Rockclimbing

I finished my intensive language course on Friday, the audio on the listening section was severely distorted and played from tiny laptop speakers, during my oral exam my professor reavealed she drank two bottles of hard liquor a day and asked for advice, and I ended my written portion with the line “¡Ojalá que tu novio se ahoge en el río!” roughly translated to “I hope your boyfriend drowns in the river!” The appropriateness of my dialogue for the school setting was doubtful, but at least it was memorable. Regardless of these setbacks I managed to graduate to the next level of Spanish competency.

As a celebration for completing the exam my classmate Erik and I were planning on going out for sushi, but after walking around for on hour with rumbly stomachs and only seeing one Asian restaurant squeezed in between a sex shop and a dumpster in a dark alleyway, we decided to change our plans. We headed toward a less sketchy part of town, came across a sign suggesting Indian food, and our stomachs agreed. We entered the advertised establishment and after inhaling a steaming feast of chana masala, sweet and sour shrimp, basmati rice, and garlic naan we wobbled home stuffed and contented. Later, piled on my bed with our friend Katelyn like litter of warm kittens, we ate my fresh-baked zucchini bread smeared with butter and drizzled with honey. Penelope Cruz sang Volver to us from my computer and lulled us into a sleepy daze.

I woke up six hours later, doing my usual morning tiptoe dance on the ice-cold floor, and pulled on some athletic clothes. I toasted an old baguette and slopped some peach marmalade onto it and munched it as I rushed out the door. We drove for about twenty minutes around curvy narrow roads up mountainsides; our activity guide Paco was driving so fast it made me a bit car-sick, but I trusted his insane manual driving style because it is similar to mine. We stopped at a café for some coffee, and having forgotten to pack a lunch I ordered a Bocadilla with cheese and tomatoes. These are basically baguettes cut lengthwise, filled with cured ham. Bocadilla is the Spanish word for giant-ass sandwich. They wrapped it up for me in tin foil, like they knew I was going on an adventure…

  

 Unpacking

 

Backsides

 

 Paco doesn't speak English, so I helped the girls find the correct shoes, adjust harnesses, and teach the figure eight follow through. Aaron would be proud!

 David laying out the route.

 Mi amiga Katelyn

 

"Rocking" it

Paco and David set up three routes for us, I couldn’t wait to get on the wall and was the first one up. It was over too quickly. I belayed a couple of other climbers, and completed the second route with a bit more difficulty but quite fluidly. I heard the girls asking my friend Katelyn below, “Where did you say she worked? Oh, that makes sense.”… “How much does she run?” My relatives always used to call me a monkey, climbing up legs and clinching onto waists. I would hardly call myself an experienced climber, but I suppose those years of rock-climbing club in high school must have paid off! Being in good shape and working at a store surrounded by exceptionally helpful and knowledgeable employees doesn’t hurt, either.

David offered to buy me a beer if I could make it up the most difficult route without falling. I had already done two successfully, and I took his challenge but made sure to tell him I was doing it because I liked to climb- not because I liked him. The route was primarily a corner crack and required you to wedge your hands into the crevice with your legs spread wide on either side, slowly shimmying upwards. I made it to the top without falling, and tried to be humble about my triumph. He mapped out another route and finally got me, my arms were trembling and tired, and my searching bloody fingers could no longer grip the minute holds on the virtually smooth rock face. I completed the route but without the same grand sense of accomplishment as the previous ones.

I must admit that I was too hard on my body this particular day. Once we returned from climbing, I went for my long run along a riverbed hoping to cover fifteen miles. It was cut short to thirteen because I reached a solid concrete dam and had to turn around. When I got back I could hardly walk, and limped around my apartment the rest of the evening.

 

 

Surprise trip to Salobreña

            I didn’t have any plans for this particular Sunday; I thought I was just going to lounge around in my pajamas until 3pm. At the drop of a hat my future changed, and I snatched up the opportunity like a hungry animal: smoothly, quickly, and without over-thinking.

In the morning we met at the statue of Isabel Católico, the queen who granted Christopher Colombus the funds needed for his journey. It is a popular meeting place for locals. There were four girls whom I did not know, and one classmate who had invited me. From there we took the city bus to the bus station, and for 11€ purchased a round trip ticket to Salobreña, one of the closest beaches to Granada. Almost all the shops were closed but we managed to buy some snacks and Tinto de Verano at a gas station on our way. We laid in the gravelly sand under the sun and ‘lizarded’, shared stories, and some of the crazier members of the group jumped off the cliff nearby. The water was salty, ice cold, and crystal clear. After you lost feeling of your body, swimming was tolerable. We trekked for lunch, I consumed a delectable falafel sandwich for 3€ while others enjoyed a three course Chinese meal. Over the span of the day we became more comfortable with one another and foraged friendships. Laughter comes easily for us and a communal sense of adventure is shared, how fortunate that we found each other! To think I was just going to stay home… Once again my spontaneity has been rewarded.                                                                                                                                                                     

 Arrival.

 

Abandoned bicycle.

 

Feetsies.

  

 Tokens of affection.

The Group.

 At the top.

 

In the middle.

At the bottom.

 Gulls

 Lunch!

Saturday Afternoon

 Breakfast.

I went for a walk today, my body needed a rest from the hike the day before and I wanted to document a few engaging peculiarities of the spanish culture. I gathered a few unexpected shots along the way.

 Granada: literally means Pomegranate.

