the attack of the brown earth rat!

So I was looking up my chinese zodiac sign (as the New Year is in a week) and discovered an interesting little something about myself.
Roosters (1981) are:

• Hard-working
• Shrewd
• Bold
• Boastful
• Correct

Ok, I can handle those. I'd like to believe I'm hard-working and shrewd. I suppose I can be a little boastful at times. And I am DEFINITELY correct. Shut up.

Good career choices for us include:

• Restaurant owner
• Publicist
• World traveler

Hmm. Perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something.

Some famous Roosters from the past are:

• Confucius
• Catherine the Great
• Amelia Earhart
• Rudyard Kipling
• Groucho Marx

OMG I was once Groucho Marx for Hallowe'en!

What do you think? Check it out: http://gochina.about.com/od/chinesenewyear/p/ChineseZodiac.htm

upon reflection

On completing my sojourn in Spain, I’ve decided to take some time to look back on my experiences and take down for my own future reference some of the things I’ve learned.

• I can travel with shampoo… or short hair.
• Sometimes, (1) organic and (2) sustainable mean only (1) containing carbon, and (2) able to be upheld or defended.
• One needn’t sand too much rust off of a piece of metal before one can successfully slather paint over it.
• The bus is definitely the way to go in Spain. The train is good, but more expensive than Amtrak.
• The Serranía de Ronda is one of the most impressive places I’ve ever seen.
• There are a lot of Americans out there.
• Good leather work gloves are indispensable on Southern Spanish farms.
• Good leather work gloves are hard to come by in Southern Spain.
• Puedo hablar Español a los Españoles, pero no puedo entenderlo cuando lo me hablan.
• LandRovers are badass.
• And I want one.
• Olive trees are badass.
• And I do not want one.
  
• Hace frio in Andalucía roughly translates to 'What a lovely night to sleep under the stars!'
• Real, folky Flamenco is an otherworldly experience.
• Two weeks in the middle of nowhere can last an eternity.
• Two weeks in the middle of nowhere can be over before you know it.
• Two weeks is a long time to do the same thing.
• Two weeks is not enough time to try all the things that need to be done on a farm.
• Tapas are a great way to fill up on the cheap. Especially when they come free with drinks!
• I will never drive across France again unless I’m with a French person. And we know exactly where we are going.
• It's nice to be home.

PS - More pictures are up from my visit to The Alhambra.

beantown

On Wednesday morning, I walked out of my hostel in Madrid, entered the Metro, and did not stop moving until I arrived, on foot, at the doorstep of the Farm’s house-program in Medford, Massachusetts, nearly 18 hours later.

My friends and former co-workers there generously allowed me to stay the night, inviting me to stay another two days and leave with them on Friday. It was a surprise to walk in the door and run into so many past community members. Several I left at the Farm, and some I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again, but there they were, warmly greeting me with smiles, hugs, and questions about my trip. Had it really been three months? The familiar faces and immediate comfort bridged the three-month gap too well. I need to get back out there!

So, being in Boston for a couple days more than originally planned, I decided to go out and see a bit more of the city. I spent midday Thursday wandering around Harvard, checking out bookshops and sporting goods stores (because I need more crap to lug around in my duffel bag), then headed into town to wander the Boston Common and the Freedom Trail. Before leaving the house I downloaded an audio-tour to my mp3 player (will the wonders of technology never cease?) and equipped with this, I started the popular 2-mile amble through the city. The Freedom trail is basically a red brick path running down the middle of sidewalks, connecting sixteen historical sites in the city. It starts in the Common (originally set aside for the grazing of cattle in the city’s first days), winds through the city’s old North End, and winds up at the Bunker Hill monument, near the Charlestown Harbor where the USS Constitution is moored. Many of the sites are old original buildings, surrounded (or built over) by modern structures of concrete and glass. The trail leads directly past or through some of the sites, with plaques set up by the Parks Commission to impart significance. A fun side note pointed out by my audio-guide: an important spring, just off the trail, is commemorated by a bronze sign on the wall of a building down an alleyway. According to the guide, it was this spring that provided a good deal of the town’s drinking water in its infancy, and without it, the city may well have developed on the other bank of the Charles River. Today, the spring has dried to nothing more than a trickle, which is, ironically, piped directly into the sewer system.

