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En el Palacio de Gaudi--Astorga |
Dear friends,
This post is going to be a bit hair brained-- I'm all over the map today. Too many thoughts to keep track of.
I was feeling especially brave today.
Having cut my hair with a pair of elementary school scissors
and re-inserted an earring into a closed hole—I feel like a new woman.
I have always been an overly cautious person. Constantly worrying.
Afraid of pain, afraid of losing loved ones, afraid of change.
I know I sound gross, but I’m honest.
College lessened this innate fear and worry, but not enough.
When I went to Argentina in January of this year I was an absolute mess. I was
miserable for most of the trip and incredibly ill. I felt as if I had lost my
entire world back home, and that I would be stuck in the abyss of inner city
Buenos Aires for the rest of my life.
I was there for three weeks, more or less.
This is all very laughable now, seeing how dramatic my reaction was, but at the time my fear and
distress was astonishingly strong and real. I know now that what I was
experiencing was a severe yet breif form of culture shock—and I find myself hundreds of
times more comfortable here in Barcelona than I found myself in Buenos Aires.
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En la Casa Panero--Astorga |
I do not think my comfort has anything to do with the
different cities. I want to stress this fact. I know that experience has
provided with better bearings— perhaps less American-ness, and maybe more of an open
mind. I have spent my young life vainly expressing and displaying myself as an “open-minded”
person. How naïve of myself to proclaim such an admirable quality when I had
never really needed to be open-minded in a world so familiar to me.
I just finished reading this fantastic article provided to
me by BCA. The article was in the back of a packet given to the group that
expressed different safety guidelines, directions for what to do when one is
ill, and other more or less “helpful tips” for when one is staying in Barcelona
for an extended period of time.
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En la Casa Panero--Astorga |
“TRAVEL ALERT – leave your tacky togs, instant coffee, and
type-A behavior at home so you won’t be…A Pain In Spain” – Bold black letters
entitle this work but the utterly amusing Gary Smith. After a quick Google
search and some good ol’ fashioned stalking, I found that Smith is actually a
sportswriter for none other than Sports Illustrated, and has been working for
said magazine since 1983. Wikepedia tells me Smith is something of an “hyper-sensitive”
– or rather someone who takes their interviews from simple face value to core,
emotional writing. Apparently Smith’s intuition is something to be admired—however
much I dislike the tad bit of sexism and body bashing Smith unfortunately
included—I found Smith’s article extremely entertaining and hilariously
accurate in regards to the Spanish culture I have so far experienced. Not to mention it was the only piece of “information”
I took to heart when going through my welcome packet.
I mention Smith’s article primarily to express my absolute
shame at being Smith’s “Ugly American” through and through. No matter whom you
are—if you’re not originally from the culture you are currently in, I’m sorry—you
stick out. Period.
I am a young, feminine, female that has often been told I have
an appearance similar to that of a “European”. I used to find that funny—now I take
it as an extreme compliment. I WISH I was a European, I wish I was Spanish.
Truly, not just by heritage (as I am). It is not enough for me to simply wear
my jewelry and let my auburn hair fall around my shoulders as many of the other
Spanish girls do. It is not enough to buy parachute style pants and wear my
purse across my body. It is not enough that I am attempting to master a Barcelonan/
Catalan/ Castellan accent… I am American. I must accept this fact—and not in
defeat! I should be riotous in thanks and gratefulness as I have so suffered
from the safety of my home, my friends, my family—familiarity in general. It is
high time that I am unaware of the waters that surround me; it is time for me
to swim in any general direction and to GET LOST. Although Smith admits to having a mishap or two during his stay in Spain, I feel her spends to much time shaming the reader for being such an "Ugly American"..."don't screw up! Play it cool, 'tranquilooo!'..." is the main theme in Smith's work...when really, you are going to screw up, and you aren't going to be able to play it cool, and you are going to get REALLY sick of hearing people say "tranquilo"...I AM calm.
Furthermore:
It is OK to be lost.
You have to first lose yourself to then find yourself—this is
something I have recently added to my daily mantra(s). It's also okay to screw up and to be an "Ugly American"--this process is necessary. At least that's what I'm telling myself as I wade through the thick Spanish air with my shackles of state side glory.
On another note, I am falling in love with my host family
and the idea of family in general. Happiness is something manifested within but
also necessary to be emulated outward. This house is boiling and bubbling over
with the laughter of a small nieta named Ciza. Soft blonde hair crowns the
angelic two year old face of the granddaughter of my host mother, Pilar. Ciza
brings absolute and pure joy into this house. My host brother Joan and his
petite French girlfriend Yuna are all smiles as they watch this little rambunctious
toddler teeter and yelp at the world’s wonders: shiny forks and pen caps,
coffee tables and crumply family photos. Everything is a mystery to this
beautiful, innocent mind. Beautifully innocent.
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"The Bubble Man" |
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En el Palacio de Gaudi--Astorga |
Pilar’s daughter Barbara is visiting from “The Mountains” as
everyone en casa refers to where she lives. Barbara is magnificently simple—elegant
in every possible definition of the word. She sits quietly and with a subtle
aura that permeates the room. Spanish olive skin is even and youthful as it
climbs up Barbara’s long neck and spreads over her make-up less face. A pile of
thick, night-black hair sits on top of Barbara’s head in a loose bun—tendrils
spilling out from every corner that frames her perfectly proportional face.
White teeth shock and break the pattern of her tan face, and almond shaped
hazel eyes dawn the tiara of vision on Barbara.
I openly laugh as I write this description —lesbihonest,
right?
In all seriousness, more than Barbara’s physical beauty I am
in awe of her tranquility and softness, and the stunning nature of her
relationship with her little cherub of a daughter. This is all I could ever
want for my own life: an admirable demeanor, tranquility in my life—surely from
happiness and love, and child to love so far beyond my current capacities.
How beautiful is Spain, how beautiful is Spain.
Until next time,
Besos
--A