There was no one was inside on this beautiful day, everyone was outside exercising. With tennis courts, biking and skateboard parks, playgrounds, running biking and rollerblading trails, fútbol fields, ping-pong tables, and public outdoor exercise equipment (how logical! the equipment is simple and easy to understand, free of charge, open to everyone, and conveniently located) there was something to cater to every age-group. It is not difficult to see how the population stays fit and healthy. There is no secret potion or diet that you must pay a price to have the information revealed.

They get out and move their bodies, they eat small morning and nighttime meals, they take the time to prepare their own meals and eat slowly with their friends and family, and most of their fats come from olive oil instead of hydrogenated oils.

The only McDonalds I have seen is fifteen minutes by bus outside of the city because it incurs such steep taxes it cannot afford real estate in the downtown area. The Burger King in the middle of town charges at least 8$ US dollars per burger due to these taxes imposed on fast food restaurants. Compare that to the fresh salad I can make for 2$ US and it’s clear to see that without these temptations maybe it would be easier for Americans to turn down unhealthy foods.

 

Outdoor elliptical.

 

Exercise equipment.

 Swingin'

 Up the stairs.

 

 I played with these boys for a while, but they weren't interested in having a girl on their team.

 

 Here are some shots of the trail where I like to run. Each day the bulldozers advance closer to my favorite part of the trail… I felt I needed to capture it on camera before it disappears completely.

 Carnage.

 Magical Bridge.

Tunnel of thorns.

 

Snow melt.

Towards the end of my walk I think if could reverse time and do college over again, I would study abroad every semester. Maybe not realistic, but this new landscape is breathtaking and it started a travel bug that craves to experience everything. I feel alive and appreciative of life. 

Trekking

I am currently taking classes at the Centro de Lenguas Modernas, which offers activities from wine tasting to mountain biking for its students each month. The prices are reasonable and no previous experience is necessary. I did not think twice about signing up for the activity entitled ‘Trekking’ regardless of only partially understanding the spanish description written underneath. I anticipated the day with a formless hazy vision of adventure waiting to take shape.

We hiked on the mountainsides surrounded by stunning vistas for three hours, choosing directions appealing to our eyes and without prudence of bearings. Sunset found us at the summit and cold began to creep into our bones. Our guide Paco had abandoned the trail he mapped out in favor of our wishes to see more views. Scrambling down steep rocky slopes in growing darkness, on an unfamiliar trail, I began to laugh hysterically. The other girls in the group kept repeating, “Are you serious?” and “I did not sign up for this!” The impending danger and situation was horribly hilarious to me. We were in real danger. And I loved it.

 

The group.

 Bridge walking.

 Dappled sunlight.

Paco and Katelyn.

 The summit.

Sierra Nevadas

 Pull up competition

Sunset.

After some careful navigation and controlled sliding we made it down to ground level safely, there are no pictures of this ordeal. It was too hazardous to only have one hand ready to steady myself. After warming up in a café for an hour or so, we headed to the Baños Árabes or the Arab Baths. This was the unexpected part to the journey; there could not have been a more welcome compliment to our evening, nor one as sensationally contrary.

It was like walking into the center of the earth, before history started. All shame, stress and a sense of time were erased. Strangers strolled pass one another in bathing suits without a care towards the appearance of their bodies, we could have been naked. It wouldn’t have made a difference. We were back in the womb with our brothers and sisters, lying in pools of warm salty water, listening to soft suggestions of the sitar and the lap of friendly waves on colorful tiles. Fragrant mint tea and steam entered through the nostrils and penetrated the soul. Peace was around us, we were peace. I felt whole.

 

Swimming in Atlantis.

Complimentary tea.

 

Candle light

There were no cameras allowed in this establishment, but I found a few photos that almost capture a fraction of the mood. We received a free fifteen-minute massage, then walked in a relaxed daze back home.

Fútbol Fever

I am settling into my new home, creating a bubble of comfort and familiarity to help alleviate the affects of culture shock. I find refuge in my daily routines, the friends I have made, and my bedroom. They are all safe havens from the exhausting endless chattering on the streets. The frustration of not understanding my local language takes a toll that often goes unnoticed, until it accumulates into such stress that I stop and must examine the source of my anxiousness.

When you are removed from your natural habitat, it is normal to feel incomplete. The quest to be whole again, to find what will relieve the nameless aching, is a reaffirmation of what makes one truly happy and a confirmation of his or her identity. I heard it said many times before I left, “You will change when you study abroad.” I agree, but there are constants in my personality I have found to remain strong despite the intangible and physical distance.

The final contestants that never fail to brighten my mood: Nature, running, baking, dancing, and friends you can be yourself around. I have used baking as an anti-stress agent for many years, thankfully accumulating enough experience to produce tasty treats without recipes or measuring cups.

 The classic: cranberry scones.

 Kindred spirits.

Toasty warm.

 Hair monster.

 Dancing lessons.

Smiling.

This week there was a fútbol (soccer) game between two long-standing rivals: Real Madrid and Barcelona. Loyalties are fierce and passionate, I somewhat violated this holy matrimony but resolving to root for whichever team was winning at the moment. I visited my friend Katelyn’s apartment because we do not own a television at my place. Technologically savvy roommates had hooked up a live stream from their computers to play on the screen, but after only five minutes the connection was lost. The diehard fans were inconsolable, and promptly left to find a bar where they could continue watching without interruption. We stuck around a bit longer with feeble hopes, but the internet here is as slow as 1996, so we went on a hunt for public cable. Before long we spotted a café packed with blue illuminated faces. I ordered a giant ice cream sundae and happily ate it on the cold tiled floor, participating in an event as seemingly important as the first lunar landing.