Today, the folks here invited me to go to the Boston Living Center with them. Groups of residents here go into the city for volunteer projects every week and this week’s project was this community center for people living with HIV/AIDS. We left in the morning and spent the day preparing a large dining room for a lunch that is served daily to members of the center. It was great way to fill my time, catch up with acquaintances from the Farm, and meet new people who were also volunteering their time to the Center. The place operates every day and offers free services, such as community meals, informative programs, social activities, and massage to its members. Its volunteer program is an integral part of keeping its costs low and its programs available. On reflection, it just seemed strange but appropriate that I was back in a kitchen, helping to feed a multitude while “just passing through” Boston for a few days.

And tonight, I’m hitting the road again. Ever further West I go, where I stop: I don’t know.

But I have some ideas. Wink!

the alhambra

I got a ticket! I woke before the light and made my way up the hill, behind the hostel to the Alhambra ticket office in the near-dark, avoiding gypsies at every corner. Although it was Monday, and 7:30, I had to take a place at the end of a 50-foot queue. Tickets were already running low by the time I made it to the window, nearly two hours later, and I worried that I would once again miss my chance. As my turn approached the window, I mustered up my hope, nerve, and Spanish skills and said, “Uno, por favor.” And the ticket seller shook her head with a wry smile.

And if you believe that, I have some beach front property in Kansas you might be interested in…

Scoring a ticket was actually a lot easier than I had expected, and had experienced the day before. My wait was probably not even ten minutes and there were plenty available to enter the Nazrid Palace, the Alhambra’s most elaborate edifice, almost right away.

The Alhambra is an ancient Arabic palace. I think it may even be the greatest Arabic palace in Europe. And as they’d done with every Islamic stronghold, the Catholic conquerors promptly turned the place into a Christian bastion,
building a new palace in the center of the fortress, and adding Christian icons to the adornments. Despite this, however, much of the original Arabic character remains and attracts thousands of visitors each day.


On my last morning in Granada, a fog had settled on the city. “Oh, great,” I thought. My chance to see this great monument and stroll through its gardens was shrouded in mist. But I think this only managed to heighten the oriental mystique of the Alhambra.

A great, stone wall, studded with soaring towers, surrounds the entire structure and makes the drop into the forested valley below appear even more sheer.
It was through this hazy forest I had to walk first, before I entered at the Generalife, or Architect’s Garden. But my first destination once inside was the Nazrid Palace.


Here is where most of the Alhambra’s noted wonders are housed. One needn’t go far within, however, to find the elaborate facades that are this place’s trademark. Doorways, windows, and walls are covered in intricately carved limestone. Minute swirls, blocked floral patterns, and Arabic script are tessellated from corner-to-perfectly-proportione-corner. Look up, and see the carved wooden ceilings, gilded and painted in stars and built into cupolas, giving the lower-ceilinged rooms the appearance of loft. From the windows, I gazed out onto the cloud-obscured city far below, as its Muslim, and later, Christian rulers and their guests did for hundreds of years.

Some of the monument was under restoration, so the famed Court of Lions and Sala de los Reyes were not able to be seen in their original splendor. The twelve carved lions that support the fountain at the center of the patio, inspiration to so many past visitors, were in a museum somewhere, meticulously being cleaned and fleshed-out for their return. The painted leather ceilings of the Sala were also blocked from view, by both scaffolding and great shrouds.
Perhaps they, too, had been dismantled and take to another place to be carefully restored. Or maybe the work is being done right there, unknown to the multitude of sight-seers that pass by the door everyday. Nonetheless, the patio was striking with the slender marble columns supporting the porch that surrounds the great basin, and the fountains and rivulets that feed the main central font.


