack, considering the last thing I said here was that I was going to Italy. Well, if you’ve seen the pictures I sent out, you’ll know that since then I’ve been spending a good amount of time in Granada, made a visit to Barcelona, and spent a weekend in Paris. And if you didn’t know, look into these things..

Well. To make things short and sweet I’ll give you the best, worst, and funniest moments of each. And the rest you can leave up to your imagination, knowledge of big cities’ tourist attractions, and the pictures I left up on Picassa..

Italy. Best was the FOOD and spending time with old friends. Worst was not finding Sonya at the huge train station in Rome. Funniest was the amazing dinner that we had in Bologna at a very fancy restaurant, laughing and eating and drinking and feeling like little kids in quite the bougy atmosphere.

(Florence)

Barcelona. Best was randomly running into this performance piece played out of an old building on La Rambla, the actors appeared from windows and the script was comprised of old Spanish films and music. Oh and the Dali museum. Worst was the prices (double that of Granada). and Funniest probably was not being able to use Spanish because lots of people didn’t speak it.

(Guy who offered to take a picture of us only if he could be in it)

Paris. Best by a landslide was Sigur Rós live at Le Zenith. Breathtaking. However a close second was the Eiffel tower sparkling at night time with Sonya, wine and cheese (for the complete French experience). Funniest – Sonya and I getting lost frequently, pretending like I speak French only to be completely lost with people’s responses, and having amazing random conversations next to historical sites. Worst was losing Aaron at the metro (this seems like a theme).

Whew. Felt like I relived it all just now. I need a nap now or something.

Well, as wonderful and rewarding as all these trips are, I’m always the happiest returning to Granada. Where the fall has rapidly turned into winter (with temperatures upwards of 30 at night) and the Sierras are topped with snow and heavy clouds. My apartment, even without central heating, is warm with the company of friends and my Spanish family.

School at this point is neither boring me nor challenging me. I see it more as a place to meet people and find I’ve learned way more in conversations with Spaniards and foreigners than listening to my English teacher ramble about curriculums and “learning to learn”. With an organization as poor as his british-spanish accent. Well, I shouldn’t be terribly negative about it. Here I have one more week until my holiday break, upon which I get to see my best friend in the whole world and go to Portugal. I couldn’t ask for a better gift in the world.

Other than that, keeping things real and thinking about all of you,
Cheers and a happy holiday filled with love love love love love,
Jen