As I write this I am sitting at home, in Roseburg, still completely unsure if the last four months of my life actually happened or if it was all a dream. I don't know, when you come home you expect some sort of grand welcome and you expect the world to have stopped or changed drastically. Honestly everything just feels the same.
My last two weeks in Spain passed by in a series of lasts: My last trip up the hill to the Alhambra, my last time running along the river, my last sunny afternoon spent in Garcia Lorca Park, my last night hanging out with my Spanish friends and dancing at Camborio, the last tapa, the last churros con chocolate, the last lunch with my host family...
When you study abroad no one really warns you how darn hard it is to come home. I mean, you look forward to seeing family and friends but it's not the same. Granada became home and I have so many friends and great people and places I left behind. I really do want to see them again in Granada but no matter how much I promise it's always really difficult to know if you ever will really go back. And if you do, will it be the same? Foreign study is like taking a slice of your life and physically moving it and putting it in a different location. So, it makes sense that when you return, you do leave a little bit of yourself behind. I just didn't expect the tears or the profound sadness that would come along with leaving.
Now that I am home, I am happy to be here and looking forward to Christmas and going back to Willamette. But I also am scared I will lose what I learned from Granada. Of course, I am referring to my Spanish but also to the way of life I lived for the past several months. The "no pasa nada" mentality of not taking anything too seriously and of not getting stressed out is something I definitely want to take back with me. But I guess the most important lesson I learned from my time in Granada is to value connections with people above all and to remember that regardless of cultural differences, people are people everywhere.
So if I could sum up the experience in a sentence? The most exhilarating and dynamic period of my life in which I have no regrets and only great memories. Now time to bring a bit of Spain back to the US.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Marruecos
Well I know it´s been a bit since I have written but finally I have something interesting to talk about. I just got back from a world-wind 5 day trip to Morocco which was quite the experience to say the least. I mean, the contrasts between it and Spain are startling, especially considering the distance (or lack of it) between the two. Basically I went without having any specific plans - just a good guide book and an idea of where I wanted to go, with my friend from my school. I am sure my parents don´t want to hear this, but I had a much better time flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants as it were then if I had planned it. I think Morocco does that to you: life is just more chaotic there and rightly so.
Anyway on Friday we took the fast ferry from Algeciras, Spain to Tangiers and arrived in the dark. I had heard stories about Tangiers and have to admit was a little nervous arriving. My book said the hostel was a close walk to the ferry terminal and despite being hassled by a cab driver who told us we would be robbed, we walked off on our own. I´m glad we did - it would have been a waste of money to go with him. As we walked though, the first thing I noticed was the lack of women on the streets. I mean there were a few but they were always accompanied by men and almost all covered, at least with a headscarf. We continued on our way and realized we didn´t know where we were going so finally we asked a waiter outside of a nearby restaurant. Instead of just directing us, he offered to show us the way which made me a little nervous but luckily we decided to trust him because it took several dark and windy streets to reach our hostel which was nice and comfortable enough although I am happy to be back in a country where there are actual toilets and toilet paper. The next morning we wandered around Tangiers for a bit searching for a restaurant. The theme of our trip was to be this: every café we walked by was just filled with men. All sitting at tables smoking and all sitting in chairs facing out the same direction out into the street. This made me a bit uncomfortable to say the least but nothing I couldn´t handle.
Next we hopped a train to Fez, which was a 5 hour ride. We had our own compartment that we shared with a very nice Moroccan family. The daughter could speak Spanish and between her and the mom sharing her bananas and apples and even a sandwhich with us, I felt right at home. It was interesting to watch the Moroccan countryside speed by in a blur of agricultural villages where donkeys seemed to be the main modes of transportation and to actually see the green of grassy fields. Of course, by the time we got to Fez, it was a lot more dry and we were definitely in a big city. Again we just decided to go to the hostel recommened by my guidebook and luckily the owner spoke English (I was getting worred since all the signs were either in French or Arabic). Fez is chaotic and traditional and modern all at the same time. It was just as common to see women in jeans and heels as to see them fully covered or men in robes as men in Armani. The medina is absolutely crazy with 900 unmarked streets and everything from donkeys to Converse shoes to vegetables to turtles on sale. We met an artisan who invited us into his shop and gave us mint tea while he explained the different kinds of carpets and berber symbols to us. I definitely ate my fair share of delicious cous-cous and tajine (vegetable soup) and the mint tea I had with every meal was out of this world. At one point we hiked up to some ruins overlooking the city and just looked down at the madness of it all. Hearing the hundreds of calls to prayer over the loudspeakers of the hundreds of mosques as the sun shone over the snow-capped Atlas Mountains in the distance was surreal to say the least.
On Monday morning we hopped a bus to Chef Chaouen, a mountainside village in the Rif Range famous for its tourism. The bus ride was comfortable enough if you ignored the pit toilets at the station or the women getting sick behind me every 10 minutes or so. I really enjoyed seeing the countryside and I also feel like I actually got to see real Morocco - a country dependent on its agriculture, where there are a large number of people who live in startling poverty. However, everyone I met was extremeley nice and open and interested in getting to know Americans, even if they were just trying to sell me something. I feel like that is something a lot of "more developed" countries have lost: the personal day-to-day contact that reminds us of our shared humanity.