I continued outside to the Genaralife, the Architect’s Garden, and here I met the full impact of the fog. Birds singing in the invisible surroundings gave me the feeling of being trapped in a rain forest. Although the monument’s grounds were probably crowded, I had the impression of being alone, left to enjoy the garden’s hidden beauty in the solitude of the mist. In the right season, I would’ve seen all kinds of flowers in bloom, colors and textures everywhere. But even this winter garden was stunning in its lush greenery and droves of fountains. Hedges led me through the fog in a kind of maze, as I made my way out of the Alhambra, back into the forest in the middle of this mysterious city.

staying on

Today I wandered down to the cathedral and saw the Capilla Real, the Royal Chapel, where Fernando and Isabel are buried, along with their daughter Juana la Loca (Juana the Mad), Felipe el Hermoso (Felipe the Handsome), and their son. The Spanish sure knew how to make a big deal of things—two elaborate marble mausoleums were carved in tribute to the dead monarchs, and every available surface of carved woodwork was gilded. The great altarpiece had over thirty statues depicting saints, scenes from Christ’s life, and the two Catholic monarchs—even pictures of the conquest and conversion of the Muslims in Granada.

I passed through many artisans’ stalls, each hawking the same colorful Arabic/Spanish crafts: pashmina scarves, marqueta boxes, hookahs, teas, slippers, pillow cases, and brightly colored blankets and shawls. I’ve been tempted a few times to buy embroidered and embossed leather slippers, but none have looked comfortable enough.

On my way back to the hostel, I was distracted by street performers in the Plaza Nueva. I think I still hear them in the distance: three young men playing a drumbox, didgeridoo, and an electric violin while a young woman danced with finger cymbals.

Now I’m back in the hostel and I’ve decided to stay in Granada another day. Hopefully tomorrow will be my chance to see the Alhambra—tickets have been sold out each time I’ve tried. Then it’s off to Sevilla, my last tourist stop before I arrive in Aracena for my last farming adventure in Southern Spain. And then what? Who knows? But the suggestion box is always open!

el día de los reyes magos

Today is the eve of the Feast of the Three Kings in the Roman Catholic Church. This feast day marks the end of the Christmas season and celebrates the day the Magi found the child Jesus and his family. In Spain, the eve is usually celebrated with more pomp and ceremony than the day itself. In Granada, there was a parade through the center of the city.

The parade was unlike any I’d ever been to in the states. Disproportionate throngs of people lined the streets so that it was difficult to see through to the actual event, which was little more than a line of nearly the same floats. The parade appeared to celebrate the history of the city, as well as the arrival of the kings, with processions of young people dressed as Roman legionnaires, Muslim soldiers, and finally Christian soldiers. Between the floats, squads of children dessed as Arabs marched. Smaller floats decorated with sequins and exotic animals made up the delegations of the kings. Children dressed in oriental and Arabic garb sat upon them and threw handfuls of candy to the crowds. The floats of the kings were decorated in the same way and emblazoned with the glittering names of corporate sponsors. Men dressed in flowing robes with gold crowns and magnificent beards threw candy by the bucket-load, and spectators young and old alike dove for the sweets as though they were gold coins. Even my American companion, Jeremy, was lunging for every pastille that landed in a five-foot radius. Each float passed in its own cloud of exultant music, generating roars from the crowd for more candies.

The paraded ended with a few of the city’s emergency services passing in review. When all was finished, the crowds spilled over into the streets, filling all the blocks I could see. The traffic lights blinked in futility, and a single car pushed its way through the horde, it’s origin and destination a mystery to me among the countless bodies.

Back at the hostel, we had homemade seafood paella and shared parade loot in the bar on the terrace. Later, fireworks filled the sky above the cathedral and we had the best seats in the city.

pictures

I've finally had the chance to upload some pics! If you're interested in seeing a little of what I saw, check back to these archived posts:

back to spain

deutchland

here goes...

black gold

mís compañeros

Happy viewing!

málaga

Hostels are interesting creatures. I’ve never seen a place where such an odd assortment of humanity gathers and decides immediately that it’s ok to sleep together. And share a bathroom. I was greeted in the lobby by the noise of a DVD being viewed on the wall over the bar. After check-in I was taken to my dorm where I met one of my roommates. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jeff. That corner might be the best bet for your stuff. I don’t know whose all this is—I haven’t seen them yet.” The bathroom, the kitchen, my bunk, the noisy table of youngsters downstairs. I even got a glimpse of the terrace upstairs—too bad it was a wet night. But such people! I tried to go to a Flamenco show with Jeff and three others, but nobody was at the bar. After that, I took a walk around the city, looking for something interesting and finding nothing but closed shops and snooty clubs.

