…it’s been a while…

To quote Staind (sans e).  Clearly, I am not the blogging type.  Or, at least, the consistently blogging type.

My internet was sadly out for over three weeks, but of course I have been out of it for far longer.  Since the last time I deigned to record something online, I’ve been to Salamanca, Segovia, Ávila, Granada, Morocco, Santiago de la Compostela, & La Coruña.  This weekend, heading off to Portugal (Lisbon).

I’ll only be in Sevilla for another month or so, and it’s strange to think about.  The whole concept of ‘going abroad’ has been this solid block of time, an entity that one rarely considers in the framework of regular time.  And, considering how it’s been consistently in the 80s and 90s temperature-wise until this week, it’s easy to fall into the mindset that time isn’t even passing here.  Still, the inevitable catches up to us- I’m sitting in my room with the washer (which runs for about 2 hours each time) humming outside, decked out in a sweatshirt and shoes starting to break apart.  Behind me are three midterms, three independent weekend vacations, and questionably improving spanish skills.

Last week I had to register for classes, which I conveniently believed to be the day after the day it was really was.  Disaster ensued, etc.  Another reminder of how life will taste by the time I get back to the US.  The paradox of living without constant stress is that you become complacent, and can’t actually consciously enjoy it.  I suppose now, with 5 weeks left to go, I’ll begin.

In mid-October, I went to Salamanca with Melanie and met up with Sophia.  A grand reunion, or something of the sort.  The city itself didn’t lend itself to its oft-rumored nightlife, mainly because of police crackdowns in the last few years.  Disappointing- I even got carded- what?  Still, the city was the first exposure I had to a Spanish city outside of Andalucia- a bit of a shock, really.  Not every city is rooted in some strange, kitschy antiquity.

Due to my (not-so) newfound laziness, the quality of photos will be lowered a bit… no time to upload them individually onto this site.

The streets of Salamanca.

We visited the Art Deco museum.  I loved the movement in this sculpture.

My inability to do justice to the plaza mayor.

Afterwards, we took a day trip to Segovia.  The main attraction there is the giant Roman aqueduct, which is pretty much a sight to behold.

We also visited the Alcazar, which is apparently what the Disney castle was based on.  However, apparently it was a reconstruction of the original thing.  Disappointing.

Our final day trip was to Ávila, which was definitely my favorite of the weekend.  The entire old city is enclosed within the old city walls, which resemble castle walls.  The inside is very quaint, peaceful, and delicious (yemas!)

The Salamanca trip was my first experience in a youth Hostel.  Strangely, I haven’t been in a room that big since.  This will definitely change in the upcoming weeks.  There were a few … interesting guests who complained/snored/otherwise amused us greatly.  Showers were a bit questionable, but so goes life.

Our next trip was to Morocco.  We decided to go without a guide, which apparently does not happen very often.  Overall, I didn’t find that sans-guide was much of a life-or-death hassle, although it could easily be, I suppose, for people who can’t take any responsibility for… noticing what’s going on around them.  We were in Tangier, a port city very close to Spain.  Upon arrival, a travel agency attempted to cheat us, but we had none of that, and headed to our hotel, which was an actual HOTEL with an amazing view:

I don’t have many photos of the bulk of our trip- which was traversing around the Medina until we were actually familiar with its giant maze.  In general, men screamed “sayonara!” and “konnichiwa!” at me & Melanie at every chance- I suppose Japanese tourists are a commonality.  Still, I wonder what purpose it serves.  I don’t particularly feel compelled to make a purchase, no matter what language they’re screaming at me in.  Then again, it’s just business.  Plus everything else I’m too ambivalent to want to deal with.  The streets were full of men- barely any women were out.  It also made eating out difficult and a tad awkward, since, by nighttime, the cafés are full of men sitting auditorium style and watching football on the television.

On the second day, after making some purchases at a more heart-warming exchange rate, we wandered into a more residential part of the city (probably ill-advised) and found ourselves at a precipice overlooking the port.  Ran into a couple of boys playing around who kept trying to talk to us and wanted us to take pictures.  Eventually, they tried to discourage us from going in further, because, apparently, our new favorite spot coincided with the meeting spot of the local mafia.  Comforting.  Now, I can say I’ve actually seen some form of a mafia and recognized it as such.  … …

Hopefully, after I get back from Portugal, I’ll write a bit about Granada, Galicia, and Lisboa.  For now, looking back at all the trips, it’s almost overwhelming how much I’ve done without actually ‘doing’ anything.  In Sevilla, I’ve reached the point where I feel like a resident (although not really, considering how everyone stares at me).  But we’ll be gone soon, and I wonder what’ll end up sticking with me more- all of these travels dispersed through so many places, things that almost feel routine now whereas I’ll be hard-pressed for any vacation at all back in the States, or my time in Sevilla, banging my head against my desk during classes, eating tapas, going to the film festival, marveling at how the weather continues to dip up and down at will.  I do wish I were accomplishing some more tangible things here, but it seems like a lost cause at this point.  I think, when the time comes, I’ll be relieved to go back to the US.  More than anything else, the biggest difference I’ve noticed between European and American attitudes is their view of identity.  When we couch-surfed in Galicia, our host, Marcos, asked us what nationality we’d think he was if he was on the subway in the US.  We all said that we would assume he was just American, when the obvious European answer would be: Italian.  Even though, ironically, he’s actually Spanish.  Things to ponder, but not actually ponder, because of course we all knew that.  Still, I’m beginning to see the difference between knowing something and understanding why we take those assumptions for granted.  A bit juvenile and precocious, but it’s all I’ve got.

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