That being said, Chef Chaouen was super touristy but still beautiful. The city is painted white with varying shades of blue in the heart of the Rif mountains. It was a relaxing change of pace after Fez although I can´t help but think if you only came to Chef Chaouen, you would really be missing the real Morocco. After this, on Tuesday morning we hopped on a rather ram-shackled looking bus which sped us towards Ceuta, the Spanish owned city of Morocco. The closer we got to the border, the more resorts seemed to spring up alongside the coastline, almost making me forget I was still in Morocco. At least until I saw mosques and signs in arabic and heard the call to prayer. After crossing the border on foot, I immediately felt like I had been transported to another world.I guess I would say it was one more materialistic at that. All in all, I really enjoyed Morocco, perhaps because at times I felt uncomfortable or a little uneasy.I am glad it was my last major trip because it was so different. For a country and people who have so little, I felt like I was given a lot....
Anyway on Friday we took the fast ferry from Algeciras, Spain to Tangiers and arrived in the dark. I had heard stories about Tangiers and have to admit was a little nervous arriving. My book said the hostel was a close walk to the ferry terminal and despite being hassled by a cab driver who told us we would be robbed, we walked off on our own. I´m glad we did - it would have been a waste of money to go with him. As we walked though, the first thing I noticed was the lack of women on the streets. I mean there were a few but they were always accompanied by men and almost all covered, at least with a headscarf. We continued on our way and realized we didn´t know where we were going so finally we asked a waiter outside of a nearby restaurant. Instead of just directing us, he offered to show us the way which made me a little nervous but luckily we decided to trust him because it took several dark and windy streets to reach our hostel which was nice and comfortable enough although I am happy to be back in a country where there are actual toilets and toilet paper. The next morning we wandered around Tangiers for a bit searching for a restaurant. The theme of our trip was to be this: every café we walked by was just filled with men. All sitting at tables smoking and all sitting in chairs facing out the same direction out into the street. This made me a bit uncomfortable to say the least but nothing I couldn´t handle.
Next we hopped a train to Fez, which was a 5 hour ride. We had our own compartment that we shared with a very nice Moroccan family. The daughter could speak Spanish and between her and the mom sharing her bananas and apples and even a sandwhich with us, I felt right at home. It was interesting to watch the Moroccan countryside speed by in a blur of agricultural villages where donkeys seemed to be the main modes of transportation and to actually see the green of grassy fields. Of course, by the time we got to Fez, it was a lot more dry and we were definitely in a big city. Again we just decided to go to the hostel recommened by my guidebook and luckily the owner spoke English (I was getting worred since all the signs were either in French or Arabic). Fez is chaotic and traditional and modern all at the same time. It was just as common to see women in jeans and heels as to see them fully covered or men in robes as men in Armani. The medina is absolutely crazy with 900 unmarked streets and everything from donkeys to Converse shoes to vegetables to turtles on sale. We met an artisan who invited us into his shop and gave us mint tea while he explained the different kinds of carpets and berber symbols to us. I definitely ate my fair share of delicious cous-cous and tajine (vegetable soup) and the mint tea I had with every meal was out of this world. At one point we hiked up to some ruins overlooking the city and just looked down at the madness of it all. Hearing the hundreds of calls to prayer over the loudspeakers of the hundreds of mosques as the sun shone over the snow-capped Atlas Mountains in the distance was surreal to say the least.
On Monday morning we hopped a bus to Chef Chaouen, a mountainside village in the Rif Range famous for its tourism. The bus ride was comfortable enough if you ignored the pit toilets at the station or the women getting sick behind me every 10 minutes or so. I really enjoyed seeing the countryside and I also feel like I actually got to see real Morocco - a country dependent on its agriculture, where there are a large number of people who live in startling poverty. However, everyone I met was extremeley nice and open and interested in getting to know Americans, even if they were just trying to sell me something. I feel like that is something a lot of "more developed" countries have lost: the personal day-to-day contact that reminds us of our shared humanity.
That being said, Chef Chaouen was super touristy but still beautiful. The city is painted white with varying shades of blue in the heart of the Rif mountains. It was a relaxing change of pace after Fez although I can´t help but think if you only came to Chef Chaouen, you would really be missing the real Morocco. After this, on Tuesday morning we hopped on a rather ram-shackled looking bus which sped us towards Ceuta, the Spanish owned city of Morocco. The closer we got to the border, the more resorts seemed to spring up alongside the coastline, almost making me forget I was still in Morocco. At least until I saw mosques and signs in arabic and heard the call to prayer. After crossing the border on foot, I immediately felt like I had been transported to another world.I guess I would say it was one more materialistic at that. All in all, I really enjoyed Morocco, perhaps because at times I felt uncomfortable or a little uneasy.I am glad it was my last major trip because it was so different. For a country and people who have so little, I felt like I was given a lot....
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