Coming back into the hostel, I met a 50-something woman, an American citizen living in Ireland. I don’t even think I introduced myself, but suddenly I was being regaled with the story of her trip to Spain to recover from a month’s bout with the flu that became pneumonia. She only paused long enough every several minutes to light up another cigarette, and used these opportunities to ask me about my travels. Hearing that I’m a WWOOFer, she suggested Ireland, a farm of one of her friends in particular. It might be a worthwhile tip, I don’t know. The place sounded pretty neat; organic, sustainable, with an added spritz of Celtic spirituality. She also told me some more about couch surfing. She’s a big fan, and knows all about it, having surfed herself and also hosted 30 people since August. She even offered to vouch for me should I join, to help get me started.

And that was last night. Today was spent exploring some of Málaga’s historic features. Most of this place is a big, gross city. Apparently, it’s been a big, gross city for some time. Possibly founded by the Phoenicians, Málaga was a prime port city of Islamic Spain and a large fortress and castle were built on a hill in the center on the coast to provide defense. Even in the 16th Century a great wall surrounded most of the city.


The Alcazaba and Castillo de Gibralfaro are the two major historic sites and were built by the city’s Muslim rulers in the 11th and 8th Centuries, respectively. Next to the Alcazaba is a Roman amphitheater that is currently being excavated and restored.


For a low combined price, I was able to tour both. The Alcazaba lies over the base of a hill and was built to the contours of it. This provided extra defense with winding roads in and slanted, hairpin gateways. Within the fort a palace was also built, featuring courtyards with fountains and gardens. The wall surrounding the fort offers some amazing lookouts over the city and its bustling port.
Within some of the palace’s courtyards are exhibits of old Muslim pottery, explaining the construction, glazing, and firing techniques. There was even a giant kiln found that was used for firing the works that were found in the fort. The Alcazaba and Castillo de Gibralfaro are connected by a long, walled avenue that stretches up the hill, but oddly enough is not open to the public, so…


…One must climb a long, winding, and sometimes steep stone path to the top of the hill. Here, you can wander the mostly-empty courtyard of the castle, but the more interesting path is at the top of the perimeter wall. Here, you get great views of the whole city, the port, the interior of the Alcazaba and the interior of the castle
itself. After I climbed back down and saw what there was within the walls, I made my way back to my hostel to check out and head to Granada. Too bad there wasn’t time for the Picasso Museum. Málaga boasts as the birthplace of the famous artist and has an extensive collection on display here. Oh well, I’m not that big a fan of cubism, anyway.

back to spain

I've made it back to Spain and plan to spend the next five days traveling across Andalucia with stops in Málaga, Granada, Ronda, and Sevilla. From there, it's to my final farm. I'll be there near a town called Aracena for two weeks and then I fly back to the States to do some reflection, regrouping, and renewing.


Germany was a blast and many thanks go out to Germans #1 and #2 and their families for all their generosity. Yesterday was spent in Heidelberg, a neat University city with an American base. We wandered the market street, then climbed 320 stairs to an old castle.
The place was built of red stone and crumbling in places, but still lit up all around and open for tours on the inside. We spent our time wandering the extensive courtyards and spent our money elsewhere. We had traditional Schwäbisch cuisine at a restaurant in the student quarter and it was delicious! Schwäbisch, or Swabian, is the name for the region where I was visiting my friends and the food is rich and tasty. I had Käsespätzle, a kind of noodle with cheese, and plum dumplings in vanilla sauce for dessert. But this wasn't my first taste of Schwäbisch food; I tried several dishes at German #2's house over Christmas (her dad told me to tell everyone that I was a guest in a German doctor's home and he made me EAT). We had an interesting meat dumpling called maultaschen, spätzle, sauerbraten (in the cottage in the alps), and probably other things I can't remember. Then, at German #1's house, the three of us attempted to make dampfnudeln, a heavy dumpling baked in a pot with a caramel crust on the bottom. They were tough to make, but a lot of fun and very good with vanilla sauce and fruit compote. They're meant to be a main dish in a meal, but I think they would fit better into the dessert category in American sensibilities. But whatever they were, I intend to make them again as soon as I get back home!

And so now I'm in Málaga, catching up on some internet work in my spiffy hostel before I head out to a teahouse or a Flamenco show. I'm sure I'll have more to write later after I've seen some more of this town. But until then, be well. And Happy New Year!