Life in Granada, a bit late
After much fussing and mumbling, I now have internet in certain rooms in the house. It's been frustrating because all my new friends have been talking with their parents and friends daily and I've already forgotten so many things I wanted to tell you!
My house is beautiful. It's right in the center of town where the buildings are old and romantic. The cathedral is right next to me! I can see it from the windows! The buildings come right up to it so it's really hard to see. Spice sellers and gypsies set up camp around it during the day when it's hot. I haven't had a chance to go inside yet, but I will! The streets in this part are narrow and windy and cobbled, opening into bright parks surrounded by little shops and tapas bars. There are palm trees everywhere. I've been taking pictures, I'll post some when I get internet in my room.
Midday it gets pretty hot, but in the mornings and at night it's freezing. We all had to buy gloves. The Granadinos are especially miserable because this is as cold as it gets here. Anabel showed me all the pictures she'd taken when it snowed this winter. There was a sprinkling of snow on the palm leaves. "Mira, hay pocito blanco!" ("Look, there's a bit of white!") I showed her the pictures Katie took of the snow on Shelter Island and she barely believed me. She lent me a fleece bathrobe and I have slippers and big blankets, but I still need to huddle by the heater after a shower before I can stop shivering. They have under-table heaters, which you put under the dining room table with a thick tablecloth to keep your legs warm. Anabel brings the tablecloth all the way up to her chin.
Yesterday with went hiking in Las Alpujarras, a national park in the Sierra Nevadas. From the top, we could see the Mediterranean in the distance. The trail went over mountains and through tiny villages with all-white buildings. It went right through the middle of one stone house that had an old water mill and solar panels. The guide told us it was 800 years old. We stopped for lunch on the steps of a cathedral in one of the larger towns in the taja, which is the Arabic word for a collection of teensy villages in a valley. This village had a cathedral and a bar, where we ordered hot chocolate and sat in the sun. (The hot chocolate here is so thick! It's like drinking pudding.) The whole way, someone's dog followed us. He seemed to know his way, but we all felt bad leaving him alone on the other side of the mountain.
One of the specialties of Granada is a drink called tinto de verano. It's red wine and Fanta. In most places it's only one euro and comes with a tapa. Another specialty is called el sacromonto (a barrio in the city where gypsies live...in caves...this is real. And sometimes they will come up to you in the street and offer a tour of their cave in exchange for a couple euro). Anyway, the tapa called el sacramonto is mashed up lamb brains and bull testiculos on a cracker. What scares me is that when you order a drink you don't get to choose your tapa, they give you "primero" or "segundo" depending on how many drinks you've had. I'll have to keep an eye out.
Nothing happens on Sunday except that the bells in the cathedral ring every half hour. Granadinos sleep until 2 every Sunday. Tonight we're going to get churros y chocolate in the Bib Rambla and then to a bar nearby that offers free salsa lessons. I really like the friends I've made so far and I hope I have some classes with them so we'll stay in touch. Buenas!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
En Málaga, con castilas y lluvia
In Málaga, with castles and rain
The most important difference so far between Spain and America is that Spain is beautiful even when they sky is gray. Lancaster, dressed in gray, might just be the most depressing place on earth. In Málaga, gray isn't dreary; it's mysterious.
Our plane (there were about twenty of us on board) descended in total fog, until a tiny coastline appeared, followed by a modest cityscape, and then by rocky, uneven mountaintops. It looked like a little Japanese watercolor, a city floating in fog.
We had to get cell phones, which was an adventure in itself, followed by a joint effort at making them work. It's in short-hand Spanish. It took six of us half an hour, no joke, to save each others' numbers.
For our "group dinner" our leader Javier took all 65 of us (55 girls, 10 boys) on a brief walking tour of Málaga. We saw a cathedral hidden in twisting streets, which is named El Manco because one of its spires was never completed (a manco is someone with only one hand). He took us to a perfectly preserved Roman ampitheater and medieval fortress, both of which were closed for the night but we could see from the medieval cobbled steps. We passed 19th century apartments, 17th century churches, adorable little taperias. Forty-five minutes later, in the center of a maze of winding streets and alleys, Javier says, "Okay. Is early for dinner, but late for you. Try to find food. Hotel is that way." And he pointed to vaguely where we had come from, and walked away.
This was at 7:30. No restaurants were open. Many didn't even open until 11. Eight of us found a good, cheap taperia and ordered food we thought might be familiar. The best by far was the brie in cranberry sauce, the worst (though still edible) was the "hamburguesita," which we thought would be mini hamburgers but ended up being one small circle of ham on bread. It was really hard to order food, a lot harder than I had expected, even when the menu was in English. But it was only the first night, and we left full and happy, so things can only improve.
Javier had told us if we got lost to ask for el estación del tren or el río. We'd been so turned around in the winding narrow streets we walked in the wrong direction for ten minutes. We had to ask directions three different times. Eventually we found the río (which was a stupid río, hardly any water at all and a concrete island down the center) and followed it until we recognized our street.
Now I'm back in my hotel room, cleaned up and exhausted, but happy. I miss you all very much.
The most important difference so far between Spain and America is that Spain is beautiful even when they sky is gray. Lancaster, dressed in gray, might just be the most depressing place on earth. In Málaga, gray isn't dreary; it's mysterious.
Our plane (there were about twenty of us on board) descended in total fog, until a tiny coastline appeared, followed by a modest cityscape, and then by rocky, uneven mountaintops. It looked like a little Japanese watercolor, a city floating in fog.
We had to get cell phones, which was an adventure in itself, followed by a joint effort at making them work. It's in short-hand Spanish. It took six of us half an hour, no joke, to save each others' numbers.
For our "group dinner" our leader Javier took all 65 of us (55 girls, 10 boys) on a brief walking tour of Málaga. We saw a cathedral hidden in twisting streets, which is named El Manco because one of its spires was never completed (a manco is someone with only one hand). He took us to a perfectly preserved Roman ampitheater and medieval fortress, both of which were closed for the night but we could see from the medieval cobbled steps. We passed 19th century apartments, 17th century churches, adorable little taperias. Forty-five minutes later, in the center of a maze of winding streets and alleys, Javier says, "Okay. Is early for dinner, but late for you. Try to find food. Hotel is that way." And he pointed to vaguely where we had come from, and walked away.
This was at 7:30. No restaurants were open. Many didn't even open until 11. Eight of us found a good, cheap taperia and ordered food we thought might be familiar. The best by far was the brie in cranberry sauce, the worst (though still edible) was the "hamburguesita," which we thought would be mini hamburgers but ended up being one small circle of ham on bread. It was really hard to order food, a lot harder than I had expected, even when the menu was in English. But it was only the first night, and we left full and happy, so things can only improve.
Javier had told us if we got lost to ask for el estación del tren or el río. We'd been so turned around in the winding narrow streets we walked in the wrong direction for ten minutes. We had to ask directions three different times. Eventually we found the río (which was a stupid río, hardly any water at all and a concrete island down the center) and followed it until we recognized our street.
Now I'm back in my hotel room, cleaned up and exhausted, but happy. I miss you all very much.
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